#but this is accurate to what it would look like if we were farther north

[lizardlover-skylarglamrock]

The Aurora Borealis of May 11th, 2024 💜🌌💚

We stayed up until 4am to see them and it was worth the pain 😭

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Osiris Red Hot Springs

i"Come on!" Juudai dragged on Manjoume's coat. Manjoume tried to pry him off but he wasn't having a great deal of luck with it. Juudai seemed more like an octopus than anything else, grabbing and insisting that Manjoume come along with him.

"What are you talking about?" Manjoume grumbled. He'd intended to stay in his room and get some rest. Unfortunately, he'd needed to go out and get food since Osiris Red didn't offer room service like a reasonable dorm. He'd barely started to eat what they'd served him - did it really count as food? - before Juudai popped up, babbled something about showing him the "hidden wonders of Osiris Red" and dragged him away.

"Didn't you hear me?" Juudai's eyes twinkled at him. Manjoume didn't think anyone's eyes could have twinkled, but Juudai's did. Not a single bit of brains in there, but plenty of fluff, and more than enough strength to haul him along to wherever Juudai wanted to go. "We're going to see the hidden wonders of Osiris Red! Have you ever been to the hot springs?"

"Of course I have!" Manjoume snorted. He would have crossed his arms over his chest if Juudai didn't have a grip on his arm. "The Obelisk Blue hot springs are some of the best hot springs ever!"  He would know.  He'd been to some of the most fantastic hot springs in all of Japan.  Obelisk Blue's springs ranked in the top five in his opinion.

"Not those!" Juudai waved his free hand dismissively, as if the Obelisk Blue hot springs weren't worth his time. Clearly he'd never seen them.  "I mean the Osiris Red hot springs!"

There were several springs on the island. Two for the Blue dorm, one for the Yellow dorm, and Manjoume guessed it wasn't such a strange idea that Red also had one. There were plenty of them on the island in general. There was even two in the main building itself, one near the infirmary and one somewhere else, for the teachers. The other hot springs were reserved for specific dorms. The one near the infirmary could be accessed by anyone at all, regardless of dorm. He'd visited it once or twice, but he'd always preferred using the Obelisk Blue hot springs.

But right now, Manjoume's lip curled faintly. "What's so special about that?" He could imagine what it would be like. Just because it was a hot spring didn't mean that it would be what he was used to - a beautiful work of art, with polished statues and spigots emitting a variety of lovely scents and soaps and lotions, with many helpful attendants who'd scrubbed his back, scrubbed between his toes, and offered a vast array of snacks and drinks to choose from while he'd enjoyed himself, as well as soft, heated, and scented towels. He'd spent many lovely hours in there, soaking up water and sunlight alike. It was even better than at home.  He was going to miss not being able to go there. 

What would the Osiris Red springs be like? Small, he decided, and probably dark. Busted light bulbs and it probably hadn't been properly scrubbed in a while. He'd seen the Osiris Red showers and they were tolerable. Someone clearly went to a lot of effort to keep them clean, though Manjoume had no idea of why. They were Red. No one would care if it all piled up. Someone probably just didn't want to go to the extra effort that would result by ignoring it.

Juudai kept on dragging him through the trees. Manjoume tried to get his arm free but nothing he did actually worked. He probably could have tried harder, but the farther they went into the woods, the harder it was to see where they were going.  He didn't have the faintest idea of where they were going and unfortunately, Juudai's grip on his arm was the only thing that kept him from being utterly lost.

"Where are you taking me?" Manjoume finally snapped out the question. He wasn't sure if he expected a proper answer or not.  "This isn't where the hot springs are!" Though to be fair, he didn't really know where they were. He just sort of knew they existed. But he did know they weren't half an hour’s walk into the woods!

"I told you!" Juudai declared. "It's the Osiris Red hot springs." He made a face, something like what Manjoume thought he looked like when Juudai turned up at his door.  "Not those tiny ones, though. That's boring."

Oh, no. Manjoume groaned quietly. Juudai was taking him somewhere else. No one else knew they were out here. Marufuji was busy studying - he needed all the help he could get - and Maeda was drawing or something. Manjoume wasn't at all sure why he was drawing, but because he was, it was just the two of them out here. That wasn't how Manjoume looked forward to spending any amount of time.

Before he could stop long enough to express his distaste for that, Juudai lifted a branch out of the way and Manjoume could see clear space beyond. After grass tufts catching his feet and twigs and branches lodging themselves in his hair, bugs helping themselves to his sweat and trying to do the same to his blood, he couldn't have been more glad to see a clearing. Instead of holding back, he surged forward, going past Juudai and stumbling to a halt.

"Here we are!" Juudai declared, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the whole area,  and even worse, as if he'd invented this entire place out of whole cloth. "This is the official Osiris Red hot springs! At least as far as I'm concerned."

Manjoume slowly looked around. The hot springs on Duel Academia that he knew something about were all enclosed in buildings of various sorts.  They had windows and doors.  Obelisk Blue had rugs in the antechamber.

This place didn't.  This was a wide pool set beside some moss-covered cliffs. He could hear water falling from somewhere out of sight. Large rocks rose out of the steaming water and there was a spread of sand on one side that would do for a beach.

There were several rocks close enough to climb on and still be in the water. Manjoume looked all the way around as slanted rays of sunlight arched into the area, sending up sparkles from the water as they struck it. If he hadn't known better, he would have actually called it beautiful. But he wasn't going to call it beautiful if Juudai liked it.  Juudai didn't have taste.  If he liked it, there was clearly something wrong with this place.  Manjoume just didn't know what it was yet.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered, gripping onto the towel Juudai had tossed to him when first taking him on this wild ride. He knew his luck wasn't that good, though, not when Juudai merrily tossed his clothes off and died into the wide pool - perhaps more accurately called a lake.  He looked as if he were actually happy doing this, instead of being in a proper hot springs!  Had Juudai ever been to a proper hot springs?  Probably not.

There wasn't any soap that he could see. The only towels were the ones that they'd brought with them. Certainly not a single attendant to wash between his toes or wash his hair or do anything. He'd been getting more used to doing things himself and he rather liked the feeling that came with learning to do for himself.  His brothers would never approve. Yet day by day he cared less and less what they thought. There wasn't much that they could do regardless. Try as they might, they couldn't even cut him off from his share of the money. Their parents' will made sure that was impossible.

He could have bought all those cards that they'd wanted to give him. He could have bought virtually any card that he wanted - he tried not to think about their ill-fated attempt to purchase the legendary Gem Beast deck - but that didn't make a good duelist. He'd learned that the long, slow, and hard way. What made a great duelist was the ability to forge winning combos from nothing at all.

He was getting very good at that.  He was a good duelist.  He was going to be a great one.  He would be better than they ever dreamed of, and they would beg for his help instead of assuming that they would get it no matter what.  Even better, he might not give it to them. 

"Come on, Manjoume!" Juudai waved at him, pulling Manjoume out of his thoughts before he could fully be absorbed into his fantasy of his brothers begging for his talents. "Come on in, the water's fine! We can wash each other's back later!  I haven't seen the bear around here in ages!"

Manjoume snorted as he headed towards the water. As if he'd ever wash Juudai's back or let Juudai wash his own. One good bath and that would be it. Maybe a little sunning afterwards. He'd gotten a little paler on his trip up north.

But nothing else. He could learn things in Red, but this was only a single stopping point on his way back to Blue.

Then he stopped.  "Juudai?  Did you say bear?"

The End

Notes: No, Manjoume didn’t get eaten by the bear. Neither did Juudai. The bear is friendly.

[random-thought-depository]

Also, from Brett Devereaux’s latest Dothraki horde essay that I just posted about:

“This isn’t actually much of a surprise. Martin has been pretty clear that he doesn’t like the kind of history we’re doing here. As he states:

“I am not looking for academic tomes about changing patterns of land use, but anecdotal history rich in details of battles, betrayals, love affairs, murders, and similar juicy stuff.”

That’s an odd position for an author who critiques other authors for being insufficiently clear about their characters’ tax policy (what does he think they are taxing, other than agricultural land use?). Now, I won’t begrudge anyone their pleasure reading, whatever it may be. But what I hope the proceeding analysis has already made clear is that it simply isn’t possible to say any fictional culture is ‘an amalgam’ of a historical culture if you haven’t even bothered to understand how that culture functions. And it should also be very clear at this point that George R. R. Martin does not have a firm grasp on how any of these cultures function.

Once again, Martin has instead constructed this culture out of stereotypes of nomadic peoples.”

Ouch! This is a harsh dunk, but it’s also an insight into how to write speculative fiction that I’m going to take to heart. Well, I mean, it parallels thoughts and the approach I already have. Reading this makes me feel better about having the artistic process I have.

I know it sounds arrogant to think I’d do better than a famous and very successful big name author, but reading these essays I can’t help thinking that I’d have handled that stuff better. Like, at least before writing extensively about a steppe nomad culture I’d Google things like “what did the Mongols eat?” To be fair, I think ASoIaF was started in, like, the ‘90s, when it wasn’t so easy to just Google stuff, but still, I like to think stuff like “how did historical precedents for this culture get their food?” would be things I’d look into a bit before sitting down to write.

To also be fair, I have the opposite problem of spending like 90% of my time “worldbuilding” and taking forever to get around to actually writing anything. Maybe I should be more like George R.R. Martin! He‘s clearly doing something right!

But on the other hand, I think I do better work for actually thinking about stuff like this. Like, here’s another quote from Mr. Devereaux’s latest essay:

“But that leads into the larger problem, which comes out quite clearly in how Martin has carelessly separated the shepherds and the nomads into separate cultures living side-by-side. As we’ve discussed, that’s wrong: the shepherds and the fearsome riders were the same people. But Martin has stripped away not just the shepherding from the Dothraki, but also the cheese-making and wool cleaning and so on – after having already, as we saw last week, also stripped away the artistry, creativity and artisinal skill. His Dothraki don’t do anything as whimpy as herding sheep – something they regard as unmanly because of course they do – they kill the sheep (with arrows, which just makes it a double waste for every shaft that breaks or tip that is lost) and leave them to rot, like (very stupid) badassess.

He has stripped the Dothraki of every part of a Steppe nomads life, except the barbaric violence. And in so doing, he has taken one of only a handful of non-white cultures that we really meet and get a real taste of (rather than merely passing through) and reduces it from a complex culture which grows and nurtures and conserves (but also kills and destroys – we’re not going to don any rosy glasses about the violence of nomads here – that discussion is coming) into a pure vehicle of violent destruction, offering nothing of redeeming value.”

Like ... right now I’m planning out a story I intend to write in January; it’s supposed to be a kind of deconstruction of the Fremen mirage, and very much one of the thoughts going into it is “yo, a Proud Warrior Race would be a horrible society to live in or have as neighbors, we shouldn’t romanticize them!” and yet ... I feel that the “bad guy” culture in it is much better, from a literary viewpoint, for me having given some thought to the material base of their society and how that would shape their culture. I could have just written them as flat edgelordy-grimdark barbarians, but thinking about their culture in materialist terms gave me a more complex and nuanced picture that I think will make for a more interesting and nuanced story and a fictional society that feels more interesting and human and alive.

And to be really fair ... I think if I have an advantage over George R.R. Martin writing in the ‘90s, it’s partly from reading essays like this; because I was shaped by a geek culture that very much appreciates good worldbuilding and that is full of advice about it (of varying levels of quality, but lots of it is at least decent, and there’s a lot of it). If I do better, much of the credit belongs to the people I’ve interacted with and the people whose thoughts I’ve read and listened to over the years. “If we can see farther, it is because we stand on the shoulders of giants” very much seems to apply. Except I don’t like that quote because I think it’s too implicitly elitist; “giants” implies a few outsize individuals. I think it’s more accurate to say that if we see farther it’s because we stand at the top of an enormous human pyramid; it’s not about any particular person, it’s that we reap the benefit of enormous collective efforts. And that enormous human pyramid dynamic exists in science and government and morality and so on just as much as it exists in writing science fiction and fantasy novels.

Side note: it was informative to learn that the big Mongol food animal was sheep (or at least that’s the impression Mr. Devereaux’s essay gave me). I knew Eurasian steppe nomads primarily relied on domesticated animals other than horses for food, but I never had a very clear picture of what animals, and I kind of vaguely thought it was cattle (I guess cattle-herding nomads were more of a thing in Africa and I just kind of assumed Eurasian steppe nomads worked the same way).

Side note 2: seconding a comment somebody with the username “Roxana” left on that essay; if Mr. Martin wanted something plausible-ish that would still make the Dothraki look all macho and badass, a good way to do it would have been to loosely base them on North American horse-riding bison-hunting cultures and have them hunt some sort of terrifying badass fantasy megafauna.

[fangirlshrewt97]

Geralt Whump Week Submission Day 3

TITLE: What Am I Worth (If I Cannot Protect You)?

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier|Dandelion

PROMPT DAY: Cursed

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY:   

When a monster hunt leaves Geralt blind, it is up to Jaskier to make sure he is alright while Yennefer works on finding a cure. Ciri is there to remind them what they are fighting for.

Excerpt:

Geralt stumbled at the sudden weight, hands landing awkwardly on his sides before they adjusted and tightened around his doublet, pulling him closer until Geralt had his nose pressed tightly against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier let himself be manhandled, but grew tense, something about Geralt’s behavior was odd.

Ciri’s gasp made him grow even more tensed.

Pulling back, he bit back his own gasp as Yennefer’s light illuminated the Witcher, specifically his eyes, which had gone from that sunset gold to milky white, translucent and unseeing.

WORD COUNT: 8088 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES:  Additional Tags include Geralt Whump Week, Prompt: Cursed, Temporary character blindness, Soft, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem issues, Self-Worth issues, Self-Hatred, Fluff, Bathing, Established Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion, Soft Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier|Dandelion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jaskier|Dandelion & Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, As you can see Geralt really puts himself through the shredder in this fic, but it’s ok though, because Jaskier is right there to remind Geralt of exactly how much he is loved, and how much he deserves it

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Rhiannon, Jaskier, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051126

                                                     /////

Jaskier allows them to wait until the sun has set before he verbalizes the internal freak out he has been having.

“It has been nearly a day Yennefer. Something has happened to him.”

“Jaskier. He will be back soon. He’s on a contract, you know those aren’t always predictable. Now sit down, your pacing is giving me a headache.” Yennefer replied from where she was lounging on her temporary mattress, enjoying even the threadbare soft bed to the harshness of sleeping in the wild. Even if both boys complained that with her magical tent, she couldn’t even be claiming to be camping like they were.

“Maybe we should go check on him anyways?” Ciri said from where she was sitting on the opposite corner of the bed, fiddling with a thread on her coat, tugging at it.

Jaskier came to a stop beside her, standing against the foot board so Ciri could lean back against him. The girl was putting on a brave face, but her body language betrayed her nerves. And Yennefer, for all that she was lounging with cool poise was also worried. She had been the one to push Geralt to come into town, even if the Witcher had been hell bent in just rushing them towards Kaer Morhen.

///

She argued that they couldn’t hide from civilization forever. They needed to know what was happening with the war, and more importantly, they needed to give their two human companions a break. Even if Jaskier had a couple decades of walking alongside a Witcher and Ciri was at the age where energy seemed boundless, they still needed to rest.

Geralt had been reluctant but caved when he saw both humans curled around each other by the fire in their campsite, Jaskier curved protectively over his young charge. Geralt agreed to go but set up a couple of conditions as a safety precaution. Yennefer should refrain from using magic at the town if possible, and that Ciri’s hair be dyed to make it less striking. There wasn’t enough magic to hide Geralt’s appearance totally so he said that the three of them should enter the town as a family, and he would follow them after a bit. Jaskier and Yennefer had tried to fight him but he had stood his ground, and the sorceress and bard finally conceded.

As planned, Jaskier and Yennefer walked into town with their daughter Fiona, on their way to Yennefer’s hometown to avoid the war if they were asked for a story. Jaskier was to be a music professor at Oxenfurt, which would explain the lute he carrier. They found an inn with enough space to accommodate them all and got settled. They had just finished and come down to the inn when Geralt walked through the door, causing a silence to descend upon the place.

Geralt approached the man behind the bar. “Kind sir, do you have a room vacant?”

The man looked Geralt over twice before giving one sharp nod. “End of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Geralt took the key the man offered and moved to go to his room. He brushed his hand over Jaskier and Ciri briefly on the way up.

The trio made their way quietly towards the booth at the end of the wall closest to the stairs, grateful for the darkness.

Geralt descended a few moments later, and headed for the bar, ordering dinner and an ale. The place was tense again, the townspeople all looking at each other in a way that put Jaskier on edge. Yennefer was also poised to throw a spell if the need arose.

Finally, after the eternity of a minute, one man got up and approached Geralt. If asked to guess, Jaskier would say the man was perhaps a blacksmith or a logger, arms nearly as thick as Geralt’s and a build to match.  

“You are a Witcher.” he stated.

Geralt inclined his head. “Yes.”

“I am Roald Tiggen, the town’s blacksmith. I have a job for you.”

Geralt blinked before nodding. “I have arrived in town after a long day’s travel. If it would be acceptable to you, can I eat while we discuss your troubles, friend?”

“Ay, that sounds fine to me. Chrissy, get this man his food and ale quickly!” The man shouted to the barmaid who nodded enthusiastically and scurried into a back room, presumably the kitchen.

Geralt and Roald, settled at the far end of the bar. The Witcher would join them upstairs as soon he was done talking about business. They had not discussed whether Geralt would take more contracts, focusing mainly on getting North as quickly as possible. But it was sensible, and it would provide them with some cover, and funds to keep them going.

Jaskier called the barmaid and ordered their dinner before undoing Ciri’s travel braid, finding a peace in mindlessly running his fingers through her long, newly brown, locks. The young girl melted into his side, tucking her nose into his collarbone as her arms loosely wrapped around his waist. Yennefer watched them with a fond smile, and Jaskier gave her a grin back, making her scowl. He chuckled.

The food had been good, and after eating they made their way upstairs to their bedroom. Or more accurately, Yennefer and Ciri’s. Their Witcher had joined them soon enough, briefly explaining how the contract was for a monster in the nearby lake that had drowned two of the townspeople last week and cut off their primary water source.

“Is it safe?” Jaskier asked. He knew Geralt was the best of the Witchers, no one better for the job, but it still worried him when Geralt was out of his sight for too long, he had a predisposition for finding himself in trouble at all times.

“I don’t imagine it will take longer than half a day, I will leave early in the morning, and should be back by nightfall. Make sure to restock our supplies as needed, I am leaving the coin purse with you.”

“You don’t come back, I’m sending a search party.” Jaskier said, only half joking.

Geralt snorted. “As you wish bard.”

The day had come, and as promised Geralt was out before the rooster crowed, but he had not returned by sunset.

///

“You stay behind with Ciri, I will go out and find him.”

Jaskier’s “No!” and Ciri’s “I don’t want to stay behind!” were simultaneous and immediate.

Yennefer sighed.

“It is not safe for all three of us to go together.”

“How is it safe for you to go alone?”

Yennefer just raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier thought for a moment and conceded. “Okay, fine. Stupid question. But explain how it would be safe for us here without you?”

“What?”

“Let’s say someone comes to hurt Ciri. By your logic, do you trust me to take care of Ciri all by my lonesome?”

Yennefer glared as Jaskier put on his best butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth expression. Ciri was clinging to Jaskier’s shirt, peeking from behind him, face worried, but her eyes glinted with a familiar determination and stubbornness. She was a brave girl harboring unprecedented power, but she was still a child.

Yennefer regarded the two of them again before resigning herself to the inevitable.

“Fine. But you listen to me. And if I tell you to run, you run back here, got it?”

Both of them nodded their heads so hard she thought they might come off. Yennefer swallowed another sigh, straightening herself.

“Get ready then. I want to pack a couple of potions. You make sure anything valuable we leave in Roach’s bags.”

Ciri jumped off the bed and tugged Jaskier along, combing the two rooms as they got ready.

Within five minutes, the three of them were prepared and at the entrance of the inn. Yennefer looked the two of them over, both having switched their usual bright hues for duller colors that would blend easier into the dark night, an added layer of protection.

“Come on, let’s go.” she said when she was satisfied with them. And so, the group of three made their way into the forest, following the path Geralt had been talking about last night. When it got too dark for them, Yennefer conjured a small orb to provide light.

“Shit.” Jaskier said as Ciri caught him from tripping over a tree root for the third time since they started their journey. “Yen, stop. Do we even know where we are going?”

Yennefer growled. “I can track him.”

“I don’t doubt you can. I am asking if you are lost.”

Yennefer, rather than answering just turned and wandered farther into the darkness, making Ciri and Jaskier pick up their pace to keep up with her. Her ability to move so gracefully with such an impractical dress always impressed Jaskier. Not that the bard would share that fact.

They must have been wandering for almost an hour, Jaskier grumbling under his breath for the latter half of it, when they heard a strange noise near them. Yennefer swept in front of Jaskier, who in turn pulled Ciri tightly behind him. “Remember, on my command, run.”

Jaskier gave a tense grunt. Ciri tightened her fist on Jaskier’s cloak.

“Whoever is out there, I suggest you show yourself. Otherwise you will end up dead.” Yennefer called out.

The forest was quiet, save for the rustle of the breeze through the trees. The moon’s rays barely made it to the ground, stopped by the thick foliage above them. In the distance they heard a chorus of owl hoots start up.

And then.

A cracked twig, and Yennefer’s light orb turned into a flaming projectile. Yennefer brought her hand back to throw it when they heard a familiar voice call out. “Yen, it’s me!”

Jaskier couldn’t contain the sob that clawed it’s way out of his throat. “Geralt!”

Yennefer’s projectile turned into a bigger orb, illuminating a wider area. And at the edge of it, Jaskier saw Geralt’s unique silhouette.

Jaskier waited just long enough to push Ciri into Yennefer, not even slowing at Yennefer’s shout of his name, before he sprinted towards his Witcher, throwing his arms around him, squeezing him and nearly crying again as he smelled Roach and the unforgettable scent of recently slain monster guts on him.

Geralt stumbled at the sudden weight, hands landing awkwardly on his sides before they adjusted and tightened around his doublet, pulling him closer until Geralt had his nose pressed tightly against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier let himself be manhandled, but grew tense, something about Geralt’s behavior was odd.

Ciri’s gasp made him grow even more tensed.

Pulling back, he bit back his own gasp as Yennefer’s light illuminated the Witcher. Specifically his eyes, which had gone from that sunset gold to milky white, translucent and unseeing.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, unable to keep the fear from his voice. But gods bless Yen, seeing that her companions were too stunned, she yanked at Jaskier until he stumbled away from Geralt, Ciri catching him and huddling close to his side. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her in without thought.

The sorceress had taken Jaskier’s place, placing a gentle hand against the Witcher’s cheek even as the other one gripped his bicep tightly to keep him in place.

“Just stand still, I need to know what kind of curse this is.”

Geralt growled, but he stood his ground.

A shimmering halo circled Geralt’s head before disappearing. Yennefer’s face was shuttered, concern evident if you knew to read her face, which Jaskier had grown to be an expert in.

She turned back to them, shifting her grip on Geralt to lightly encircle one of his wrists. “Come, let us get back to the inn, I need to check a couple more things and don’t want to stay in these woods longer than necessary.”

Jaskier nodded and let her lead the way, trying to stifle the panic growing inside him as Geralt stumbled.

His Witcher was the epitome of grace, he had seen the man navigate their campsite in the early hours of dawn, when sunlight had not yet reached them, moving with a surety in his steps. The man in front of him was unsure of each step, staying close to Yennefer while trying to appear as though he was not clinging to the sorceress.

Soon, but not soon enough for Jaskier, the little family made it’s way back to their rooms. It looked like nothing had been disturbed. In these little towns, one could never be sure of how slippery the fingers of the people were. They all shuffled into Geralt and Jaskier’s room, shifting until Geralt was sitting on the bed, holding himself stiff and proper. Yennefer disappeared downstairs before reappearing with a small bag which she started to root around in for something. Ciri finally separated herself from Jaskier and approached Geralt, hesitantly placing a hand on top of Geralt’s. The Witcher twitched minutely before relaxing at the familiarity of those delicate fingers. “I’ve ordered a bath to be delivered to my room, after we finish I want you to clean up Geralt.”

“Are you alright cub?” Geralt asked. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, where they had been since they had arrived at the inn.

Ciri swallowed, sneaking a look at Jaskier before nodding. “Yes Geralt.”

Jaskier coaxed her to sit by Geralt’s left side while he flanked him on the right. “What about you, dear heart, how are you doing?”

Geralt remained silent.

Jaskier leaned into Geralt, gently pressing into him until Geralt was bearing the entirety of his upper half. Ciri mirrored him on the other side. Some time passed before Yennefer made a small noise and rushed to them from where she had been sitting at the table in the room. She held a book in her hands, and her eyes were illuminated with victory. Jaskier thought she looked radiant.

“I found what has caused Geralt’s affliction. Geralt, I need you to tell me if this is correct alright?”

Geralt nodded.

“You went into the forest. You found the monster. It looked like a ghoul, but not like any you have fought before.”

Geralt nodded.

“When you delivered the killing blow, there was a flash of white light, and when it faded, you couldn’t see anything.”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier felt the slight tremor in the Witcher by virtue of holding his hand.

“What type of monster was it Yen?”

“It wasn’t a monster. Not exactly. It was just a medium, a way for a curse to be placed on someone.”

“Someone…cursed a person?” Ciri asked, confused.

Yen shook her head. “Not exactly Ciri. It is more likely the body belonged to someone who was already dead. The curse was placed on the dead person to affect whoever encountered them.”

“The blacksmith did not mention any of the townspeople going blind, though!”

“He told Geralt that people were going into those woods and were found in the next morning drowned right?” Yen stated.

“That sounds like drowners.” Ciri piped in.

“Normally that would be correct Ciri, but what if the reason they drowned was because the monster which lived near the lake blinded them and then let them drown in the lake? My guess, based on what clues we have, is this is a modified reanimiation spell.”

“Reanimation? I thought that was forbidden.”

“It is. What is dead should not be brought back. In this case the monster was a dead human, and they weren’t brought back to life so much as turned into a conduit.”

“So what exactly is the curse?” Jaskier finally asked.

“And the bad news?” came the response from Geralt simultaneously. Ever the pragmatist, Geralt knew Yen was hiding something.

Jaskier saw the smile on Yennefer’s face dim. “I’m not sure how to break it. Or how long it will last.”

“But it is possible to break it right? This isn’t permanent?” Jaskier asked, infusing a cheerfulness he didn’t feel to try and offer comfort. Ciri nodded her head and she burrowed closer into Geralt.

“It isn’t permanent! Geralt will be well really soon. ” Ciri declared, trying to comfort Geralt as she started rubbing his arm. Geralt caught her hand and pressed it to his chest.

“I’m sure it will cub.”

Jaskier and Yennefer heard the pain behind the words. Yennefer felt like tearing the world apart, but would settle for the sorceress who had cast this spell. Jaskier on the other hand felt like he was free-falling, this thoughts racing from one worst-case scenario to another.

So focused was he on his thoughts, he didn’t feel a large hand land on his neck until it squeezed him. “Little lark come back to the ground.”

Jaskier gasped at the sound of Geralt’s voice. When he turned, he saw those foreign glassy eyes staring straight at him. Making a weak watery smile, Jaskier cleared his throat. “I must be very obvious if you can see me lost in my own head even without you being able to see me.”

Geralt actually managed a sincere smirk. “I don’t need my sight to be able to see you.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Is losing one of your senses what was required to finally develop a sense of romance my White Wolf?”

“Ugh, I can’t believe it only took ten minutes for you too to become all romantic again. I am going to check if the bath is ready, wait a moment.”

Yennefer came back soon telling them the bath had been prepared so Jaskier led Geralt to the bath and washed him as he had a thousand times before. They both ignored the shaking hands and racing heartbeats they shared.

Once done, Jaskier escorted Geralt back to their room, while Yennefer and Ciri bid them goodnight. Yennefer exchanged an understanding nod with a grateful Jaskier.

Once the door closed, Geralt asked “They’re gone right?”

“Yes.”

It seemed as though those were the words Geralt had been waiting for because he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, collapsing inward. Jaskier’s hand on his chest was the only thing that kept Geralt from melting to the floor. The bard panicked for a second before hauling Geralt backwards, scooting back until he hit the backboard and he held on tight to his Witcher.

Geralt for his part shifted just enough to settle more comfortably against Jaskier and shook. He felt as though he was falling apart, with only these two hands around him holding him in one piece. He was not sure how long he stayed just so, collapsing one molecule at a time, all he knew was that when next he was able to string a coherent thought together, he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Was it daytime already?

Then he registered fingers in his hair, a thumb rubbing at the spot he liked behind his ear.

He stirred, shifting his weight off of the bard, who had graciously borne him all night long.

“Morning dear heart.”

Geralt blinked his eyes open, sleep still having a grip on him. Of course this disappeared when Geralt opened to utter darkness. Panic seized his chest and he scrambled up, starting to rub and claw at his eyes before familiar calloused hands grabbed his wrists in an iron grip and brought them away from his eyes.

“-lt! Darling, please, I need you to listen to me!”

Jaskier’s voice was suffused with a concern that still made Geralt stagger. Witchers were creatures of convenience, tools that existed to fight off the darkness, they were not deserving of sunlight or soft touches. And yet, Geralt had found a small sun of his own, who sang for him, and washed and praised and loved him. He loved him, and Geralt was terrified.

“Jaskier?”

The bard let out a sob. “I’m right here, darling, right here.”

Geralt sunk back into the bard’s embrace, one hand caressing the doublet before slipping his hand underneath that and the shirt below that. He heard the intake of breath as his hand grazed silky smooth skin absent of the scarring that marred his own. He traced random patterns into the skin, his own version of tuning a body he knew every nook of even without his sight.

“Geralt.”

“What if she doesn’t find a cure Jaskier?”

Jaskier stiffened, but moved his arm from where it lay over Geralt’s back to the nape of his neck, starting a soft massage. “She will.”

Geralt tried to get up, but Jaskier squeezed the hand on his neck and Geralt relaxed again. “Don’t start doubting Yennefer now Geralt, it is really inconvenient.”

“Jaskier I am a liability.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, incredulously, “My dear Witcher, you are many things, stubborn, arrogant, obnoxious, too soft for your grizzly exterior, but the one thing you have never been nor will ever be is a liability.”

“Ciri is the priority! You can’t afford a liability.”

“I know that! But what exactly are you proposing? That we go traipsing across the Continent without you? Leave you to die in this hovel? Yennefer is strong, but it is still a while to Kaer Morhen and it is not a journey we are making without you.”

“I can’t see Jaskier!”

“I am perfectly aware Geralt!”

“Then why are you being so obtuse?”

“Why are you so self-loathing?”

Geralt’s entire body was a coiled spring of angry, and Jaskier had just said the magic words.

“I am a Witcher.”

“Yes. And you are also my Witcher. You are Geralt of Rivia, and you are the most incredible man I have ever met. So what if you can’t see? Yen will find a solution to it.”

“And if it doesn’t exist?”

“Like I said before, if it doesn’t, then we continue on our journey regardless, this time having had a chance to recover in a proper inn for longer than a single night. Together.” Jaskier emphasized the last word to make sure it got through Geralt’s thick skull. Of course he always forgot just how thick it was.

“You need a warrior, not a burden.”

“Fine, then Yen and Ciri can go on ahead, I will stay with you.”

“Jask-”

“You just said they need a protector. What kind of protector am I?”

Jaskier was standing up now, looking at Geralt as he hunched in on himself on the bed. The Witcher looked truly pathetic, so Jaskier took a deep breath to bring his emotions under control, running a hand through his own hair before exhaling. Gently, he dropped to his knees in front of Geralt, heart aching at the sight of Geralt’s flinch. Moving loudly to announce his movements, he shuffled forward and rested his palms on Geralt’s thigh, stretching the other one to turn the Witcher’s face towards him. He forced his heart beat to remain steady as those white eyes he was unaccustomed to met his gaze. Jaskier rose up on his knees and pressed a close-mouthed kiss to Geralt’s lips before gently headbutting him.

“Please darling. Yen will find a cure for you. Have a little faith. If not for her, then for me.”

Geralt placed his arms tentatively on Jaskier, without his sight he could feel the heat of his lover but not his features. Tracing his hands above the biceps he had gripped, he moved one hand to cradle Jaskier’s jaw to pull him into a proper kiss.

“Alright. For you.”

Jaskier smiled against his lips. “That is all I am asking for, dear heart.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier up into his lap, spending some time cuddling while they were alone before Ciri came into the room, hands loaded with food. Yennefer followed her in, settling the jug of mead she had in her hand down before dragging the nearby table and chair.

The small family had their breakfast in comfortable silence, Geralt allowing Jaskier to hand feed him. Ciri had settled back into Geralt’s side while Yennefer was seated on the chair opposite them.

“Did you find anything else Yen?”

“No. Not with the books I have on hand. But I have contacted Triss to ask for her help.”

“She was even more hurt than you. Will she be up for the task?” Jaskier said as he moved from Geralt’s lap to sit by his side instead. The Witcher kept one arm curled around his hip.

“Triss may look fragile, bard, but I assure you that you will be able to move a mountain before you get her to not give her all to a friend.” Saying so, Yennefer got up, brushing a few crumbs from her skirt. “Now, I am going to my room to continue researching. I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep yourselves busy!”

“So…what do we do today?” Ciri asked, looking at Jaskier.

“Ummm.” The bard had not thought that far ahead.

“You go get supplies.” Geralt jumped in.

“Oh ok, fine, well Ciri, you stay with Geralt, I will be back in a couple hours.” Jaskier said as he stood up, only to be yanked back to bed by Geralt.

“Take Ciri with you.”

“No.” Jaskier stated and “I want to stay with you!” Ciri cried out together.

Geralt sighed.

“There is no point in you staying with me here cub.”

“Then you can come shopping with us!” Ciri suggested.

Jaskier paused. “That isn’t a bad idea.”

Geralt shook his head though. “No. Can you imagine the panic a blind Witcher would cause? Especially the one who was sent into the forest to deal with a monster?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “Fine, but I still don’t want to leave you alone.”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “I do not need a caretaker.”

Ciri cut in because the bard could. “You still fought a monster last night Geralt, you need to rest. And what if the villagers come after you trying to see if you came back and find you anyways?”

Jaskier smirked. Clever girl.

“I will be fine.”

“I want you to tell me a story.”

Jaskier started to silently laugh. Oh how he loved his smart princess.

“Well then it is settled. I will be back in a while. Keep your cub entertained Wolf.” Saying so, Jaskier grabbed the coin purse and left the room before Geralt could finish “Wait Jask-”

Laughing at Ciri’s antics but trusting the girl to keep Geralt entertained, Jaskier exited the inn and made his way to the main stores in town. It took him about two hours to get through all his purchases, and he was ready to drop on his feet. He made his way back to the inn, ordering a late lunch because he knew none of his group had enough self awareness or considered themselves mortal enough to require something like food.

After making sure the food would be delivered, Jaskier made his way to their rooms, knocking lightly. When no one answered, he tried the door and grew a little wary when it opened. Taking a hesitant step inside, he found a sight that made him stagger against the door.

There on the bed, Geralt was asleep, Ciri curled on top of him, his arms a tight embrace around her. Both of their hairs were in braids, albeit Ciri’s was a lot messier than Geralt’s. Placing his shopping bags next to the door, he walked over to the pair. Sinking to his knees, he lightly brushed some of the locks on Ciri’s face behind her ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s eyelids, smiling brightly when his eyelids fluttered.

“Afternoon darling Witcher.”

“Jaskier.”

“Hello beloved. I see you found a way to spend the time. Tire her out with your stories did you?”

“’M not as a good a storyteller as you.”

“Oh I think you do a fine job when you try.”

“You got everything?”

“A bigger amount of the list than I expected this town to be able to supply us with. Now, what are the chances you lot had lunch?” Geralt’s silence was answer enough.

Geralt tried to shift, only to freeze when Ciri made a small noise in protest. Honestly, Jaskier felt as though his heart was going to burst with how much he loved these two. He placed a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and shook her gently.

“Ciri, dearest, wake up. It is time for lunch.” Ciri snuffled again before trying to burrow deeper into Geralt.

“Cub, you must be hungry.” Geralt said as he rubbed a hand down her spine.

Ciri whined some more but untangled herself enough to roll off of Geralt. She sat up and rubbed her eyes as her other mouth covered a yawn. The sight was adorable beyond words.

“Get her sorted Geralt, I will fetch our sorceress.” Jaskier instructed before leaving the room.

Soon enough, the small family was having their lunch in companionable silence. After lunch, Jaskier showed everything he had purchased. Ciri chatted about the stories Geralt had said, making the man twitch with either embarrassment or shyness. Yennefer gave an update that Triss may have found a lead for the cure, and would tell them if it panned out.

She disappeared back into her room after lunch, while Jaskier sat with Ciri and taught her about the region. Geralt gave his own input, talking about the local flora and fauna, about monsters that could be found nearby.

Yennefer reappeared during dinner time, eating quickly and whisking Ciri off to bed, leaving just the bard and Witcher alone.

“Want a bath Geralt?”

Geralt grunted.

“Right, I am ordering one. Hold on.” Jaskier said as he went to ask the tavern owner to bring up the water. When the owner asked why a music professor was ordering a bath for a Witcher, he shrugged. “Seemed the decent thing to do for the man who made sure my family and I would not be killed on our journey by a stray monster.

The water was tepid, but an Igni from Geralt guided by Jaskier set the water to a more soothing warmth. Jaskier made quick work of Geralt’s clothing, stripping him of everything and helped him into the bathtub. He went to take his place behind Geralt so he could wash his hair when Geralt’s arm shot out, and if Jaskier squinted, it almost looked as though Geralt was blushing.

“Geralt?”

“Join me?” Geralt asked hesitantly.

Jaskier paused. It was not an uncommon request. Albeit one that they only indulged in rarely.

“Alright”, Jaskier said.

Jaskier took off his clothes and joined him in the tub. Geralt tugged him until he was sitting with his back to Geralt front. Jaskier leaned his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder.

“Want to tell me what you are thinking?”

“You are a protector.”

Jaskier hummed.

“How so?”

“You may not know how to do magic or fight with a sword but you are clever. You are the bravest man I know, not despite being a human, but because of it. You are fearless and always willing to stand up for me.”

Jaskier tried to turn but Geralt had an arm around his chest that he tightened.

“I am…scared.”

It took all of Jaskier’s formidable breath control to keep his breathing even. Geralt had shown him degrees of vulnerability before. Geralt was a man used to being betrayed, being disposed of, being abandoned. The world had hurt him, time and again, so he had built walls of stone five feet thick around his heart, a line of defense against those trying to hurt him. But Geralt had a soft heart, a kind heart that wanted to help, even those who saw him as a beast. It had frustrated Jaskier at first, the taciturn nature and the recluse nature the man had. And then he had travelled with him, seen first hand the prejudice of the townsfolk who were willing to send him to his potential death to see their monster killed. People who would not waste a thought if he died.

Jaskier considered every moment of trust Geralt showed him to be a gift to be treasured. It was an act of courage to ask a human to help him, to care for him, to love him. But it had never been a burden to Jaskier. Loving Geralt was as easy as breathing, and as in his control as his own heartbeat.

Jaskier was also so proud of Geralt. How much he had grown, and how much he had learned the value in asking for help when he needed it, learned that he didn’t need nor could he carry the world on his shoulders alone.

“Tell me.”

“All I know is violence Jaskier. I know how to kill monsters, that’s what I was made for, that’s what I am. If I am blind, I cannot do that, and if I can’t do that, what use am I?”

Jaskier did not know what broke his heart more, the Witcher’s resignation to a fate that may not yet come to pass, or his certainty that his worth was dependent on his ability to kill.

“Dear heart, may I turn, please?”

Even if Geralt could not see him, Jaskier wanted to see his beloved’s face.

Geralt loosen his hold enough for Jaskier to turn in his arms, settling of Geralt’s thighs, his own bent on either side of Geralt’s hips, straddling him.

Jaskier pulled Geralt in for a deep kiss, one without a purpose beyond just conveying his affection for this idiotic man who he loved so much his heart felt full to bursting.

Both were softly panting when they finally broke for air. Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face in one hand as the other traced his face, the strong line of his nose, the bruised lips, the defined cheeks. He followed his fingers with his mouth, kissing him until Geralt had practically melted against the tub.

“Geralt. I don’t care whether Yennefer finds a cure or not. Or rather, I don’t care if you end up being blind permanently. You are worth so much more than just your ability to kill. You called me a brave man because I was a human, and I am saying you are a good man because you are a Witcher. Humanity is cruel to you, ostracizes and blames you for their miseries, and you? You go on helping them anyways. You don’t accept coin from those who can’t afford to part with it, nor do you fight for the coin that is due to you rightfully when you are underpaid. I have travelled the Continent with and without you by my side, and will testify in any court or town that I have yet to meet another as good as you.”

A single tear made it’s way from Geralt’s eye which Jaskier wiped away. His eyes were closed. They had been for the whole of Jaskier’s declaration.

“Open your eyes?” Jaskier asked. Geralt shook his head. “Please, my love?”

Jaskier saw Geralt’s knuckles turn white where they were holding the edge of the tub. Slowly, Geralt’s eyes fluttered open. Jaskier tilted his face up. This time, when he was met with milky white instead of his familiar golden-cat eyes, he sighed. “You are beautiful even as this. Come what may, I promise, I will stay.”

Those seemed to be the words Geralt needed to hear, because suddenly, the Witcher started to cry in earnest, silent tears tracing tracks through his face as his whole body shook. Jaskier just held him until he calmed down, held him long after the water grew cold, long after the clock in the town chimed midnight.

A routine developed after that. In the mornings, the four would have breakfast together, and then Ciri would stay with Geralt while Jaskier scoured for information regarding Nilfgaard as well as anything else they could use. Yennefer still spent the majority of her day in her room, only coming out to join them for food. In the evenings, Jaskier performed under the name of Dandelion, the name he had used during his early bardic days in Oxenfurt. He was just another troubador, taking requests and playing well known songs that had nothing to do with the White Wolf or the witch with purple eyes. Geralt convinced Ciri to join Jaskier in the tavern on those days stating, he could still hear the music whereas the girl couldn’t. So for a couple hours every evening bard and child entertained the crowd, slowly refilling their nearly empty purses. And then after dinner, when Yennefer took Ciri back with her, Jaskier and Geralt shared a bath, just basking in each other’s presence, believing in a love they had long assumed would never be granted to them.

It was almost a week before Yennefer burst into the nearby tavern when Jaskier was performing, indicating he cut his performance short and accompany her. Once they were all in Geralt and Jaskier’s room, she told that she had managed to find the cure for Geralt’s blindness.

The small blaze of hope Jaskier had been carrying since this whole ordeal began started to grow larger.

“Are you sure Yennefer?” Geralt asked, ever the skeptic, sounded so unsure.

“Yes Geralt. Triss and I have confirmed it multiple times. She will be here tomorrow-”

“Wait, what do you mean she will be here?”

Yennefer stared at them blankly. “The spell, it requires a complicated potion I cannot make with what I have at hand. So Triss will concoct it and bring it here.”

“We cannot do the spell inside the inn, we will need to go into the forest.” Geralt said.

Yennefer nodded. “Agreed.”

Jaskier was nervous, but also hopeful now.

“Come along Ciri, I might need help. Jaskier, make sure Geralt doesn’t hurt himself?” Yennefer told as she left the room, the tease serving to ease the bard.

“I’ll try my best Witch. Not as if I haven’t been doing it for 22 years!”

Once the door closed, Jaskier heard a thump and saw that it was Geralt who had slumped back heavily against the headboard of the bed.

“Geralt?”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“No. Enough, you have been doubting this all week, I refuse to let you spiral into even more worst case scenarios.”

“But-”

“No more buts Geralt. It will all work out!” Jaskier exclaimed as he sat beside the Witcher, throwing one arm around his waist. “I believe it will.”

And Geralt was weak against the sincerity in his voice. He believed him. “Alright.”

Triss arrived after lunch time the following day, sparing a greeting to the other three before disappearing with Yen, who dragged her out to the forest where she was planning on doing the spell.

Geralt was nervous. A week spent locked in a room, unable to do much by himself had left him thrumming with energy that had no place to go. Ciri requested Jaskier to play some fast jigs, and taught an awkward Geralt how to do a few courtly dances, guiding his limbs by standing behind him. Seeing the normally graceful Witcher stumble and trip hurt Jaskier’s heart, but it was worth it for the lines of tension the disappeared off his shoulders. Jaskier left his lute behind to dance with his Witcher for a couple numbers, providing them a beat with just his songs. And when Geralt pleaded pity, Ciri and Jaskier danced all over the room, their happiness permeating the room and settling Geralt’s nerves further.

Around dusk, Yennefer came to collect them. They dressed Geralt in his armor and cloak, and had Ciri lead him out of the inn while Jaskier provided enough of a distraction that no one would notice the two figures slipping out the back door. Jaskier met them at the rendezvous point, a clearing a few minutes away from the village.

By the time Jaskier reached the place, Ciri was seated on a big rock at the edge of the clearing, and the sorceresses had drawn a large alchemic circle on the ground, and had Geralt in the center of it.

“Can I step inside?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded. “It is not active, so it is safe. Be quick though.”

Jaskier slipped to Geralt, embracing him before pressing a kiss to his lips. “I believe in them Geralt. And more importantly, I believe in you. It will be alright.”

Geralt squeezed him once before releasing him.

Jaskier went to stand by Ciri, who slipped down from the rock and burrowed into his side. He put one arm around her, using the other to pet her. “Don’t worry princess, Yen and Triss will make sure Geralt gets better.”

Ciri just hugged him tighter.

Yen stepped into the circle, giving Geralt something, a potion most likely, whispering something to him that Geralt nodded at. She met Triss’s gaze, tilting her head to the side. Triss moved to stand at the edge Yen indicated while the purple-eyed sorceress took her place on her opposite side.

“Geralt, drink the potion now.” Triss called out.

Geralt gulped the potion in one go, before the vial slipped from his grasp and he was collapsing on the ground groaning in pain.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called out in panic, only for Yen to freeze him.

“It will be alright Jaskier, trust us!” Triss said. She and Yen then started to chant a spell, the circle starting to glow a white glow that kept getting stronger. The light seemed to rise from the ground to form a wall all along the lines of the circle, and soon Geralt was hidden from sight. Jaskier turned his back to the now blinding light, covering Ciri with his body.

The air around the clearing seemed to be getting thinner, as Jaskier was having a harder time drawing enough breath, feeling simultaneously like he was being crushed. In his arms, Ciri started to cry in pain. And then, suddenly the pressure disappeared, making Jaskier collapse to the ground as he gulped in large breaths to compensate. He was still panting when he turned around to see the circle had turned to a faded black color, the light having disappeared. The two sorceresses were also on the ground, exhausted from the spell.

In the center, Geralt was on his knees, hands on the ground in front of him. Stumbling, Jaskier extracted himself from Ciri and made for Geralt, collapsing again when he reached his Witcher.

“Geralt?”

Geralt was also breathing heavily, and there were beads of sweat lining his brow. When Jaskier went to touch him, a hand shot out to catch him, making him inhale sharply at the tight grip. The pain faded to the background when he met Geralt’s gaze though. His knowing gaze through Jaskier’s favorite golden cat eyes.

Choking on a happy sob, Jaskier threw himself at Geralt, knowing the Witcher would catch him.

“I told you it would work, I told you, I told you!” he babbled into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt huffed a laugh. “So you did bard, so you did. Thank you.”

Jaskier pulled back, wiping away his tears as a brilliant grin took its place. “I love you. So much.”

Geralt grabbed one of Jaskier’s hands and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. “I love you too Jaskier.”

And then, the others were there. Ciri joyfully plastering herself against Geralt’s back, shouting in happiness. The sorceresses were a little more dignified but their relief was also palpable.

By the time they made it back to the inn, night had properly fallen. Jaskier ordered for a large dinner to be sent up, as well as their best ale. Tonight was a night of celebration.

When Jaskier entered their room, he was stuck breathless again. Geralt caught his gaze when he entered the room, and the sheer joy and love he saw in those golden eyes made him feel like he was flying. He was struck, stuck, he couldn’t move. Geralt rose from where Ciri had been playing with his hair and came to him, stopping when there was barely an inch between them.

“Hello.”

Jaskier blushed. Geralt was brusque and roughness, practicality and reason. He was not the romantic sort, and Jaskier never denied him that. But when the mood did strike, Melitele help him, Jaskier often wondered how he survived the night alive.

“Hi.”

Geralt’s smile only grew as he heard the bashfulness in his bard’s voice. He moved forward, closing the remaining inch so they were chest to chest, and Geralt slipped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him closer still. Jaskier yelped, fingers grabbing Geralt’s shirt and fisting them.

Brilliant molten gold met clear sky blue, the gaze stretching a second into an eternity, before Geralt kissed him. A kiss so full of passion and love that Jaskier felt his knees give, Geralt’s arm the only thing keeping him standing.

Distantly he heard a catcall and a whistle, before something hit his head.

“Ow.” Jaskier said as he broke the kiss, rubbing the spot on his forehead as he caught his breath. He couldn’t even imagine what he looked like right now.

“There are children present you perverts.” Yennefer stated, deadpan. Ciri had a high blush in her cheeks but she was also radiating joy.

Before Jaskier could come up with a retort, Geralt spoke “Then you better take yourselves to your room. We will see you in the morning.”

“But Geralt, we promised to celebrate…” Jaskier started only to stop at the heated gaze Geralt sent his way. He gulped. He knew that look. His pants started to feel a little tighter. Was the room always this hot?

“Spoilsport.” Yennefer complained as the three ladies stood up. And just to annoy them, she intercepted the food and drink and directed it to be sent to her room instead. “Those two have a different kind of celebration in mind.”

Jaskier blushed harder, but thoughts of what all Yennefer could be teaching Ciri about sex fled his mind as his Witcher pressed himself to his back, a solid line of heat that was starting to make him feel faint.

Right then.

Celebration.

///

The next morning, Jaskier woke up with a groan. The bed was empty, but the spot next to him was warm. Geralt must have just risen. Jaskier sat up slowly, stretching himself out, groaning as muscles twitched and cracked.

He fell back onto the sheets, exhausted but satisfied. Last night had been…something else.

Just then the door opened to admit his Witcher.

“And where were you so early in the morning.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow as he smiled, “Just woken up, and already asking questions bard?”

“Always” Jaskier answer, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I was out. Training with Ciri.”

“That’s good.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said as he sat down next to Jaskier. The bard shivered and leaned into the Witcher’s touch when he carded his fingers through chestnut brown locks. “You need to pack up. We are leaving after breakfast.”

Jaskier whined. “You get better and we can’t even take a full day to enjoy? You drive a cruel bargain Witcher.”

“I recall you enjoying a whole lot last night.”

Jaskier blushed “That’s different.”

“I’m sure it is. Now up, get dressed. The others are waiting for you downstairs.”

Jaskier pouted. “A kiss first?”

Geralt shook his head fondly and leaned down, only to brace himself when Jaskier pulled him down fully. The kiss was just starting to turn more heated, Geralt gripping the edge of the blanket still preserving Jaskier’s modesty when a knock at the door startled them away from each other.

“Oi, we have to leave with some daylight still left, you can have your fun at the next stop!” Yennefer called through the door.

“We-” Geralt started, clearing his throat “We will be down in a few minutes Yen!”

Jaskier whined as he flopped back on the bed, the arousal completely doused. “I hate her.”

“No you don’t. But if we aren’t down in a few minutes, Yen will send up Ciri. Get up.”

Jaskier nodded and rolled over, starting to put on clothes as Geralt helped to pack the last of their things.

Together they went downstairs to meet their family for breakfast.

And as Jaskier curled into Geralt’s side in the booth, he relaxed into the sounds of their group’s laughter, a rare total contentment melting him on the inside as almost all the people he cared about in the world shared a meal, safe for the moment.  

[fuwafuwamedb]

Mudi Kuno (Seer! Hakuno, Archer Gilgamesh, Enkidu)

“You should take care not to eat that,” Hakuno warned the old woman sitting near the medic’s home, “your ailment is one of hunger, not of spirit.”

The woman looked up, smiling softly as she guzzled down the strange brew from the medic. “Perhaps it is, but I like the taste.”

To each their own, but she wouldn’t be seeing that woman around here soon enough.

Hakuno sighed a little, pulling her steed onwards to the typical corner of her little world. The rain was just a slight drizzle, making it easier to get her horse to relax and linger under the overhang she put into place at the side of her wagon. She pulled the steps down from her wagon next, taking just a moment to put the wedges under her wagon wheels to keep her wagon from coasting off while she worked.

A hammer to them would ensure any movement of them would notify her immediately. Someone would have to really hit them out from under her wheels.

She turned her little sign.

She pulled her veil into place over her face.

And thus, the great Mudi Kuno was available for business.

For the sake of her business though, she tossed more of those gifts from satisfied customers to the side of her cart, waiting as the usual scurrying folk came and went with goodies to sell to those traveling through.

She hoped they earned their money.

A young maiden came to her first.

She was small and foolish.

In her mind’s eye, she could see how the woman had been pining after another woman’s betrothed. She could see how the woman lingered over the man, soothing his brow after plowing the fields and bathing closer and closer in the nearby river to where the man often bathed.

“I love a man,” the girl whispered. “My parents wish to sell me to another. I do not know him though. I can’t just give up my love, can I?”

Hakuno pressed her hand to the girl’s own.

She could see the other man.

Young, hot blooded; he pined as she pined, having seen her bathing and followed her home to ensure her safety.

With a sigh, Hakuno smiled softly.

“Surrender the man you love. He grows a wrinkled brow and a lumpy dick. He cannot please a woman as your betrothed can.”

The woman stared at her, stunned.

“I speak of only what I see,” Hakuno told her. “The man you love is doomed… under…” Oh boy, what were these Sumerian gods again? “Ishtar. He thought himself arrogant and she has cursed him to be difficult and unpleasant for a woman. See to the one your parents feel strongly of. You will find that, unlike many women, you fall for him quite easily.”

“But-“

“I will not force you into this decision, but think upon this: When you go to wipe the man’s brow, has he ever smiled to you? Wipe your betrothed’s brow. You will see what I mean.”

Her future changed immediately.

Hakuno smiled as the girl scurried off to investigate these truths.

“Do all your company run from you?”

Hakuno glanced over to her sign, noting the two waiting to be attended to. The two men were bundled under fabrics, nice fabrics at that.

“I see one person at a time.”

The longer haired one moved forward.

“Tough break, my friend. I will begin first.”

As per usual, Hakuno offered a hand to help them up.

Her feet came out from under her the moment that they placed their hand in hers. The sights before her, the pain that racked her system, the sight of the rainfall coming down hard.

The other caught her, but she just…

“Mudi.”

The other figure moved forward, scowling around his veil and low hanging turban.

“What did you see?” The man… the best of friend to this creature, demanded.

Death.

Her eyes drifted up to the figure holding her, to those calm clay colored eyes. She could see the concern, the questions burning just beyond reach.

“…You have a difficult time ahead.”

The two snorted at her.

As though her response was some theatric rather than a serious warning about killing bulls and irate goddesses and death underneath pouring rain; these two were laughing at her. She could see the man wipe at his eye.

“Funny,” he told her, “but we were informed that you were giving accurate and detailed descriptions of the future, not teasing remarks about trials and tribulations.”

“I say what I see,” Hakuno growled. “And there’s nothing to find funny, King Gilgamesh. Protect your friend if you do not want them to die. Don’t piss off your gods.”

The two paused.

She could see the other lowering his veil, revealing the places of a face so smooth and so chistled that any of the starving artisans she had seen in her travels would have wept at the look of it. Their hands would have traced the man’s visage for hours on end, begging to be able to memorialize it.

There was no doubt that someone must have done so already.

“So you are aware of who we are.”

Hakuno gave a nod.

“Then what do you see in my future?”

She reached out a tentative hand, finding the other rolling his eyes a moment before he gave her his own.

The roughened and large hands held hers, allowing her the insight.

A young blond stood before her, with nothing to do. The young boy changed into a young man, turning away company in lieu of fighting. Then there was the man who had allowed her to hold his hand, preparing to fight and become friends, strangely enough, with this clay being near her. And then…

Then there was a man holding her, standing before his throne with his arms around her person and his lips pressing to her temple. There was an edge to his face, something akin to fear forming in his eyes as he glanced over to his friend…

She had to let go.

“Well?”

I like this man?!

No, she just found him aesthetically pleasing. She couldn’t hang around for that misery. She couldn’t linger when…

Gods, but she’d known lingering near the kingdom of Uruk had been unwise. She’d known and she’d allowed herself to linger anyway.

“Well?” The king moved in closer. “You have held my hand. What have you seen, Mudi?”

“You should remain inside tomorrow. What you seek will not be available to you.”

The man scowled. “And what is it that I’m seeking, Mudi Kuno?”

A companion for his bed.

They both knew what he was seeking. Using women as he did, entertaining himself with the clay being in his rooms and throwing deflowered virgin after deflowered virgin from his bed; the man was still holding onto a string of hope for a companion. That string was impossible to see, impossible to discern, but it was there.

His grip on it was unerring.

“I suppose that is for you to decide. I merely know that you go seeking something tomorrow and are unsuccessful in your search of it.”

“Can I find it today?”

Hakuno shrugged. “I merely know that my visions tend to always happen. Unless the person themselves make the conscious choice to seek change, nothing can be done.”

“So tell me what I seek,” Gilgamesh insisted.

“I cannot.”

“Then what good is your guess at my future? You tell me I will be unsuccessful and that my friend will face conflict, but you give nothing in terms of detail.”

Hakuno shook her head. “I suppose I am not the clairvoyant that you seek then.”

Now leave.

Go back to your palace.

But the two didn’t leave. In fact, the king glanced at his friend a moment before holding his hand out.

She blinked.

“I allowed you to hold my hand for a moment and look into my spirit, you must do the same,” he argued. “Give me your hand.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Mudi, I will not ask again.”

This was a bad idea.

This was an incredibly bad idea.

Hakuno bolstered what energy she had, reaching out slowly only to find the man stealing her hand halfway. Their fingers laced together a moment before she felt something slam into her senses. It was like a headache was coming into fruition, like her mind was trying to replay some memory, but she kept clearing her head. She noted the dirt on the ground, the chill to the air, the scent of rain in the air-

“Stop blocking.”

He had a face. Yep. Two eyes. A nose. A mouth. He had jewelry tucked under the bottom of his turban fabric. She could see blond hair poking out a bit from the top of his turban.

Gilgamesh released her.

Hakuno sighed in relief.

Only a fool would let themselves be found out like that.

The man had slept with every woman from Uruk. His dick had sailed farther in a sea of women than any vagabond upon the river Euphrates had ever gone. There was no way in hell she was giving up her freedom for being used and abused like that. She wouldn’t be tossed aside.

“Gil,” the clay being called, drawing the king’s mounting interest away. “We should get back.”

“I will come again tomorrow,” the king warned her.

Hakuno smiled softly. “I fear I may have indigestion then.”

She would leave tonight. Once she gathered food and water, she’d venture to the north. The cold weather was nothing for her and her horse, Nag.

Watching the two leave her, Hakuno bounced from her wagon and over to her steed.

“I think I found someone with a worse attitude than you,” she told her beast. “Let’s get moving soon.”

[thuskindlyshescatters]

Team RWBY and the Very Long Day

Or maybe... not as long as you’d expect?

When the team reaches Atlas Academy and are brought on a tour, they’re dead tired. Now, as someone who’s gone on a number of college tours myself, I totally can relate. And plus, the team has had a really long day -- Volume 6 Chapter 10 through Volume 7 Chapter 2 have all been the same day.

However, it feels a lot longer for us than it should, since we saw it over a nine-month period, and they only experienced it in a day. But how long was that day specifically?

There’s a couple factors we need to consider: time zones, hour of sunset, flight hours, and actual in-show events. By evaluating this, we will determine: How long of a day were the past 6 chapters of RWBY? Is their exhaustion justified by canon events?

Spoilers, math, and lots of pointless reading below. 

I) Time Zone

According to this map (the fifth image) from the second “World of Remnant” short, we get a pretty good approximation of the location of Atlas. Argus is on the U-shaped peninsula a third of the way from Mistral to Atlas. Ideally, time zones would work in 24 hour-wide increments, so assuming there is NOT a huge Pacific-like ocean around Remnant’s back half, there is approximately a two-hour time difference between Argus and Atlas. This means the sun sets on Argus earlier than Atlas -- however, Atlas is further North, so sunset may be earlier for them relative to someone at a lower latitude in their timezone. Additionally, it also means the team may experience around two hours of jet lag upon arrival. 

II) Sunset

When the gang arrives in Atlas, it is night time. In Volume 6 Chapter 7, they arrive at Argus in mid-afternoon. Because the next episode’s scenes with Cordovin at the base and Maria in the garden do not have the same warm lighting, we can infer that those took place the next day, sometime during the middle of the day. They receive news that Oscar is missing and begin their search -- however, unless they were searching for him like in Volume 1 Chapter 16 (if you recall, that was 12 hours), it’s likely they were out of the house for no more than 4 hours. From the end of Volume 6 Chapter 8 to the end of Volume 6 Chapter 9 might have been from, call it, 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM -- meaning sunset was sometime within those hours. It is wintertime in the Northern hemisphere of Remnant (quick summary, it’s been about a year since the end of Volume 3 Chapter 12), so assuming they don’t have daylight savings time, this is a pretty reasonable estimate for when the sun would set in a city whose latitude is comparable to that of Paris. If we take a quick look back at Atlas, it is MUCH farther North than Argus, and is pretty much in the Arctic. If we compare map distances, Atlas might as well be in Iceland, as Paris and Reykjavik are 1,396 air miles away from each other. In December in Iceland, the sun sets at around 3:00 to 4:00 PM. Therefore, it is perfectly reasonable that people would still be up and about when it appears to be night time in Atlas. 

III) Flight Hours

What this means is that the team, in order to leave Argus during daytime (earlier than 5:30 PM) and to arrive in Atlas during nighttime (later than 4:00 PM) when there is a two-hour time difference between them, it works out to assume that the minimum time a flight on an Atlesian dropship would take from Argus to Atlas would be 4 hours. Even more generous would be to allow them 5 hours, considering the pace of the vehicle. 

IV) Events

I’d like to start with the evidence we see in Atlas and work backwards to make a fair assumption about when they arrive in Atlas. The amount of people on the streets and the fact that Dr. Polendina’s pharmacy is open makes me want to believe it’s before 6:00 PM. The Faunus miners we see on the passing vehicle makes me wonder if this is accurate, however, because I would assume the miners would work more unreasonable hours than that. I will chalk this up to be a case of world details being more important to show punctually than consistently. Anyways, if we say it’s 5:30 PM in Atlas when they arrive, then it’s likely 3:30 PM in Argus when they depart (accounting for a 4 hour flight and 2 hour time zone difference.)

Now, for the real numbers:

Ruby’s role in the heist takes place more or less in real time, while Blake and Yang’s excursion with Adam is punctuated by breaks of which we cannot know the duration. Therefore, knowing that Blake and Yang rejoin the group in Volume 6 Chapter 13, I will only recount the “cliff-side” events, as it were, to calculate the duration of the heist itself.

Volume 6 Chapter 10

We have no idea when the heist begins. Cordovin, being a military officer, would probably want Weiss to arrive at a sharp hour, so let’s call that hour “X:00″ o’clock. Based off of our previous calculations, the end of the heist must occur at around 3:30, so depending on their length, this hour could be 3:00 PM. (Spoiler: it totally will be.)

The episode begins on the Rooster Teeth website at 2:08 minutes, and from there it pretty much goes in real time until 4:50, which is the moment when Weiss loses scroll signal with Ruby. Ruby loses signal with Weiss at 6:02, so we can deduce that those next 1:12 minutes of Ruby’s timeline are occurring simultaneously with what we see of Weiss. From the beginning of the heist to when Ruby loses signal is 2:42 minutes in real time (how efficient of Weiss!). From 6:02 to 11:02 is the next realtime sequence, at which point we cut to Blake and Adam, but again, we’ll be ignoring them for now. Now, the heist has been in progress for 7:42 minutes; it is X:07.

Volume 6 Chapter 11

The episode officially begins at 2:08 again. The first scene of them talking lasts until 4:01, when it cuts away from them planning to attack. Let’s be generous and give them 30 unspoken seconds where some offscreen planning occurs, making that first sequence about 2:37 minutes. Then, the sequence continues from 4:01 to 9:44 (no, I’m not counting slow motion because that’s dumb). Then, we cut away again. This episode’s total real-time stacks up to 8:20 minutes. Therefore, the heist has now been occurring for 16:02 minutes, so it’s about X:16 o’clock.

Volume 6 Chapter 12

This episode actually starts at 1:57 -- wow, wild. It runs continuously to 7:25 (no, cutting back and forth between dialogue doesn’t fucking count), making this section 5:28 minutes. We cut away to Bees, but we return to Cordovin at 11:42, pretty much exactly where it left off, and that carries on to the end of the episode at 12:54. The total of the episode comes out to be 6:40 minutes, since the Bees got a lot of murder screentime. We are also now 22:42 minutes into the heist, and it is X:22 o’clock.

Volume 6 Chapter 13

Cinder and Neo take up the first few minutes of screentime, so the episode starts for our main heroes at 3:33. It kind of carries over from the previous episode, but there’s enough fighters in the air that I’ll give them 90 seconds of cushion time to compensate for realism. I will also add 30 seconds between when Weiss says they destroyed the mech to when they’re all in the airship taking flight at 4:21. Since they like skipping time so much for dramatic effect, I’ll add ANOTHER 30 seconds between when Ruby realizes she has to face it alone and they hatch their second plan at 8:39. I’m going to stop the clock at 9:55 because Ruby yells for Jinn and stops time in-universe until her Silver Eyes moment at 11:16, which, while awesome, is the first event that occurs once time speeds back up to normal. So that whole first section, including padding, was 8:52 minutes. Then, from Silver Eyes to the end of this time section when they time skip to their arrival at 13:14 is 1:58. Finally, the episode cuts to credits at 16:51, the last line being “welcome home,” making the total for the episode 14:27. 

I’d like to note that the episode was 10:50 minutes before they timeskipped to their arrival, so it was 33:32 minutes into the heist and X:33 when they left for Atlas. We said earlier it would be best if they left at around 3:30 PM, and what do you know: the number works out! We can therefore pretty confidently say the heist began at 3:00 PM, which will be important later.

Volume 7 Chapter 1

That’s right folks, we’re not done! Now in Atlas, it is 5:33 PM, just like we predicted it would be. The line “welcome home” is said at 0:38, where I’ll be starting the clock for this episode, but I’ll add the 3:37 of dialogue that occurred the previous episode. They cut away to some pretty Atlas shots while they descend into the city, so I’ll provide 60 seconds of offscreen time. From there, we stay in real time until they put the ship down, which I’ll again provide another 60 seconds for. After their encounter with the MAGA (Make Atlas Great Again, obvs) hecklers, let’s say they walk for another 60 seconds before reaching Piedro’s pharmacy. Continuing to the end of the episode, it’s pretty continuous, except for the extra 90 seconds I’ll provide for them being loaded into the airship. The realtime total for this episode is 18:24 minutes, so it’s been 4 hours and 51:56 minutes since they began the heist, and it’s now 5:51 PM in Atlas.

Volume 7 Chapter 2

The episode starts at 1:46. Let’s be generous and say they’ve been in the air for 2 minutes so far. The episode plays out pretty much in real time until 15:18 where we enter Penny’s montage, so I’ll add about 3 more minutes of travel time to and from Ironwood’s office within Atlas Academy and account the Ironqrow moment for the time it took offscreen for the rest of the group to start Penny’s tour. Then, because I’ve been on many a college tour myself, I expect they’ll be walking for about 10 minutes before they start to feel like they need to collapse. So, in total, this episode takes 29:02 minutes of real time, bringing the amount of time since the start of the heist to 5 hours and 20:58 minutes, making it now approximately 6:21 PM.

In that time, various members of the team have singlehandedly overwhelmed two Argus soldiers, taken control of an airship, fought brutally with their archnemesis, battled a giant mech, flown into the barrel of a cannon, murdered a man, entered a maelstrom of Grimm, obliterated a behemoth of a Final Boss, taken a 4 hour flight, fought an onslaught of new Grimm, reunited with former besties, sisters, and colleagues alike, been arrested, and worst of all gone on a college campus tour.

V) Conclusions

I don’t think the team is suffering from that much jetlag, but I’d definitely be exhausted with that much happening even if it was only 8:21 PM in “my time.” (International travel takes a lot out of you, man.) Additionally, they probably got up earlier in the day (maybe around 9:00 AM, Argus time, if it was a lazy morning), so at this point, they’ve been awake for 11 hours, assuming no one took a nap on the airship.

However, I was surprised to find that even though all 6 of these episodes happened in one day, the actual heist part took only 33 minutes, and their first day in Atlas was about 47 minutes, maybe actually longer. That means that a LOT of the bullshit I listed above was packed into 33 minutes, and the remaining time stretched out over a leisurely hour or so. This post also was made on 11/09, so it might even happen that the next episode CONTINUES this exhausting day, in which case, expect an update.

TLDR: In conclusion, the team deserves to be tired AF because of all the crazy stuff that’s happened to them today. However, they were not awake for an exceptionally long time, nor did the events in Argus actually take up much of their day, much to my surprise.

What was the point of this again?

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

I'm watching the entire series of Game of Thrones for the first time. I've made my way to season 3, making sure to watch as many commentaries as I can. Last night I listened  to the Set Design / Costume Design commentary for S3 Ep 4: "And Now His Watch is Ended".

I know most historical costume Enthusiasts / Critics either don't touch, or make exceptions for Fantasy productions and on the whole I agree with that. But something about the Game of Thrones costumes (and how the show's popularity has impacted costume design on productions actually set in the medieval / Renaissance time period) has just really been bothering me.

(Perhaps you see what I mean here with Contessina De Bardi in Medici: Master's of Florence and her sneaky mini structured neckline)

It may be a couple of things, but lots of the ... insights from Michele Clapton shed some light on this for me. I have a few questions.

First: North of the Wall, we spend some time in this episode with The Night's Watch at Craster's Keep. Of Craster's wives, Clapton said [Disclaimer this is not an *exact* quote because I couldn't find a transcript anywhere and my sister sent back the Netflix DVD and I do not have an idetic memory - but the important parts of the comment are, in my own estimation, accurate] : "With Craster's wives I got this idea of them just having bits of rabbit, whatever they can get, woven with grass..." this raises in my mind, SO many questions.

Firstly - we ARE north of the Wall, yes? Where,  as we have seen, the ground is just about ALWAYS covered in snow, or 90% mud. So where is the grass coming from? And also what they are wearing is so clearly not grass?

This also provides a segue into my second question.

Do sheep exist in Westeros?

Why is it that this show has such an aversion to wool? Every man wearing protective clothing is wearing Leather (or rather I should perhaps say "vegan leather"). Every Hearty Weave (TM) appears to be an attempt at Linen; and every Fine Lady is wearing Silk satin, or if you're Olenna, silk brocade (in obviously hot weather, because naturally elderly ladies benefit from heat stroke).

I've not seen one woollen cloak. Not. One wool... anything really. I ask myself "Why?"

100% natural wool is wondeful. It's naturally flame retardant; it keeps you warm; it breathes well; it's soft in a light weave; it's strong in a heavy one; its water repellent. So what is with this endemic erasure of wool? Even productions like 2018's Mary Queen of Scots have had costume designers like Alexandra Byrne who, when searching for a durable fabric for cold and rainy Scotland, came out with a wardrobe comprised entirely of DENIM. Which,  as we all know is the WARMEST AND MOST COMFORTABLE of fabrics when damp. Now we all know Byrne's real reason for using denim is because it's cheap. The problem is Byrne tried to justify it by saying all of that guff about wanting a fabric that wears well in rain (Which,  I cannot stress this enough- denim does not) and, of course because denim would be "ReLaTaBLe". But I digress.

All that aside, perhaps the things that bother me most are components and composition. Which is where we get into the wooly (heh) area of me being a person with interest in HISTORICAL costume, critiquing a FANTASY series.

So let's just get this out of the way: I'm not saying that anything that the costume Department did with this series was "Wrong" [with one exception, but we'll get to that when we get to it]. I'm just going to say that I don't like the way it was approached, and my reasons on WHY. 

I think I have a modicum of justification for my opinions here because, fantasy is fantasy, yes but the concepts of "Fantasy" and "Medieval" have become so strongly connected that the line between them has become so blurred in the modern mind as to be almost non-existent anymore. We're in a strange cycle here. "Fantasy" was directly inspired by Medieval and over the years took more and more creative wiggle room because, the great thing about fantasy is, you can make it whatever you want it to be aesthetically. But as Fantasy and Medieval have become so intertwined, more and more creative license has been taken with the latter, so that the original inspiration has become beholden to imitate the art it inspired.

But I'll save my pontification on the modern eye and Medieval fashion for another post, and try to keep on track only as far as this affects my feelings on Game of Thrones.

My justification is that GoT is not just inspired by Medieval England/Europe in the broad sense that most Fantasy of the Sword and Sorcery variety is; it was SPECIFICALLY inspired by ONE ERA of English History, The Wars of the Roses [15th century] (with character inspiration from other eras, as recent as the 16th century).

The thing about being interested in Historical Fashion is, once you know it, you can't UN-KNOW it. For example, my understanding of the medieval approach to clothing composition is "Cut as little as you need to because sewing is tedious". You don't want to have to sew more than you have to because what's the point of that? Practically no clothing in the medieval period was tailored because why bother doing that when you can just sinch it with a belt, or lace it up the sides? Is any of that applied here? Nah. Because when we look at Sansa's dresses, look at those obviously machine stitched, perfectly pristine seams. ~whistles~.

I'll never throw shade at a costume department for using sewing machines, but I will shade them for not bothering at all to make clothing for a universe that has no sewing machines look like it was made in a universe that has no sewing machines.

  I can agree with not holding Fantasy series to historical standards - to a point. To wit: as long as it's believable IN-UNIVERSE.

AS FAR AS WE KNOW, the GoT universe doesn't yet have Mechanized looms. Now I know that they make some pretty unreal lace in Myr, but I just can't think of any in-universe justification for the texture of Danny's blue number in season 3.

Another thing that bothers me is the proliferation of corsets and how those corsets are approached.

Here are some historical corset facts.

• the term 'corset' wasn't widely used to refer to structured undergarments outside of France until the late 18th century (1700's). Before tart they were called "stays" (16th-17th century) or "a pair of bodies" (15th-16th century)

• structured undergarments first appeared in the 15th century, as the bodice of under-dresses(kirtles) were lined with reed or Buckram to provide back and breast support and provide a smooth surface for the gown worn over it. It also provided a foundation for multiple layers of petticoats, so the waistbands wouldn't dig into your sides.

• Structured undergarments that existed independent of a kirtle or petticoat aren't in evidence until the 16th century (Elizabethan/Renaissance) and aren't widely used by all classes until the late 17th century.

• Most 16th-17th century boned foundation garments had straps, since they didn't reach down much farther than the natural waist,  unless they were designed with a high back.

• Corsets, stays and other structured undergarments were never worn without a shift/chemise/slip underneath because...

• Corsets chafe.

• Corsets are difficult to clean, but shifts are easy to launder. Shifts protect your skin from chafing and protect your very expensive corset from the oils produced by your skin

(Reproduction example of 15th century style kirtle, from Prior Attire. Source video here)

(Sansa's... corset here has this bizarre low back and 18th century style tabs on the bottom? It also seems to lace only down to her navel. Not quite sure what's going on here, it really doesn't seem to be supporting her at all.)

The reason I hate, hate, hate the way Sansa is costumed under her...  very suit-like gowns is  because she never ever is shown (so far) wearing anything under her corset; her gowns are all long-lined, flowing and loose fitting; and show only wears (usually) one petticoat under them. So in short, I dislike that Sansa wears a corset because Sansa has NO REASON to be wearing one.

◇◇◇◇Another Thing◇◇◇◇

I want to spotlight on a little thing from the commentary that really hits on one of my larger problems with the aesthetic interpretation of this show in general.

During one of the scenes with Stannis and Melisandre, Clapton mentions that they made Melisandre's hair a darker shade of red in season 3 than it was previously. She says the phrase "sort of makes her more earthy".

Yes. Let's make the FIRE priestess more EARTHY. LET'S JUST DO THAT. AS OF THIS SHOW ISN'T "EARTHY" enough.

There's this fantastic quote I read somewhere by GRRM about how he loves fantasy because it's colorful, where real life is gray and brown and olive and dull. Melisandre is arguably the most colourful character in the show/series. In the books, EVERYTHING about her is Red. And not just red. She's scarlet and crimson. When she's introduced there's this fantastic description of her wearing flowing robes of scarlet silk with slashes in it revealing a darker, blood red fabric underneath.

That was passed up for a monotone, very simply cut red gown and I can't stop asking myself why a designer would scrap something like that without even trying to pay homage to it.

This show just sort of takes everything colourful in Martin's world and MAKES it gray and dark for the sake of Gritty Realism (TM). I suppose that's part of trying to appeal to a wider audience, but I just find it increadibly visually uninteresting.

◇◇◇◇ONE MORE LITTLE THING◇◇◇◇

Is this the sofa from the Study in Clue?

???

[straight-into-the-animus]

Homecoming (Thalexios)

The third of my Thalexios prompts! (A little fluffier after the last one, wheww) I would like to thank @pandoravidal for the wonderful prompt idea, I hope you enjoyed! 

No warnings with this one; fluff and reunion fic abound of Alexios returning to Sparta, maybe light spoilers for those who aren’t so far into the game.

Read on Ao3 here

The ground has never felt so uncertain under Alexios’ feet as it did now, in Sparta. In his “home”. His search for the truth had taken him all around Greece, from oracles to battlefields to across the sea and the depth of Poseidon's fury. 

All the way to family. And now, all the way to the land he thought he’d never go back to again.

When they had come in eyesight of the shore, Barnabas had remarked that the bird always knew when it had come back to its nest, no matter how far away it had been. As he had started to walk through the streets too, he began to understand. No matter how much he may have looked an outsider among the soldiers in their shining armor of gold and red, the blood that flowed in his veins was the same as in theirs. He had even likely bled alongside some of them in their little war against the Athenians.

The sun was at its peak as he stopped his journey near the statue of Leonidas, at his tomb. The area wasn’t overly crowded, but he wondered just how many people stared at him. Likely none of them knew who he was, what was strapped to his back. What would his grandfather say had he been alive now? These thoughts didn’t plague him often, but now it was if they were beyond forthcoming.

He was so engrossed he barely heard the man’s voice behind him until a hand accompanied it, hesitant but warm and calloused as it rested on his arm. “Alexios?”

Out of instinct Alexios spun around and grabbed the man’s wrist, bewildered but warning filled glare melting away to complete shock. “Thaletas?” He could scarcely breathe it out, eyes roving over the man in front of him before he was pulled into a tight hug, a hand thumping his shoulder. He was helpless to do anything but hug back, feeling the press of steel and leather against him.

“Alexios, dear Gods, it’s wonderful to see you. How long since Mykonos… six months?”

“Had to have been. You’re back in Sparta so soon?” Alexios pulled away from the hug, hands resting on the shoulders of the other man for just a while longer before they fell away to the side, just brushing his arms.

“I just arrived yesterday. I was called back for reports, and since it seemed stable, I didn’t think it was in much danger with my absence.” Thaletas shook his head, in some form of disbelief. “Never did I think I would see you in Sparta. Not after… I thought you said you couldn’t return.”

“I… I suppose I found what I was looking for. And it all lead me back here, anyway. Every road I took.” Alexios gestured around to the city and the fields -- he had avoided looking east towards Mount Taygetos ever since he had come into view of the land -- and Thaletas let out a small breath of laughter, crossing his arms behind the small of his back as he seemed to appreciate the view as well.

“Sparta has that effect on people. Seems right that you were drawn to this as well.” Thaletas nodded with his head towards the statue in front of them. “You don’t find this the most beautiful part of all?”

“I’ve seen bigger.” Alexios smirked just a bit, intentions and meaning vague even as he saw the faintest amount of pink cover Thaletas’ cheeks.

“I’m sure you have.” Gods, how much had he missed this? And how much had he thought he would never get to have it again? But then he remembered Mykonos, and how they had spoken of the Fates bringing them together again, but just as much about Kyra and the plans the rebels had for rebuilding that island. And then he had to dim the light inside of him just a bit more as Thaletas continued, staring up at the statue. “They’ve had this up as long as I can remember. They built it after the Battle of Thermopylae. The great King Leonidas.”

“My mother… She spoke highly of him. Told me many stories about him, about what his legacy meant to us and our family.” He knew what was coming before Thaletas even could give him a look of confusion and questioning. “Leonidas is my grandfather. Father of my mother.”

“Alexios.” Thaletas gave another one of those half-laughs, which was the equivalent of a ful laugh for him, but it quickly died as they both stared at each other. His eyes widened just a bit, looking from the statue of the king to the misthios. “King Leonidas is your grandfather.”

“Is it so unbelievable? If I grew out my beard, I’d look just like him.” Alexios joked, but Thaletas just shook his head, their eyes locking.

“Your life is fantastic, Alexios. Something straight out of… Something Hesiod himself would envy writing.” Such pure sincerity fell from his lips that Alexios found himself growing shy under it, head ducking away to look at another spot in the distance.

“You’re too kind.” Alexios finally admitted, turning back to look at Thaletas but finding his attention turned beyond the city as well.

“Are you busy? Or waiting for anything?”

Alexios knew, rationally, that yes, he was. It was the whole purpose for his being here, waiting for the time for his audience with the kings of Sparta alongside his mother and Brasidas. Thaletas just happened to be simply the best coincidence that could happen at that time. But the other part of him knew that the thread of fate was meant to be followed, that he was to be strung along by the thread until they reached the end. And he had time, even if it was time for a final goodbye.

“I have time. What did you have in mind?”

“Something special.”

---------------

The journey led them out of the city and more into the countryside, heading north up into the sloping hills.

“How were the Silver Islands when you left?” Alexios was finally able to get out after some time of companionable but filled silence.

“Fine. The Athenians have left us alone.” Thaletas look back at the misthios as they walked. “The government implemented by the Spartans and the rebels seem to be stable enough.”

“Kyra is doing well?”

Thaletas was silent until they finally stopped on top of a hill near ruins farther away from the city; it was in view, but barely. When he spoke again, it was measured. “Last I saw her, she was.”

“Oh.” Alexios nodded, crossing his arms. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing well after everything. She will make a fine wife when everything is truly settled, I’m sure.”

“Alexios.” Thaletas was quiet, but his voice was firm. “We haven’t…Before I left, we weren’t together in such a way.”

“No? But you both seemed-”

Thaletas sighed, hands behind his back as they fidgeted nervously. “I know what it seemed. But I… I couldn’t feel for her as I did for you. Every night, on those islands, all I could think about was the beach. Those ruins.” He looked over at Alexios, a hand hesitantly reaching out for his shoulder.. “What we said to each other.”

“Thaletas, I-”

“They weren’t just words to me. Not then. And not now. Alexios, I lo-”

He didn’t get to finish as Alexios reached for him and pulled him close, lips meeting roughly. Their arms wrapped around each other tightly, Alexios’ hand trailing up Thaletas’ armor to play with the wisps of curls there at the nape of his neck, earning him a shiver. Gods, how much had he missed this? And how much had he thought he would never get to have it again? It was so, so easy in the soldier’s arms to forget everything and once again melt into security and further on into an emotion he was scared to name.

Things were not so easily forgotten. Some pain was still there. But for now, for just an hour or two, he was content to ignore it because of what this was.

“You didn’t get to let me finish.” Thaletas was breathless as they pulled away eventually, foreheads resting against each other.

“Unless your words were for me to drown in the Aegean Sea, I didn’t need to hear anything else.” Alexios gave a barely there smile, excitement pouring through it.

Thaletas smirked just a bit, mischief dancing in on his words. “And if I said I wanted to take you here and now?”

“Don’t give me any ideas.” Alexios ignored the sharp bit of pleasure that shot through him at the idea. Delos was still fresh in his mind. “Maybe later tonight, should all things go well.” He sighed, hand still at the nape of Thaletas’ neck as he stroked his cheek with his thumb. “I seek an audience with the Kings first. I’ve been through what can only be compared to the trials of Herakles for this.”

“The Kings? You’ve been busy. What do you need to see them for?”

“My citizenship, my house, among other things. Yes,” He noted at the look, “it’s a very long story.”

“I’m sure. When is your audience?”

“In a few hours, if I’m accurate with the time.”

“I want to go with you.”

Alexios furrowed his brow, pulling away in the embrace just a bit more with reluctance to look over the soldier. “What?”

“I want to go with you, Alexios. To the Kings.” His eyes flitted away for a second, seeming to think of other things for a second, before shaking his head just barely as if dismissing an idea. Before Alexios could ask him about it, he continued. “I can vouch for you as well, your performance in Mykonos. I’ll help you. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thaletas, it’s not like that. And you don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I don’t want to leave your side, Alexios. Especially now. Or ever, if I can help it.”

The words hung heavy in the air between the both of them, a promise made only in the sights of the Gods themselves. Alexios was silent for a long time before squeezing Thaletas’ arms just slightly, a comfort for himself just a little bit.

“You say that.”

“I mean it. I was a fool then. Now that I realize I have a chance again, I won’t be so foolish.” Thaletas said.

“I don’t care if you’re a fool. I care if you’re there or not. But the Kings won’t be easy to speak to.” He wanted to tell him about the Cult of Kosmos, about the danger he could be walking into, but he held back. 

“I know. You’re going to need me there any way. So, if you’re sure you don’t have time for what I’d much rather do with you,” Alexios couldn’t help a good natured roll of his eyes, “then we’ll head back to the city to prepare you. And you can explain things to me.”

“Fine.” Alexios pulled him in for one more kiss, unable to help himself. He had once asked Thaletas if he would stay by his side, “now and forever”. Back then, he hadn’t known how much those words meant. But now he did. But the weight wasn’t unbearable; it was warm, settling like a cloak on his body and keeping him safe from everything and everyone else. “And afterwards, should all go well, perhaps a trip out here for a ‘celebration’ wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“I knew you’d see things my way, Eagle-Bearer.” Thaletas smiled, and Alexios had never seen the future clearer, at least for now.

---------------

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request!  If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

[sunmoonandeddie]

great! i love your writing and your blog

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,656

summary: Steve can’t get a certain wolf out of his mind after the defeat of Thanos.

warnings: swearing

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long!  I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Stevefrowned as he stared at the woman standing in front of him.  She seemed normal enough, from what he couldsee.

But thenagain, so did Bruce until he turned into the Hulk.

“I’msorry, what?” Natasha said, her hands on her hips.  “Fury sent you here?”

Younodded, leaning against the frame of the doorway you were standing in.  “Before he got dusted.  Sent out an alarm.”

Carol wasstaring at her with a sort of appreciation that the others had yet tohave.  The blonde walked towards her,holding out her hand for her to shake. “You’re a lycanthrope.”

“Alycanthrope?  You mean a werewolf?” Tonyscoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

But Thorjust ignored him, his eyes lighting up. “I thought your kind was extinct.”

“We werehunted for centuries, and we were almost wiped out.  But my kind is resilient.  We went underground until we learned how tohide in plain sight.”  A sad smile tuggedat your lips.  “My pack is the only oneleft.”

“How haveyou survived this long?” He asked.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.has been protecting us,” you said, feeling a burst of sadness at the loss ofyour dear friend, Nick Fury.  “Peggyfirst found out about our existence in 1968, when my grandfather was packleader.  The only person she ever toldabout us was Nick.”

“Whatfamily are you from?” Carol asked, her eyes wide and bright.  It wasn’t often that she was amazed, with howmany years she spent scouring the universe for people who needed help.  She didn’t even care that the others werewatching them like they had two heads.

You movedfurther into the room, sensing that even if the others didn’t quite accept you,Carol and Thor would make them see that they needed your help.  You were an expert in survival and inhunting.  If anyone could find Thanos, itwould be you.  “The Arctic family.”

Yourfamily had survived because you were descended from one of the most resilientsub species of wolf.  You could survive freezingcold temperatures and a long time without food. You were tough and mysterious and so many things that Steve Rogers wascurrently trying to understand.

Said maincrossed his arms over his chest, his baby blue eyes narrowed at you.  “How did you survive the Snap?”

You turnedyour gaze to him, becoming steely.  “Likeanyone else.  Luck.  We realized quickly that if we were in ourwolf form, we wouldn’t be affected.  TheStones regarded us as animals.”  Yougritted your teeth, your jaw tensing. “But we still lost many for how small our pack is.”

You hadlost your father, the leader of the pack, and your older brother, and had beenforced to become the alpha in their absence. Your brother was supposed to take over the title once your fatherpassed, not you.  While you had some ideaof what went into leading, you were mostly learning on the job, and it wasturning out to be much harder than you had expected.

“Sorryabout Rogers and the others,” Carol said, shooting a glare at the othercaptain.  “You’d think they’d be used topeople who are different by now.”

“Can wesee your wolf form?” Bruce asked curiously.

Ah, BruceBanner.  Fury had told you abouthim.  A man of intellect with a monsterwithin.  You could relate, though you’dbeen raised believing that the wolf within you was just as much a part of youas the human side.  You were one being,one soul.  You were taught that you coulddestroy but also create.

You cockedyour head to the side, regarding him for a moment.  “Only if I can see yours.”

Natasha,from where she was standing behind him, bristled, though he soothed her byplacing his hand on top of hers.  “It wasunfair of me to ask such a thing of you,” he relented.  “I’m just curious.”

“I’m sureyou are,” you said with a faint smile. “I don’t fault you for that.”

“If youdon’t mind me asking,” Steve said, coughing to clear his throat, “Why the hellwould Fury think you could help us?”

“Ifyou want to find Thanos, I’m your best bet.”

Steve bithis lip as he got off of his motorcycle, hitting the kickstand as he did.  It had been four months since the defeat ofThanos and the world was getting back to normal.

At least,as normal as it could be.

But therewas something that he couldn’t let go of. Or, rather, someone.  He had triedhis best, but he couldn’t get his mind off of you.  The way you spoke, the wisdom in your eyes.Everything about you drew him in like a moth to light.

As hestared up at the gates, he took in a deep breath.  He had managed to get your location from NickFury, even though the man had been hesitant. That is, until he had explained his reasoning, and then the man had justchuckled and shook his head, like he knew a secret that Steve didn’t.

It was alaugh he had heard from you many times, evidence of how the S.H.I.E.L.D. agenthad had at least a small hand in your upbringing.  Even if he’d just visited a few times a year,it had left an impact.

He pushedopen the gates, knowing that he was going to have to leave his bike there.  From what he’d learned from your time on theteam was that lycanthropes were extremely territorial.  It had only gotten worse when almost your entirekind had been wiped out.

He tookhis time to appreciate the walk up the long gravel driveway, reveling in thelate summer air.  There was a coolbreeze, a promise of the autumn to come.

Itreminded him of the first time he’d seen your wolf form.

“Have youseen Y/N?” Steve asked as he poked his head into the lab of the compound.  The building was so quiet with half the teamgone, and everyone could immediately feel it when one of them wasn’t home.

Tonydidn’t even glance up from where he was tinkering on a suit.  Something made of spandex that looked similarto Natasha’s suit but also not quite.  “Ithink she said something about going on a walk earlier.  Didn’t pay too much attention.”

“Thanks,Tony,” he said as he quickly left, already heading for the exit.  You’d been with the team for about twomonths, and summer was coming to a close. You’d fit in easy with the team. Almost too easy.  You’d also beena great help, even if they weren’t much farther than they had already been.

But anyprogress was good progress in Steve’s mind.

He walkedacross the huge field in front of the compound, finding tracks almost thesecond he got to the edge of the woods. So you’d changed once you reached the trees, out of view from thewindows of the compound.

Smart.

Stevecontinued on, following the tracks until he came to a river with a clearing onthe other side.  It was remarkablypeaceful, the water bubbling as it drifted by.

In momentslike this, it was easy to imagine that the Snap hadn’t happened.

The onlypossible plus side to the Snap was that the destruction of the Earth hadconsiderably slowed and almost stopped completely.

His eyesdrifted over the quiet scene, until he spotted it.  Or, more accurately, he spotted you.  A gorgeous white wolf was sprawled out on thebank, bathing in the warm sunlight drifting down through the trees.  The light almost seemed to make your whitefur shimmer.

Youlooked… ethereal.

His heartpounded in his chest, though he couldn’t tell you why.  But then again, he also wouldn’t be able totell you why he’d been searching for you if anyone happened to ask.  He couldn’t describe the feeling he gotaround you.  It was like…  It was warmth.  Understanding.  He didn’t feel as though the weight of theworld was on his shoulders when he was with you, because you understood.

Both ofyou had been handed a title that held too much weight and too young an age.

He hadlistened to your stories of your pack, your family, and though you hadn’t saidit explicitly, he had read between the lines. You hadn’t ever wanted to be the alpha. You were just supposed to live your life, maybe find a mate and havepups eventually.

He hadrealized rather quickly that you’d lost both your father and your brother inthe Snap, and had been the one to see it occur.  Steve also knew that you were most likely theone that had suggested turning into your wolf forms to see if it would preventyou from being affected, and it had worked. The rest of your pack was safe at home in the north.

He frozeas your head poked up, and those gorgeous eyes fixed on him.  Even in your wolf form, your eyes were thesame.  They were warm and inviting and god, Steve really needed to stop becausehe was sure you could hear his heartbeat from across the small river.

You got toyour feet, shaking out your coat, before swimming across the river andapproaching him.  He stood completelystill.  The only sign that he was alivewas the shallow rise and fall of his chest. When he didn’t do anything, you nudged your muzzle against his hand,prompting him to run his fingers gently down your neck and through your thickfur.  It was somehow soft as velvet andthick as a warm winter blanket.  Hereally had no idea how you weren’t dying in the late summer heat.

Thereseemed to be mirth in your eyes as you raised up on your hindquarters andrested your paws on his chest.  You wereeye level with him now as he rested his hands on your flank to keep you steady.

“Doyou…  Do you want me to sit?”  He asked slowly, raising his eyebrows.  The blond let out a laugh as you licked hischeek, getting slobber all over him. “Alright, alright.”

Afteryou got down, he sat on the grass and spread out his legs.  He felt his heart warm as you rested yourhead on his thigh, closing your eyes. His finger scratched gingerly behind your ears as he leaned back so hewas lying down, closing his eyes and drinking in the warmth of the sun.

As thelarge cabin came into view, Steve began to slow down.  He knew that by now, your pack could mostlikely smell him and would be swarming him at any second.  They’d come out with hackles raised andpossibly in their wolf form.

He came toa stop about a hundred yards out as arctic wolves began to appear.  They came through the trees, out the openfront door of the cabin, everywhere.  Heestimated there was about thirty in total as they began to circle around him.  They were all of different sizes, differentages and different ranks.

He searchedfor your familiar eyes, knowing that he’d be able to recognize you anywhere, butfroze as he heard a growl from the largest wolf.  He could easily discern him as your brother, theeventual alpha of the pack.  A much olderwolf was beside him, and he assumed that it was your father, the current alpha.  After the Snap had been reversed, you hadgladly given up your title back to the former leaders, preferring to go back tonormal.

Steve heldup his hands in surrender as your brother stalked towards him, e/c eyesnarrowed and haunches raised.

But a flashof white up along the tree line caught his attention.  He’d recognize your form anywhere, and hefelt relief course through him as your lithe form bounded towards the group.

However,your brother whirled around and bared his teeth at you.  It had never occurred to the blond how much smalleryou would be than him, but you seemed tiny as he towered over you.  But you simply stood your ground, a low whineemanating from the back of your throat.

Yourbrother hesitated, but he stepped back, allowing you past him.  The others followed his lead and didn’t comeany closer to him.

But allSteve cared about was the fact that you were here and you were standing infront of him.  The gorgeous eyes that staredup at him were the same ones he had fallen in love with.  He sensed it before he saw it, the shift.  He sensed the ripple underneath your fur andwithin seconds, your human form was standing in front of him.

“Steve?” Yousaid, taking a step towards him.  Your hairwas a tousled mess, leaves caught in the h/c tresses.

Herealized with a sense of pride that you were wearing the clothing Tony haddesigned for the pack.  It worked kind oflike his suit, in that it could grow around him when he needed it to.  It all came from a tiny circle that was stuckon your sternum that could be taken off and put back on at will.  He knew that he’d created enough for thepack, so that they wouldn’t have to worry about destroying their clothes anytimethey shifted and end up naked when they shifted back.

“What are youdoing here?” You asked, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth.  There was a glimmer of hope in your eyes asyou stared up at him.  Your heart waspounding against your chest.  You hadfallen for him, hard, back when you were a part of the team.  It had taken time and it had scared the hellout of you.  After all, what man wouldchoose to be with you?  You hadn’t evenbeen able to tell a man what you were until the Avengers came along.  You had expected him to be weird about your…furry side, but Steve had just taken it in stride.  He never treated you any differently, and hadeven wanted to spend time with you when you were in wolf form and not justhuman form.

The supersoldier walked towards you, his hand reaching out to grasp yours.  “I can’t get you out of my head, Y/N,” hesaid, his voice barely audible as he stared at you with an intensity that madeyou shiver.  “You’re the first thing Ithink of when I wake up and the last thing when I fall asleep.  You… You are driving me crazy.”

“What doyou mean?” You asked, your heart catching in your throat.

“I’m inlove with you,” he said, his hand reaching up to gently push your hairback.  “I’m in love with every part ofyou, Y/N.”

“Steve—”

“And I willdo anything for you,” he said, thinking you were about to reject him.  “If you want to stay here with your pack, I’llstay with you.  If you want to move intothe compound with me, that’s fine, too. I just…”  He pressed a soft kissto the hand he was holding.  “I need youin my life.”

Without asecond thought, you stood up on your tiptoes and pulled him down for a kiss,your lips catching with his.  It was softand tender and perfect.  Your arms wrapped around his neck as hismoved around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible.  “I’m in love with you, too, Steve Rogers,”you whispered.

A breathylaugh fell from his lips as he pressed his forehead to yours.  “Mind introducing me to your pack so they canstop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat?”

[golden-pickaxe]

Odal - Part 20

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 2852

Warnings: very light smut and angst

[All Parts Here]

A/N: I rewrote this chapter 4 times, and am finally (kind of) happy with it. I hope you lovely, lovely readers will enjoy it!

[Playlist]

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

Tagging: @lightningwitcher @lovelynerdytraveler @everlasting9 @cbouvier23 @hallowed-heathen @twilight-loveer  @kingniazx @moondustmemories @karmezii

“I don’t want to disband the great army..” Ivar murmured into your hair, his strong arms wrapped around your body, his face burrowed in the crook of your neck.

 It was late at night, you had once again sneaked out of the tent you shared with your sisters, unable to bear being apart from Ivar for another night, and were now lying in his bed, under his furs. Both of you were only dressed in a light tunic, although he was still wearing his trousers, his firm body warm against your back.

 “Me neither.” You admitted, your fingers lazily stroking over his calloused hands, that were around your waist. “I don’t want to settle here.. in between the Christians. They are not trustworthy.”

 “They showed that much when they killed the settlement my father built here. And this land they gave us.. it is even farther south, right in the middle of the country. We would be surrounded.” Ivar continued, before pressing a small kiss onto your neck. “We could never defend it.”

 “What would stop them from just taking it back?” you swallowed, your question rhetorical.

 “Nothing.” Ivar still answered, a sigh leaving his throat.

 “What do you propose, then?” you turned around in is arms to face him, his hooded blue eyes looking down at you. Lying next to him always made you realise how tall he actually was, and you often imagined how he would look like standing up, towering over you.

 “That we go back north, closer to our lands. Try to find a good position there.” He said, raising his hand to stroke some of your hair out of your face.

 You nodded slowly, thinking about his plan, when you suddenly remembered something Asta had told you when she had returned from her raid in England. It had been years ago, and you had been quite young, but the information should still be accurate.

 “There is a town up north, called York, close to where we defeated king Aella. When my sister was here on a raid, she and the men she was with raided trading ships making their way there from the sea. It is close to the shore, and lies on a major river.” You explained, trying your best to remember the details. You had been so excited when your oldest sister had told you about it, that you probably had not properly listened.

 “York..” Ivar repeated, his brows furrowed in thought. “We would be closer to our home from where we defeated Aella, closer to the sea.. do you know anything else?” he mustered you intently.

 You sighed, turning onto your back, your eyes fixed at the tent ceiling while you strained your mind to recall what Asta had told you all those years ago.

“My sister never saw the place, they went never that far inland, so I don’t know too much about it. But she said that she had heard that York has high walls, and strong buildings, like a fortress.”

 “It would make a great stronghold.” Ivar’s fingers traced your jawline, reaching your chin to turn your head towards him. A soft smile was on his lips, as he studied your face. “You are very beautiful.”

 “So you’ve said.” You chuckled at his words, closing the distance between you to press a kiss onto his lips.

 Your hands found their way into Ivar’s hair as you turned your full body towards him once more, deepening the kiss. Ivar sighed, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist once more, to pull you closer against him.

 Even though he had seemed inexperienced at first, he had quickly gotten the hang of it, and you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips, lost yourself in the feeling of his tongue moving against yours, your fingers massaging the back of his neck, stroking through his hair.

 Without really thinking about it, acting more out of instinct than anything else, you hooked your leg over his hips, pulling yourself flush against his body, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

Ivar broke the kiss, but your hands on his head kept him from moving away from you.

 It had been months now since the two of you had shared your first kiss, on that cold day by the small stream, and it had been months since you had slept next to him under his furs for the first time, him resting in your arms as if they were a safe-haven. You needed to know what it was that kept him from going further, what kept him from barely moving his hands beyond your waist.

 “What is it, Ivar? Why does this scare you?” you whispered against his parted lips. “I told you that I don’t care about your legs.”

 And that was the truth.

You had told him many times that you never knew him differently, that his legs were as much part of him as his eyes, that they made him what he was. He had not shown them to you, as of yet, had always worn his trousers when you slept next to each other, and had never let you into his tent on washday. You wanted to give him the time he needed to be comfortable enough to show them to you, to understand that you really did not care, but by now you grew a bit impatient.

 He was a man after all, and even he had to have his needs and desires, just as you had. The thought of him not finding you attractive enough had crossed your mind, but with the way he looked at you, and told you that you were beautiful every chance he got, you dismissed that thought rather quickly.

 “It is not my legs.” Ivar swallowed. “I tired.. to tell you before, but I could not bring myself to do it.”

 “Tell me what?” you were confused, and slightly scared, you had to admit, now moving a bit backwards to be able to look the youngest Ragnarsson into the face, although your hands and leg were still around him.

 Ivar closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if he was bracing himself for what he was about to say.

“I..” he paused. “I can’t please a woman.”

 There was silence between the two of you, and you stared at him, although his eyes were still closed, squeezed shut as if the words he had just spoken brought him pain.

Everything seemed to fall into place now, his hesitation, his fear of being too close to you, of you touching him.

It was not only your reaction to his legs that he had feared, but also to this piece of information. He had probably been scared of you noticing on your own, to laugh at him or leave him because of it.

You swallowed, as still, you had to ask.

 “Have you.. tried?” you kept your voice as calm as possible, the way Ubbe always talked to Ivar if he was angry or distressed, so that he would know that you would not just get up and leave him.

 Ivar nodded.

“Yes.”

 You chewed your lip.

“With whom?” you hoped that you did not sound jealous to him, as you truly were not, but there was a thought in your head you needed confirmed.

 Ivar opened his blue eyes again, his brows furrowed a bit.

“What does it matter?” he asked, voice weak, and you saw in his face that he did not like to remember it.

 “Just tell me.” Your fingers continued to caress the back of his head, trying to make him relax.

 “She.. she was a slave girl.” He finally said, still hesitating a bit.

 “Did she want you?” at that the man froze a bit.

 “I.. I don’t think she did.” He admitted, looking down at the fur between you, once more seemingly unable to face you. He looked beaten down and sad, a view that broke your heart.

 Your hand moved from Ivar’s neck to his cheek, as you searched for the right words, trying to bring a point across that Gudrun had told you a few years ago.

“Maybe that was the problem.” You spoke, causing him to look back into your eyes, now frowning even more in confusion.

 “What do you mean?” he asked, looking from one of your eyes to the other.

 “Well..” you started, licking over your lips. “I just.. I will speak honestly with you, as I always do, and I hope you won’t be angry with me and my observations.” You searched his eyes for a reaction, but he just quickly nodded, eager for you to go on.

 “Since we met, it seems to me as if your feeling of confidence and self-worth is highly connected to your ability to do things. So, if something does not immediately work out the way you think it would, you get angry and frustrated.” You explained carefully.

 He did not say anything to that, and you saw in his face that he knew you were right. Being normal, being able to do what his brothers did, all of that was a big part of his life, always trying to achieve to be just like everyone else.

 “The first time being with another person in this way, is always stressful and things can go wrong. I don’t even want to think about my experience, it was just awkward and weird and not satisfying at all.” You chuckled drily, causing one corner of Ivar’s mouth to raise slightly at your words.

 But he was still listening, taking what you had to say seriously, and that was what mattered. You saw him roll his eyes and blend out the words of his brothers when they annoyed him, and you were happy that he did not do that to you.

 “So of course you are nervous and afraid that things will go wrong, and she is there, not really wanting to be there..” your eyes wandered down to his lips, as his eyes were too emotionally open for you to be able to look into them, while your hands traced down his neck and onto his chest. “That all just adds up to a big mess of feelings and all that..” you sighed.

 You licked your lips, trying to sort your thoughts, trying to think about what you actually wanted to bring across, while at the same time showing Ivar that there was nothing wrong with him, and also showing him that you very much wanted him, the way this slave girl apparently didn’t.

“When we know that the other person does not really want to be there, it is hard to enjoy it..”

 You carefully pressed a kiss onto Ivar’s lips, but before he could deepen it again, you broke away, starting to kiss along his strong jaw, down to his neck, causing him to groan lowly.

 “But when we are with a person we trust, a person we are close to, where we feel safe..” you continued, speaking the words against his heated skin between your kisses. “.. and who wants us just as much as we want them.. who want to be exactly there and nowhere else..” you let your teeth scratch against the soft skin under Ivar’s ear, nipping at his neck. “..things can feel very differently.”

 “But I never even got to the point where I would enjoy it.. my..” he groaned.

 Shaking your head lightly, your hand continued to move down his chest, finally slipping under the hem of Ivar’s tunic, stroking over his side. He flinched a bit, as your hands surly felt cold against his hot skin, but did not complain.

 “Gudrun told me that such things are not unnatural in situations like these. She once had a lover who grew so nervous every time she was with him, that his dick did not seem to work. Then one night, he was drunk on ale, not nervous, and it worked just fine.” You giggled.

 “Can this really happen?” he asked, shivering under your touch.

 “Yes.” You whispered, before you bit down on his neck, causing him to moan, his hands gripping you tightly.

 Before you could react, Ivar rolled over you, sliding in right between your thighs, his blue eyes fixed on you like a wolf on its prey. In one smooth motion he pulled his tunic over his head, causing you to release a shaking breath, as your eyes wandered over the man’s strong shoulders and arms, his broad, firm chest looming above you.

 His hair fell forward and into his face, but he brushed it back.

“I trust you, Y/N, and I do want you.” He said breathlessly, his hands on both sides of your head to support himself.

 Before you could answer him, he had lowered himself, his weight now resting on his elbows to not crush you beneath him, pressing his lips against yours, kissing you with so much passion and fever, like he had never kissed you before.

 Automatically you wrapped your legs around his hips, your hands stroking over his chest, your whole body starting to tingle with the familiar feeling of arousal building up inside of you.

Oh, how long you have thought about this, dreamt about this.

 Ivar grabbed one of the furs that covered the two of you, pulling it off his back as he felt too hot, and the cool night air hitting your skin made you shiver under him.

 You felt him grin into the kiss, before suddenly, he grinded his hips into yours, causing you to gasp against his lips. You only wore your tunic, and the knowledge that there was just the fabric of his trousers separating you made you shiver for a whole different reason.

 Ivar stopped, breathing against your mouth, swallowing hard.

You felt it, before he started to speak, felt him slowly harden against you, proving you right.

 “It.. works.” He just whispered, his breath shaking.

 “I told you it would.”

Afraid that he could become so nervous again, overthinking too much, you pulled him towards you by his neck, resuming your kiss and wrapping your legs around him even tighter now. He moaned into the kiss, one of his hands moving to your waist and stoking up and down your side, while his hips started to grind against yours again, the rhythm erratic and irregular, the friction still feeling incredible.

 Still, it was not enough, the tingling feeling inside of you only growing with the sounds he made against your lips. You did not want to rush him though, just kissed him, touched him, and let him do what he needed right now. There would be a time to teach him what you liked, but this was not now.

Now you just enjoyed his raw and passionate kisses, his body moving against yours, his hands on your side and the fact that for the first time, he did not hold back.

 His hand wandered lower along your side, finally reaching your naked thigh that was wrapped around his hips, stroking over your soft skin, his calloused hand feeling hot in contrast to the cool air of the tent. His breath grew heavier, his movements quicker and more erratic, and you felt that it would not take much longer.

 You raised your hands to his shoulders, stroking over the firm muscles before your fingernails scratched over his skin. You bit into his lower lip, and that was apparently all it took to send him over the edge, as he moaned loudly into your mouth, his whole body stiffing for a moment, before he collapsed onto you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You regretted that you had kissed in the moment he had come, as you would have loved to see his face, but you knew that you would have many other chances to see it, now that he knew tht he was capable of it.

 “I..” he started, his breath still heavy and hot against your neck.

 “No holding back now, yes?” you asked, lips pressed against his ear.

 Ivar sighed, and you felt him nod, before he rolled off of you, an expression of pure bliss, but also slight embarrassment written all over his face. You had to giggle, pressing a kiss onto his reddened cheek.

 “If you want to apologise, don’t.” you said, stroking over his lips with your digit finger. “You can show me what kind of man you are on many other occasions now.”

 Ivar chuckled, running a hand through his face, before looking back at you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever seen.

 “Being with you, I think I’m really favoured by the gods.” He smiled, wrapping one arms around your shoulders, pulling you against his naked, firm chest. “I want to feel everything with you.”

 “And I want to be yours.” You sighed, puling the furs over both of your bodies once more.

 “If the gods will it.” Ivar kissed your forehead, but you just closed your eyes and sighed.

 “They do.”

[ladyaranel]

Family History

For years my family has believed they had Cherokee blood.  Probably more like centuries now that I’ve done a lot of family history.  I found an application to the Cherokee rolls from one of my ancestors in the 1800′s.  He was rejected.  

The stories about how we have any relation to the Cherokee are as varied as aliens in Star Trek and some just as ridiculous.  The one I was told by my mom entailed a mystery woman that was “married” into her grandmother’s family.  The quotations were always used to insinuate that she was either captured or bought.  

When I was little I thought this was just the coolest thing.  You know, all those typical little white girl fantasies.  I imagined her as a quiet and beautiful Indian Princess.  As I got older I realized just how ridiculous it was for my family to even think this.  There was no proof and we are super duper white.  And German.  So very German.  (Or so I thought.)    

I love family history.  I in no way embarked on my foray thinking “I’m going to prove I’m part Cherokee!”   Let’s be honest here folks, even if I had any relation to a Cherokee native, it would be so far back that I still wouldn’t want to claim it.  I am no more Cherokee than my cat is a dog.  I knew that.  So I started to look into my family history to find out what I could about my maternal grandmother’s side of things and maybe uncover some of the secrets on my dad’s side.  He’s terrible at sharing well, anything.  I’ve discovered that I am 2nd or 3rd generation Belgian on one side (it’s a bit fuzzy, one document says my grandfather was born there and came here at 2.  Another says he was born here.)  I have a huge chunk of Finnish on my mother’s side too.  There is a German branch I have yet to look into and a sprinkling of Irish from my paternal grandmother.  I find her story funny because she really wanted me to believe we were Irish from Canada, not Bostonians.  I am forever amused at how both sides of my family tried to make themselves sound so interesting.  There was a story about a pair of sisters that were captured by a native chief.  I’ll spare you the details, they were likely made up. Typical nonsense.  I enjoyed disproving that one. 

The things I’ve learned about my family include a Civil war deserter from the Confederate side.  He tried to collect his pension and the state of North Carolina said “No way pal, you deserted.”  Oklahoma shrugged and said “yeah sure fine.”  His son left me a gem of a document when he applied to the Cherokee rolls listing off a names scribbled down to try and prove his lineage.  On the side I can see clearly scrawled “Rejected.”  I laughed.  

His list of names started showing up as I did a bit more research.  The farther back you go, the fuzzier things get and the more I’m inclined to think some of it is people taking liberties.  I mean, I have a section on one family history site that swears we are related to a powerful Irish family and to the Wallace clan in Scotland.  I have found nothing that proves their claims so I giggle about it and carry on.  

Somewhere in the Hyde branch, around the revolutionary war she appeared.  Quaty Betsy (Ga-di-shi-A-do-hi) Aquatake is how they have her name listed.  I am not sure how accurate it is.  I also can’t verify much about her, except that she was supposedly married to a man named William Walker III. He was also possibly married to another woman at the same time.    

I sat there for a while and wondered what her life was like.  Was she really married to him or was she stolen?  Were all of the children listed hers?  Did some belong to the other wife?  I don’t know and I’m not sure how to find out any more information about her.  But she was a real woman here, native to this country, and I am reminded that I am descended from colonizers that eventually forced her people out of their home land.  No matter how hard my family wanted to hold on to the grand idea that they were Cherokee, they weren’t.  At least not since her.  I have a lot of thoughts running through my mind about it all.  From Cherokee women, Civil War deserters and a man that went by OV and thought he was the hottest of the hot, that branch of my tree has a vast array of characters.  I’m not sure I’m proud of them, but I am glad I at least know the truth.  We are sorely lacking in truth these days, especially in the history department.  

[artificialqueens]

Red Light - Chapter 2 (Trixya) - Arizona

AN: Yee haw country boyz. I’m back with chapter 2. I really hope you guys like this. I’m trying to develop Katya further by sign ~deeper into her mind~. Please let me know if you’re enjoying! as always, leave me a fucking comment I’m very lonely. xoxo Arizona

April 26th, 2008

The inside of Katya’s house seemed bigger than the outside. It had more windows than most the houses on the street which, granted, wasn’t much of an accomplishment, but it did a lot to free up the space. Katya lived a little farther southwest than Trixie, near the town. The houses were closer together; there was more than one grocery store in a 6-mile radius. It was nice, Trixie decided. She had never been to Katya’s house, in fact, she had only even seen her in person once since they met at Carl’s, but they had talked on the phone nearly every day since the encounter. As much as they talked, they never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Trixie would ask Katya for her opinions on song lyrics. Katya, in return, would tell Trixie stories about Boston, and how much she loved to travel.

“California is my favorite,” Katya said once night, as Trixie laid sprawled out on her bed, listening to the owls singing deep in the woods. “I want to take you to Malibu, you would love it there.” Trixie herself had never left the Midwest. She went to North Dakota on occasion for funerals and Minneapolis for her cousin’s graduation. It wasn’t that she felt trapped in Wisconsin, but rather that she felt she didn’t belong in a place that was bigger or more exciting. She wanted to, but she didn’t.

But Katya had a way of bringing Trixie’s imagination with her through all the places she had been, and Trixie was more than happy to come along. Both of them felt like they had known each other since childhood. Despite this, Trixie still felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach when Katya asked her to come over for the first time. She hadn’t grown up having a lot of friends, at least not ones that lasted, and committing to Katya’s invitation tasted too much like inevitable bitterness in Trixie’s mouth. But she did it anyway. She wasn’t sure why.

She also wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous about how she looked before hand. She must have changed her outfit seven times before settling on a 70’s inspired caftan and her cowgirl boots. Her thick blonde hair was still damp and she laid it down flat with a headband.

It was raining outside, but not hard enough for Trixie to put on a jacket. Her eyeliner was uneven, but she was running late, so she just left it and hopped in her stepdad’s truck.

Her blood pressure steadily rose as she approached Katya’s door. The yard was much cleaner than Trixie’s, she noticed. No piles of wood and scrap metal littering the lawn. No old couch on the curb, and no tattered American flag above the front doorstep. It was just a tidy, freshly mowed, albeit brown, patch of grass and a dusty orange door with a big bronze knocker. The doorbell was broken, so Trixie knocked and wrung her hands as she waited, shivering in the rain. She waited for nearly two full minutes and had half a mind to just go home before the door was plug open, causing Trixie to jump. Katya stood in the entrance, rubbing her hair with a towel and beaming at Trixie.

“Hey Trix! Get your ass in here, you look freezing!” she exclaimed. Trixie’s nerves dissolved almost immediately. Katya’s living room smelled like wet grass and lilac with a faded shag rug that Trixie dug her toes into as soon as she took off her boots.

“You wanna cup of coffee?” Katya asked. “It’s a couple hours old, but it’s the fancy Columbian stuff my mom likes. Trixie nodded and smiled. “How have you been girl?” Katya called from the kitchen. Trixie stretched her legs out on the couch.

“Pretty good,” she replied. “I mean not much has changed since we last talked.” She could hear Katya wheeze-laughing from the other room.

“You mean like 12 hours ago?” she gasped. Trixie couldn’t help but laugh with her. When Katya came back with the coffee, her hair was almost dry, but her damp bangs clung to her forehead in chunks. She wasn’t wearing makeup and was almost unrecognizable without her signature red lips and her black-rimmed eyes. Trixie found herself staring as the two of them sipped coffee in silence while the rain outside grew steadily more intense. “What’s up with you?” Katya asked. Trixie blinked in confusion. “You’re just a little quiet.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

“What about?” Trixie felt herself about to get way more personal than was necessary, but she allowed herself over the threshold. Katya had a way of getting her to talk.

“You remember the night we met? And we were talking about your ex?”

“And I told you I’m super gay?” Katya interjected. Trixie nodded and laughed.

“I was just wondering….how did you know? Or when did you know?” She felt herself tripping over her words. “I don’t know what I’m talking about I just don’t know a lot of gay people.”

“Are you worried you might be a lesbo Trixie?” Katya lowered her voice and spoke in a ridiculous southern accent. Trixie laughed, letting herself feel less afraid.

“I mean…I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “I wouldn’t say I’m worried. I’m just…curious? I mean…I’ve never had a real boyfriend.” She took a shaky breath. This was harder than she knew it should be. “I just…it’s a possibility,” she managed to get out. Katya stared back at Trixie with a look conveyed both understanding and concern. There was a strange silence that hung in the air as Katya looked Trixie up and down as if that would help her assess Trixie’s sexuality.

“Well bitch. You are in the right place,” she finally said. “My gaydar is almost always accurate and you my dear give off strong gay vibes.”

Katya had identified as bisexual for a long time, but after graduating high school had realized her attraction to women far outweighed her attraction to men. At first, this made her nervous. She was scared to admit that she had been wrong about her sexuality and that it really had been “just a phase.” For a while she slept with men just to try and convince herself that she still wanted to. But it never felt quite right. She would always leave in the morning feeling detached from her body, like she was looking at herself from the outside and all she saw was a pathetic, dirty husk. It wasn’t a lifestyle she could maintain. She started dating women. She had her heart broken time and time again, but it was always better than the alternative of feeling nothing at all. At least while she hurt she knew she was capable of hurting.  Lately, she had been in one of those phases in her life. When she stepped out of a cloud of smoke and drug-induced haze and realized she was alone. That week she met Trixie. Katya didn’t believe in love at first sight, in fact she hardly believed in love at all, but seeing Trixie for the first time was probably as close as she was going to get. This perfect, picturesque girl, glowing gold against the night sky, had made Katya’s heart feel like it was taking a sharp inhale of fresh air for the first time in years. She hadn’t stopped thinking about her since. Which was why they were where they were now, at Katya’s coffee table, watching the rain paint blurry streaks on the window and sitting just a little too close together. Katya hated coffee, but Trixie made it sweeter.

“You think so?” Trixie asked, eyes wide. Not with fear, but with curiosity. Katya nodded and leaned back into the couch.

“Yes god, Barbara. No way in hell you’re straight,” she said. Trixie exhaled sharply.

“Damn,” she said. “That’s a lot to think about.”

“No rush,” said Katya. “You don’t have to label yourself right away. We’re all just meat sacks trying to get laid and kill time on this earth. Have fun with it.” Trixie giggle softly. Almost simultaneously, the two of them realized how close together they were. Katya had splayed her legs out across Trixie’s lap and though she was previously laying back against the arm of the couch, she was sitting up now, her elbow resting on the back of the couch behind Trixie’s head. She could feel Trixie’s hair tickling her fingertips and reflexively brushed it away from her face.

“I’m so glad we met,” Trixie said, smiling. It was in that moment that Katya wasn’t sure if her heart had stopped beating, or if, for the first time in a long time, it started again.

[hayleycanalscapstoneblog]

Journalism Research: Interview with Emily Allen from the Mountain State Spotlight

Hi, I don't know if I could hear you. Sometimes I have an issue with zoom where I don't get the other person's audio so if it doesn't pop up, I can always call you instead. Okay, wait, try now.

What about now?

Yeah, I can hear you.

Okay, good. Cool. Awesome.

Yeah. How are you doing?

Doing? Well, how are you?

I'm good. It's a little early for me. 

Yeah, it's weird. Like, I've never had to use interview questions written by somebody else. But because it's like a research project with a bunch of people. We're kind of like, given our blueprint for this. 

And what is this for your in your senior or your graduate? I'm a senior, and it's for my capstone class. So we're doing a big collaborative project, kind of to help us get an idea of what getting a job is going to be like, once we leave. 

Sure. Yeah. Big world. Yeah, for you. 

How long ago did you graduate?

Um, I graduated from the University of Minnesota like 2018. 

Okay, cool.

I'm glad I'm talking to somebody who was recently here. 

Yeah, no, it's still fresh in my mind.

Yeah. Are you from Minnesota?

No, we moved around a lot. But I did school up there. So I kind of stayed in the Midwest before I got my job in West Virginia.

Yeah, cool. I got you. Well, I'll jump into it, because they gave me a lot. But you don't need to like elaborate if it's a pretty basic question, just because, I mean, they really just gave me quite a list. And can I record?

Yeah, yeah, totally. Thanks for checking.

Yeah, in North Carolina, you like don't technically have to ask people. But whenever I'm talking to somebody out of state, I don't want to know, you know, I think just in general, too. It's good practice to let them know if you're on the record, you're recording. 

And it's an easy way just to be like, Can I quote you? 

Yeah, true. Yeah.

Yeah. The weirdest people will have like, you know, the need to say no, like, managers. Yeah. Well, apparently, if you work for Taco Bell, you can't do interviews. I found out so.

Okay. Yeah, that's a couple of corporations.

Anyways, so how would you classify the type of journalism you do? Would you say it's like watchdog journalism, civic journalism? I'm just curious what specification specification you give it.

Um, I think watchdog and civic are both good terms. I mean, I should clarify. So I've been here with balancing spotlight and since June, and it's a nonprofit, and I think both those adjectives work well for it. Yeah. But I daily newsrooms before it. So I always think, with the jobs that I've had, it's been a civic duty. But this is the first time that we've really, for me, done, you know, kind of the watchdog accountability, not just quoting people what they say. But following up and adding extra content and verifying.

That's really cool. And that's kind of the type of journalism I want to get into myself. So watchdog civic, nonprofit, more or less?

Yeah, I'm really bad at like the adjectives that come with this because I literally to paper radio and now, I'm in a nonprofit. I think all those are accurate and when there's like a description on our website, I mean, I, I do I think personally, my job is more community based to I don't know what that term. But I mean, it just goes beyond press releases and press conferences and basic interviews. Yeah, I don't know how to grab that. I'm probably not making sense.

No, that that totally makes sense. Yeah, yeah. I was talking to some people at the devil strip last year. And they're a co op, so very, like community based. And just got a strong sense of what that means for them. Like, knowing the readers in person created a lot of that meaning. So what motivates you to do this type of journalism?

Um, different things on different days, I think. I mean, right now with the job I have, so I'm kind of an out state reporter. I don't cover you know, Charleston, I go out like I was in Dodd Ridge County yesterday, which is extremely rural and farther north. And I think it's really just a, I like talking to people that I've never met before. I like dealing with strangers. I like, you know, learning new things. And even when the job gets really hard, and I'm asking really, like rough questions, and I'm dealing with, kind of hard to interview, you know, public officials, I think I always think back well, I wouldn't want to stop what I'm doing. Because tomorrow or next week, I'm going to go meet so and so or I'm going to go here this. I think it's that kind of a thing.

Yeah. So the base is like in Charleston?

Yes. Yeah, we don't have we're all on the boat for now, because they took off during a pandemic. And I've been here since June. But we're all in Charleston. Yeah. But we travel out for things as necessary. I'm traveling every week, so Okay, mileage is great. Yeah. Do they give you gas? Yeah, yeah, mileage we get reimbursed. So I used to work for public broadcasting. And it was the same way that you got a safe car. And it's kind of awkward, whatever works. on devices in the middle of nowhere where we can't get cell service or anything. to step up, yeah.

One of the one of the questions they were wanting us to ask is like, what other forms of journalism you've been involved with, and then like, kind of how long you've been out in the field. Just what that journey has looked like for you? 

Sure. Um, so I graduated in 2018. And immediately after that, like, I didn't even walk the stage. I just went to North Dakota, because I got a job at the Grand Forks Herald, which they're still daily, they stopped printing after I left, they do a Sunday edition and a Wednesday edition. But when I was there, they printed every day, which is like amazing, like just that, that that kind of thing can happen. I covered city government for Grand Forks, which is the city in North Dakota, but across the river, we had East Grand Forks in Minnesota, they also covered their government. And I helped with state house coverage, and sometimes regional stuff, but not a lot. I really just stayed where I land. And then I applied to report for America, which is what I still am in. And they hooked me up with a job in West Virginia, which is West Virginia public broadcasting. So I was full of yours, and I covered Southern West Virginia, sort of the same thing I'm doing now I'd go out there and then I also helped cover the State House. So the legislative session, the radio did well they put me on TV during the session, which wasn't great for me. So fun. And then this summer, my report for America term ended so two years, and I reapplied and got in here with the spotlight club and I'm doing less Statehouse coverage obviously it's I think what's really cool about us is we're not daily, so there's no paper to fill. There's no air show to fill. It's just the website, we do, I think we try to do like two to three stories a week. So it's regular content, you know, if something needs more time, or editors are pretty cool about understanding that and doing whatever it takes to better story out. I think what's also cool too is even though I'm just online exclusively, and that's sort of a thing, we let newspapers and radio stations and whatnot, republish our stuff for free. So sometimes, like I'm in a paper on the other side of the state and you know, I don't work with synthetically maybe.

Yeah, that's really cool. So, so like fully digital, with exceptions.

Yeah, I mean, it's up to that, like public broadcasting. They put a lot of our stuff on their website. I work with Douglas soul. He does a bunch of stuff, but he's mostly economic development. But he did this really big investigation into a sheriff's department in Rowan County, which is maybe an hour from here more rural, and their local paper ran it. So they give it an S run on our website, like people would have seen it, but maybe not a lot of people who live there. But because their paper chose to republish it, like that's something that their community is listening to and adhering to and talking about. Yeah, it was a tangent.

No, it's very interesting. So would you say you guys are local, or state level? 

Yeah, I think Well, I mean, I'm here's local journalists. But it is weird because I don't live in a lot of the communities that I'm going to so I'd say state level. Yeah. We I mean, we have a lot. A lot. We're a small team, but we cover Charleston's I guess it's kind of locally based. I think it just depends. But state probably more. So we're not like local, local, or local.

Yeah, I was working for app voices. And I think they have an office up there. But I felt the same way. Because it like feels sort of local, but then, you know, we're not actually reporting on like the town we're in, so much as a regional thing. Okay, so what what would what would you say your specialty is currently?

Um, you mean like skills or what we put out or like you're...

like the topic you report on.

I'm kind of all over the place. Just because not eat is like, I think they call me community watchdog or something. So really, I mean, I pay attention to city council meetings, county commission meetings from where I'm at, or I travel, and I kind of just whatever they're talking about, we'll dive into. And sometimes I'll take something that's happening on the state level, or something that someone else has covered. And I'll bring it into a community and cover what's happening there. So like, it's hard to just like, explain that way. But through by way of example, like we had the huge opioid trial against the three big distributors in Huntington, but it happened in Charleston. So that was, I mean, nationally renowned, the state level news story, but there are like, hundreds of other smaller West Virginia communities that have lawsuits, and nothing's happening to them. So we that story, and I went to Mingo. County, on the Kentucky border, West Virginia, though, and just talked to them about what the opioid epidemic looks like out there. So that kind of a thing, just is I kind of cover all sorts of things, but it just has to have a really community that's chosen.

Yeah, that makes sense. So which, like areas specific qualifications or like journalistic qualifications, would you say are important to have like, for your kind of job?

Um, a lot of things, I think. I mean, being able to, I mean, organizationally, I like I think being organized is important, and being able to plan and stick to the plan of what you're about to report. But I think in terms of reporting, I don't want to just say interviewing, because that's really broad, but like, you know, being able to, you know, knowing how to interview public officials and people who are supposed to serve the public and holding them accountable, but also knowing how to interview like normal people. Because I especially like in our newsroom, and I'm really like, down with this, including, just like regular West Virginians who are impacted about things or like, curious about things you're concerned about things is really important to our work. Because it's something that people can relate to. So I think it's really important to know, like, how to identify real people in a way that's not like exploitive, and like, there are tons of ways to do it. It just depends on the context, but also knowing how to talk with them and being respectful, but getting the best story that you can. Yeah. So in terms of interviews, I think those two things are important public records, laws, even a daily journalism, if you're just aware of that as an area, it's really important. I would still like the more that I ease into this job, the more I learned about public records laws and how that works, but I think it's important just to do whatever you can to get whatever information is out there. And different information from what you know, other outlets might be able to get just by resources. And I think it's not really a skill but something that's really, really important, especially if you're a statewide news organization covering local rural communities keeping up with local news, because even though it's like, strapped like there are tons of local papers still throughout West Virginia. So just taking like an hour or two every day, just to Know what's happening in places and keeping tabs on that. I think it's I don't know if it's a skill, but I think it's really important to any job but this kind of specifically.

Yeah, I feel like that'd be a good like qualification or like, just habit to have doing that kindof work. Do you count yourself as like part of the target audience of the newspaper?

Like, am I a reader for Mountain State spotlights?

Yeah, yeah. Or like would you be even if you weren't working for them? I think so. I mean, it's weird because like, they're extremely new and we just celebrated a year but I've only been here since June. So I was like, I don't know if they were targeting me, but I was a reader and I benefited from their coverage before I came over here. Sure. I think I mean, I think we just target like West Virginians. I think this whether it's to inform them or to let you know somebody living in a community know what's going on in that community.

Do you do like digital? multimedia yourself?

Um, yeah, I guess we I don't have a camera. Like I've been I've taken public broadcasting. We learned a little bit on photography. So it some of that. I think it's important to be able to have some kind of art company in your work, especially digitally. Sorry, I have a cat.

I got this cat at a gas station. rehabilitating her and she's great, but she likes to climb the window screens and she's not ready to get out into the real world.

Did you find her there?

Yeah, yeah, we found her at a gas station and just took her and I'm very fortunate that she's healthy and well, she had fleas. 

Via journalism, yeah, I mean taking photos, knowing what you're. And sometimes I think, especially if you're a reporter, and you're starting out, you don't have a lot of control about how your website looks like. So just knowing generally like small things that can make that more engaging, we're lucky we have a really, I think we have a really easy to follow a website, like local newspapers, despite like the quality of their work being really good, like, the websites can be really old. And it's just unfortunate because it's not as compelling or engaging to some people. But just knowing simple things that can make that look good. Like breaking up the copy with sub headers, like an easy headline, the kinds of sentences layout, I think that those things are important, too.

Yeah. So would you say your newsroom? is like, actively campaigning for more digital, like multimedia along with the work? Or is it just like if you can do it, go ahead and do it?

Like we? Yeah, I mean, I think it's a we're all pretty. Like we write we make sure we find our art, we come up with the headlines. Something, it's kind of like, it's a lot because nobody signs up for it. But it is really important. They can come up with our social media copy to like, what are tweets going to say a bunch of technical stuff, that I don't know the words, but like when you see an article on Twitter, like making sure that paragraph a little light one under it is it fits in it makes sense. And it's the accurate characters and with like Google searches, we already do that. And I think it's important because you don't have a paper to fill. It's not like this is the first place typically where people are going to see us. So making sure you can do all you can to build that out. Is is important to us. And it's been important since I started I don't think anybody's like fighting to do that. I mean, obviously better at the more time goes on.

Yeah. Okay, so to pivot away from Digital journalism. And kind of back to something you were saying earlier about, like representing just an ordinary people as well. Do issues of inclusivity and representation come up a lot in your work. 

Coverage?

Yeah, for coverage, or like, for, just like the general ethics of what the organization is trying to achieve? 

Yeah, I mean, it's so it's weird, just in general, because we don't have an office. So we meet regularly over, we don't have to, because we did have those conversations in my last two jobs. But I remember it was always something that happened in the physical workplace. It is, I mean, when we're individually, I guess, as a newsroom, that's not something that we haven't had a lot of that yet. But when I'm working on copy, and I assume like, I guess I can just be myself, when my editor is looking over something, and we're planning who we're going to reach out with, I think that comes up. And I think for any story. I mean, you want to talk to somebody who, you know, has a compelling story, and is going to be easy to read. And you know, obviously there's somebody worth quoting. But you also want somebody who's representative of what, you know, the thing you're counting on is so if it's like the opioid epidemic, you want to talk to somebody who's been dealing with substance use disorder, if it's like racial inequity, or inequality, like you want to talk to somebody who's on the other end of that you don't want to interview like, just a bunch of white people at like a Black Lives Matter protests. So sometimes, that's common sense. Because it's being you know, taught to us that it is something that when we're planning stories, we make sure to the best of our ability, and sometimes there's a time crunch. You know, to the best of our ability, we make sure we talk to people who are you know, can actually speak to what you're recording on, which is why I think that, you know, the importance of like, the like regular person is so important, because public officials can say they're doing whatever they want, solve these problems. I mean, they're not experiencing

Yeah. How do you? How do you make sure that you're humanizing people and not like tokenizing them?

I think that's a really good question that like, I get really anxious whenever I run a story with because it's super important to have regular people, but I'm also really scared. Like, and maybe this is like, thinking too highly of myself. But like, I've seen how you know, in daily journalism, if you're doing these crime stories, where you run some of these mug shots, and their name, years later, when they're doing well, they can’t get a job because of it, you know. Also Yeah, tokenizing is dehumanizing. I think it just, I mean, obviously, you want it to be a newsworthy story and something worth reporting on. So if it's a topic that's important, make sure the person that you're talking to, is fully aware of what you're going to say about them. Because they there's no reason to do gotcha journalism with a normal person. Um, but also make sure like when they're consenting, they know what they're consenting to. And like don't talk them out of like speaking with you, but How to like just, I don't know. So for the same Mingo county story with the opioid epidemic, I mean, we did talk to people who were in recovery from substance use disorder. And they work on this quick response team, like the language differs from state to state, but these are the people that you know, after an overdose happens. Typically they work for the health department or, you know, emergency response, and they go out there and they try to connect the person was overdosed and has been saved to like treatment options. So like a recovery home or inpatient, outpatient, and they just give them resources to keep up with them. So somebody in that team was dealing with recovery. And I mean, I was nervous, but I also felt confident speaking with her, but she was very well, but she was saying, and she'd done this, like, you know, interviews kind of before. And she's in a, you know, better place, and she's aware of what her name being out there means. So I just think it's important to have people like that I think something else that's really important that newsrooms at our newsroom like, I mean, I don't know if we're perfect because you know, he can sometimes you just have to be told you're doing it wrong to understand that so far, we're really good at people first language. And it really it just depends on when you're talking to someone how they wish to be described, but you know, you don't say, like an addict, you say somebody is dealing with addiction. Rather, you say somebody who's dealing with substance use disorder. It just depends. So speaking about people as people first, you know, when you're dealing with jails or prisons, like incarcerated, people aware, versus inmates, I think that's really important for treating people like and I don't know if like, readers who aren't dealing with this issue, notice that kind of stuff, but I think it does make a difference. And, I mean, it kinda reminds people that you're talking to people?

Yes, no, definitely really important. Yeah, I feel like I, I definitely noticed that in stories when I read them, for sure.

Have you personally encountered hate groups or hate speech? In your reporting or while reporting?

Oh, um, I have not. I mean, I think members of hate groups who sometimes you go to events and there but I have not had the opportunity to cover that. At this point. I know, people who have I know it sucks and their concerns, but that's not something that I have a lot of.

Do you think other watchdog journalists like? Is that something that they frequently would deal with? Or?

I think it depends. So I'm in reporting for America. And they are in for four or five of us in the state. I'm not sure. So most of those are in my organization here. There's one reporter in Morgantown where WVU is and he works for 100 days in Appalachia, which is another really good. They're good. They prefer to but he covers I think his beat specifically is white supremacy. But he's done, you know, he goes out and talks to the covers, that kind of thing. So he's exclusively that and additionally taking pictures for other stuff, cuz he's a really good photographer. I mean, he certainly brings like a watchdog aspect to it. And I think it just depends. I mean, there's so many things to cover with that kind of washed up. I like that is something that definitely should be covered and needs to be covered for just in general. But I don't know if anybody in my organization, I'd have to go back. I definitely know their stories really good comes up. But that exclusively not not yet for me, but I can't speak for my colleagues.

I still think it's especially with because I went to school in Minneapolis. So there were I interned at the paper up there and they had a lot of coverage. When, you know, when these protests were happening after the police killed George Floyd. Yeah, there were groups that were actually coming out here that were not involved with that at all. And so these people that I used to intern with had to learn very fast what Voodoo boys were and yeah, they're still covering some of those criminal trials. So it's just interesting. I still think it's being covered now and I think I it's definitely something where we live in West Virginia, Appalachia. In general, but it's not something that I've dug into, like, I just read about it, and I go, oh my god, that's terrible. Yeah.

Yeah, maybe I'm just associating it with a few years ago, cuz there's a few incidents like at our university when I like first came here. And I feel like I was feeling it more on a local level, whereas, uh, not so much anymore. But yeah, it's definitely, of course still there.

Okay, well, would you say? I mean, if you don't have the experience, like having encountered it before, I don't know if you'd know about the ideal way to address it. But have you heard from any colleagues, how they would go about addressing and countering hate speech while reporting?

It's not really a conversation we've had I mean, I know in general, like in classes, I've had an experiences I've had, I think it's true, the lot of things. If it's, I mean, because like, you know, when you ask if we take a stance, like all the way back, like we don't side with people other than, you know, our readers and what's best, but I do think it's pretty, like, universal, that, hey, groups are wrong, and some of these things are bad. offensive and, and just hateful. So I mean, I think and I have no experience in this, but just, especially with things like vaccine misinformation in the election. It's important, I mean, to cover it, and to let people know what's going on, but to not validate it. Yeah. Like, I don't have a lot to elaborate on it. So I haven't had to deal with that. Yeah, I don't know what the best way to do. But I think it's really important just to, you know, somebody says something, like not just running something, because it's a good quote, because it could be hateful, and it might be harmful to your readers. Just in general, like I assume that applies that kind of thing, too. But I was like the election or mental health or, I mean, just anything, like just being responsible about what you run and not running it just because it's catchy, but just making sure that it's important. Yeah, so not validating what they stand for is important. You're governing that. Yeah.

Okay. Thanks for teasing that out with me. I guess like, I only have two more questions, but do you have like a professional position that you're like, aspiring to fill?

Um, I really like what I do. Now. I really, I mean, I just have a I have a cool job, I get to drive out to places and talk to people I haven't met before and learned a bunch of things I don't know. But also, at the end of the day, when I put out a story that just looks good, and it feels good. And I feel like I've got things different from other outlets. It feels really important. I'm like, I am doing something that makes a difference. Yeah. So I don't know I like what I do. Now. I I want to keep being a reporter. I think especially in this industry to I don't know I there's so many people, I do just want to get into like national stuff after this. It's, it's you feel like there are more and more people. I don't know what your interests and aspirations are. But I think like there are more people who were like, wow, like, local journalism is actually kind of cool. And there are things you can do with this. And maybe we need more voices in these matters of interest, like national outlet. 

I think there's a lot of it just depends. And we're a new state level organization. So you know, a lot of my job, especially because I go out to places where I mean, people don't go to Charleston a lot. So when I introduce myself, I also have to explain my news organizations, they have never heard of it. But typically, if you're working for like a local news outlet, or even a public broadcasting, like, I feel like there's more trust there, regardless of who you're talking to them sometimes like national outlets. Even when you are a state level news organization, going into a more local community. It's just I don't I don't know that feels good. Like, you feel like you're on their side. Yeah. Like, I live here. It does suck, though, like pay disparities and some really, really local jobs, especially legacy print, but on a extremely local level. I think that is kind of why it's viewed as a stepping stone. And maybe something more sustainable needs to happen there. 

And I think sometimes national outlets they don't like they don't understand what they're saying is probably going to come off as offensive or harmful to the community. So yeah, I mean, even if you can't live like directly in the community, you're covering the closest you can get to it. And the more you live there, and the more you keep in touch, like I think it's really important. And I mean with some daily stories you can't do this book longer form stuff like what we do like to keep in touch with people even after you write with them, and you're out there continuously. I mean, in a professional way, but I mean, they're they're human beings, they're not characters, so I think that's

Yeah, definitely just like, establishing trust and relationships. Do you have anything else you want to add? I I think I've kind of hit everything. 

[mon-blanchetts]

We Fight Ourselves (Part 2)

Jon never truly belonged to her, but she knew that already. Fate had cast its die a long time ago—everyone, including herself, had to live with the outcome. At least she had her babe; at least she had her home. Sansa re-evaluates the state of marriage after brushing too close with death, but she’s not the only one whose views have changed [Rated M, post-series; deals with events from S7 and leaks from S8].

It was utterly foolish, she realized, having to go from one end of her home to another like a mouse evading the presence of a prowling cat. Still, it was the lesser of two evils, when it came down to it—any scenario where Jon happened upon her while she skittered towards her destination would be even less ideal. True, the glass gardens were on the westernmost side of the castle while the armory was in the opposite direction; the chances of running into Jon were slim to none, but Sansa just couldn’t shake off the paranoia that clung to her. She might have come out of her fever slightly worse for wear, yes, but she came out alive, breathing. If only Jon would see it that way, too.

“You must understand that his lordship’s had a terrible fright, my lady,” Maester Payton explained to her when she complained about his obsessive behavior in confidence. It was a rare occasion, being alone with her advisor; Jon was always lingering about, never out of sight, an additional limb she really didn’t need. “He’s spent so much time suffering over the possibility of your death that he needs to be sure you’re not leaving him. No matter how many times one has been exposed to death, one never gets used to it—the gods didn’t fashion that way.”

Because the gods aren’t merciful enough to do that. Maester Payton’s wisdom wasn’t easy to swallow, but she preferred it over her own beliefs, none of which held any ground, anyway. At the least, it gave her hope that things would return to normal soon; her life had been upended enough.

Sansa hurried through a narrow alleyway, Ghost following close behind. The western courtyard opened before her only a moment later, quiet and still as she remembered it, not so different from the godswood. None of Winterfell’s other courtyards were ever as deserted as this one; of course, none of them were purported to be haunted, either. It was nothing but the wild imaginings of children and superstitious Northerners, but the tales had been eerie enough to keep most away.

She looked up to stare at the face that had been rendered from iron and bronze, a fairly accurate depiction as far as she could tell. Daenerys’s statue rested in the center of the courtyard where she stood proud and erect, just as Sansa remembered her, frozen in time. Despite the upright, confident pose she held, there was something naked and vulnerable associated with the statue. The craftsmen she had commissioned had varying ideas about the placement of her dragons; in the end, they had been incorporated as a motif on the crown she wore.

As she studied the statue that loomed over her, Sansa realized how she never knew exactly what to make of Daenerys Targaryen—there simply hadn’t been enough time to reflect on any personal opinion she might have forged. In the eyes of most Northerners, the Mother of Dragons had been a paradox from the start, an ally and an enemy, until the Night King’s march towards them destroyed any such distinction. Now that Daenerys was but a memory, Sansa’s feelings towards her were just as convoluted as they had been when she had first step foot in the North. It was so easy to hate her, but there was another part of equal strength that admired her, too. Daenerys must have been a force to be reckoned with—after all, Jon had fallen in love with her, had done it with all his heart and every fiber of his being. Sansa wondered, with displaced yearning, what it would have been like to be the recipient of such breathless, passionate fervor, whether she even knew how to respond to it. Probably not, but maybe that was for the best.

A high-pitched whine made her look away from Daenerys’s statue. Ghost pressed his nose against her thigh, urging her forward. Did the courtyard frighten him as well? “It’s only stories,” she protested, shaking her head. “She doesn’t come to life at night, you know. Or do you?” Sansa winked at him.

Fed up, or just bored, Ghost loped past her and out of the courtyard. Sansa glanced at the statue one last time before she hurried after him. Maester Payton told her that the courtyard was where she had been found, lying unconscious at the foot of Daenerys’s iron form. No matter how hard she tried to wrack her mind, Sansa couldn’t remember why she’d been there in the first place. The events prior to her collapse were nothing but a burst of saturated images and misplaced sounds, the line between truth and fantasy a blur. A shame she still had her memories from earlier that day…  

Sansa had never walked into a raging fire before, but setting foot inside the glass gardens must have been a fairly close experience, she thought; heat drowned her as soon as she passed through the doorway, licking at her face and leaving a sheen of moisture that was beginning to gather while she hurriedly pulled off her gloves and cloak. The greenhouse contained a dense silence that was so unlike the world beyond it, but she found that it made her time inside so much more memorable. True, it would never be as aesthetically pleasing as the gardens she remembered while she had lived in the Red Keep, but it had its own charm to it—a simple, Northern kind of attraction that she’d learned quickly to appreciate. The glass gardens housed more plants and flowers than Sansa knew the names of, but her favorite would always be the winter roses of her home; row after row of their shrubs had been planted in the center of the greenhouse, making them an impossible sight to miss. Even better, many of the roses her eyes caught sight of were in their mature state, their colour a pale, frosty blue that was mesmerizing to look at. They would make a lovely addition to her bedchamber, she thought, retrieving a sheathed blade and a wicker basket from the supply shelf nearby. Half a dozen roses would be enough to brighten her room—Sansa could already picture herself as she sat up in her bed, pulling away the curtains and being greeted by the sight of those lovely flowers.

Another thought came to mind while she set to work; the more she entertained it, the harder it was to repress that childhood giddiness she thought had long been snuffed out. Sansa pictured her daughter, one not yet conceived, but there was no doubt that she would possess dark hair so characteristic of her Stark heritage. Her daughter’s voice would ring through the narrow halls of Winterfell, together with Bran’s, and top of her head would be a crown of blue roses that Sansa would make, lovingly woven together with the prettiest pick of the bunch. The image was farther out of her grasp, but not impossible.  

Her feelings were chased off by an eruption of noise somewhere behind her. Sansa jolted to her feet, eyes wide with alarm. Her heart nearly stopped when she turned around to find Jon standing beneath the lintel, breathing loudly through his nostrils. The dense silence of the greenhouse, once benevolent and comforting, now felt like it was trying to strangle the life out of her.  

“What in Seven Hells do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded, his voice like the snap of a whip.

Sansa stared at him. “Hello, Jon,” she greeted gently. All her plans were rushing back now, together with the acute knowledge that she’d failed to follow through with them. Wasn’t it only moments ago when she’d stepped out? It must have, she thought, rather stubbornly; she couldn’t have been away from the keep that long. Could she?

What was it he’d asked her again? Oh, yes. “Many of the winter roses are in full bloom now,” she explained, bending down to retrieve her wicker basket. Sansa realized that there were more than the half dozen she had initially planned. So, she had lost track of time after all. “I thought it would be nice to have a few of them in my rooms, you see. They’re quite lovely, aren’t they?”

She plucked a rose from her basket and held it out to him, a hopeful smile painted on her face. Sansa hoped her peace offering would suffice, but she knew better; it would take a lot more than a pretty flower to placate Jon.

He stared at the blue rose before fixing his gaze on her face again, his eyes stormy. “You said you would be busy with your letters,” he said, and there was no mistaking the accusation lining his tone. “You said you wouldn’t be far.”  

“I just wanted to clear my head a bit,” she reasoned, gripping the handle of her basket. Sansa wondered how long it had taken Jon until he’d been struck with the possibility that she might be here, until she remembered that she’d passed through the western courtyard earlier. “Do you really think my actions criminal, Jon?”

The look he gave her might have been enough to make any man crumble. “You should have sent for me if you wanted to step out,” he reprimanded. “You know you weren’t supposed to be wandering off by yourself like this, but you did it anyway. What if you collapsed again?”

A stab of frustration ran through her body; Sansa could feel the grip on her patience slipping. She knew where his concern stemmed from, but it didn’t make his obsession with her whereabouts any easier to swallow.

Sansa lowered her arm, rose still in hand. “You and I both know the fever’s too well and gone for me to succumb to it again,” she said, her tone patronizing. “I won’t let you talk to me like I’m a child, Jon. If I want to spend time by myself outside the great keep, then I will.”

“Even at the expense of your concerned husband?” he fired back. Maybe it was the light that flooded the glass garden, or maybe it was just a change in scenery, but for the first time since she’d regained consciousness, Sansa was realizing Jon’s changed appearance; his beard was noticeably unkempt, wild and untamed, and the dark crescents under his eyes were more prominent than she had ever remembered them. Sleep was difficult to come by for many people these days, herself included; her mind was constantly abuzz with matters of state and the concerns of her subjects, but there was also the memories to deal with, those drenched in blood and sorrow, those ripe with that question that time had watered: what if? All those thoughts and speculations, like a set of blocks placed one on top of the other, until their weight became too much and they came toppling down—just like the bright comet that had once blazed across the skies, towards the far north, so bright and grand that when Sansa first saw it, she thought the sun had gained wings. Down they all went, those thoughts of hers, until finally she descended into a fitful sleep that left her groggy and drained beneath the morning light that sliced through the thin gap between the drawn bed curtains. Was it all the same for Jon? Or was there something else she wasn’t accounting?

Sansa frowned in response to his question. It just wasn’t like him to bring up their marriage in such a context; Jon was her husband in name only, their union an image drafted from the need to bolster the morale of not just their Northern subjects, but all the survivors of the Great War, those who were desperate for proof that some sort of normalcy was attainable. Her temper flared at the thought of Daenerys’s statue in the center of the western courtyard and the primary reason behind Jon’s self-imposed exile.

“Don’t twist it like that,” she admonished, shaking her head disapprovingly. “It’s not like you at all, you know, pretending we’re something we’ve never been.” Jon was threatening the success behind their partnership; Sansa didn’t like it one bit. She circled around him to leave, eager to extricate herself from this strange encounter before it worsened, but his hand on her arm stopped her from escaping.

“What do you mean by that?” he ordered. Sansa pursed her lips, glaring at him. “Tell me,” he pressed, tugging her closer.

She rolled her eyes. “You once told me you weren’t the husband I deserved, remember? You set the rules, Jon. I’m just following them.” Sansa caught him trying not to wince. How could he ever forget that it was all she could do in order to bring him home?

It felt like such a long time ago when he had said that to her, so much so that she thought the pain had dulled, but the way her chest tightened told her otherwise; there were just some heartaches that could be temporarily displaced, but never forgotten. Sansa accepted that the romantic love she used to dream about was simply not in the cards she kept being dealt with, a gamble that always had disastrous results for her—it was safer to take refuge in the things she had, rather than those she wanted. Jon was never going to love her the way she used to imagine he could, but that wasn’t his fault.

Whatever was on his mind made him loosen his hold; Sansa tried slipping away, but her attempt was futile. Jon was like the first spark of a flame come to life, his fingers clamping down as he pulled her closer toward him, bodies pressed together in a way that was too intimate, too foreign.

“Maybe I don’t care for these rules anymore,” he said in a low voice, rough as bark. There was a wild, desperate look on his face that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. If she was feeling hot before, now she felt like someone had just thrown ice water at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You think I’m play games with you?” There was a hard, determined light in his eyes. “I’m not, Sansa.”

She regarded him warily. It was clear he wasn’t going to back down, but it would take more than a few heated words to convince her that he was actually being serious. If Jon wanted something more out of their marriage, what was he looking for? Was she even willing to give it to him, after he’d broken her heart the way he had?

Sansa didn’t want to think about the possibilities. She didn’t want to deal with any of this at the moment, especially when Jon was standing so close to her. She was tired all of a sudden; the tension between them was wearing her down, and she very badly wanted to lay her head down on her pillow and rest. Maybe when she woke up, Maester Payton would deem her well enough that she could finally see Bran again, hold him tight against her chest like she always did, reminding her that the love she bore her son was a thousand times greater than any love she might have bore Jon, once. That ship had passed; the empty space Jon left inside her when he came back North with Daenerys Targaryen had been properly filled, and he only had himself to blame for that.

“Come back to the keep with me,” she offered, hoping this would soften him up a bit. Instead of escaping his hold, she placed a hand on top of his— a sisterly touch, one she knew he would recognize—before guiding him out of the glass gardens. A woman’s armor is her courtesy. “I want to know what Elyot’s been up to. And I’ll tell you what Lady Brienne has written to me about, but you must keep it a secret. Can you do that?”

AN: Hello, it’s me—and I’m not updating ten years after the last one! How’s that for character development? =D

[nessathawitch]

Solar Eclipse - Over the Continental United States, Canada, and Mexico

What is a Solar Eclipse?

A Solar Eclipse occurs when the Moon passes between the Earth and the Sun. Every year or two, the orbit lines between the Moon and Sun line up perfectly, and the Moon passes directly in front of the Sun.

Size Comparison

The Sun is 100 times bigger than the Earth and the Earth is 4 times bigger than the Moon. This would make the Moon 400 times bigger than the Sun. Comparatively speaking, let's say that a 10 inch dinner plate is the Sun. On this scale the Earth would be the size of a peppercorn, and the Moon would be the size of a poppy seed. So as you can tell by the comparison, it does not make complete sense on how the eclipse happens. So even though the Sun is 400 times bigger than the Moon, it is also 400 times farther away from the Earth than the Moon. This means that the Sun and Moon, even though the size difference is so large, they appear the same size to us here on Earth.

The Path of Totality

When the Sun and the Moon cross paths, there are 2 types of shadows that occur. The Umbral Shadow and The Penumbral Shadow. The Umbral Shadow crosses the earth during a Solar Eclipse causing the Path of Totality.This happens on 0.3% of the Earth’s surface. The Umbral Shadow is where you can see 100% of the Solar Eclipse. In the Penumbral Shadow is where you can only see a partial Solar Eclipse, and the percent of the Solar Eclipse depends on where you are located in the Penumbral Shadow.

History of Eclipses

Back before we had cameras, astronomers, and internet, people did not understand what was exactly happening. All they knew was that all of a sudden in the middle of the day, the Earth went dark. They did not know if or when the Sun would return. They did not want to live in total darkness, so they started to do different things to make the Sun return. In China, they would light fires or shoot arrows at the Sun trying to make it catch fire again. In Europe, India, and Indonesia, it was thought that a monster, maybe a dragon, was trying to eat the sun. In turn, people would bang on pots, pans, and drums and make noise to try to scare the monster away. Eclipses were also seen as Omens. In 585 B.C. a total eclipse was a sign to set down their weapons and make peace. Once the eclipses were able to be predicted accurately, people started paying more attention to eclipses. By the mid 1800’s astronomers were traveling many miles just to see one. Before cameras were invented, artists would travel along with the scientists to try to capture what they were seeing, in a drawing or painting. By the late 1800’s photographs were developed and those who had never seen a total eclipse could finally believe what they had been told. The total eclipse of 1919 was used to confirm the bending of the starlight by gravity as predicted by Albert Einstein in his general theory of relativity.

The reason this Solar Eclipse is so special because the US Mainland has not seen a total Solar Eclipse since 1979. This eclipse swooped across Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota and then into Canada. In 1970 the Solar Eclipse went across the East Coastline from Florida to Virginia. The last Solar Eclipse that went Coast to Coast was on June 8th, 1918, and came over Oregon, Washington and then into Florida.

If you do miss tomorrow's eclipse, the next total Solar Eclipse in the US will be in 7 years, April 8tth, 2024. It will trace from Texas, through the Midwest, New York, New England, Maine, and Brunswick Canada.

Things You Can Do To Celebrate the Solar Eclipse

-Solar Eclipse Water

Supplies:

•Vessel to store the water in

•Water preferably from natural running water (Crystal Geyser works well since it is from a spring), or you can use tap water.

•Crystals (optional, research which ones will work best for the eclipse and intention you are looking for, or use clear quartz, as it helps magnify any vibrations)

•Sage (optional)

•Salt (optional)

The steps to add everything together are simple. Gather your supplies. You can sage and cleanse your vessel if you prefer. After preparing the vessel, you can pour the water into the vessel. You may add the crystals now if you would like. You can use the salt to make a ring around the vessel, or add it to the water to cleanse it as well. Then just set the vessel out directly under the eclipse, or in your windowsill. Don't worry if the eclipse is not particularly visible due to weather conditions. It will still gather the Solar Eclipse energy. You can leave it out for the entire eclipse. You may also say a blessing or chant as you prefer.

You can use the water in enchantments and spells involving rebirth, transformation, change, renewal, reflection, or release.

- You can charge your magickal tools outside but make sure that they are able to be left out in the Sun.

- Now is a great time to establish connections with the spirit realm.

- It is also a great time for curse work, and binding spells.

- You can use it to increase lunar power in yourself and your magickal objects

- Solar Eclipse Spell

This spell is designed to heal you, re-energize and refresh your soul. To help you break through life’s negativity that has built up on your shoulders and set you free.

Ingredients:

• Black candle

• White candle

• Candle Holder

Steps:

You want to start this before the eclipse starts.

1. Light the black candle and focus on all your struggles, emotional, physical and spiritual pain. Watch the candle burn and imagine it is your pain.

2. Blow out candle once the eclipse starts.

3. Remove black candle and replace with white candle that was nearby.

4. Light White candle and imagine bright and positive energy replacing all the negativity that’s gone.

5. Blow out candle once you feel ready to.

*Credit to green-witch97 on tumblr.

 *Information also obtained from Get Eclipsed: The Complete Guide to the American Eclipse by Pat and Fred Espenak.

 *Remember to safely view the Eclipse with the proper eye protection, and use the proper lenses for your camera, as it can ruin your eyes and lenses.

 Thank you for reading to the end of this long post. I hope that all of you enjoy this!!

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I. Script of the Angel

Characters: Seokjin x You; and more tba...

Genre: serialkiller!au; mature (violent and sexual content)

This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

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               Time. In essence, what is it really? When we ask for the time, are we really asking to know the exact hour and the minute? Or are we asking in order to find out how much closer or farther we are from a particular moment. Mother, what time is it? It’s half past seven. Ah, I am late for school! Honey, what time is it? It’s nine in the evening. That’s fifteen minutes of the basketball game I’ve missed.

               He looks up from his laptop. The train continues to whiz by as he writes about time. Time did not slow for him although there are moments he wishes it does. Across, another passenger sleeps with his head tilted back. The momentum of each turn of the train makes his head lull to the right, and then to the left, back to the right, finally to the left.

               Time. We are the only beings on this earth that keep it. The birds do not keep time as they fly from the north to the south. The beasts do not roam the earth, keeping time when they move from one water hole to another. The ants do not march in a line so that they get home in time.

               “Sir, would you like anything to eat?”

               He looks up again at the interruption. A lady pushes the cart and has stopped by his seat.

               “A cup of coffee, please,” he says.

               At moments, we ask if time can pass by quicker. At times, we ask if it can move by slower. In my line of work, the question I hear most often is “Please, can I have more time?”

               “Here you are, Sir,” she hands him a cup. As he is about to take it she adds with a smile, “Careful, it’s hot.”

               He returns the smile and after taking the drink, he places it on the small table to his side. The train is not filled at this time of the hour. It rarely is as most people do not enjoy taking any overnight trips.

               “Would you like anything else, Sir?”

               “Do you have any chocolate bars?”

               “I have chocolate covered raisins.”

               “That’ll do. I’ll take one box.”

               He resumes his work once he places the new package on his table.

               You may be wondering just what exactly I am. Perhaps I’m a doctor?

               In the corner of his eye, he notices someone looking at him. A robust female throws him a charming flash of her straight teeth.

               Or a professor?

               She is still watching him, and so he throws her a long stare of his own.

               Wait. I’ve got it, you say, You must be Father Time himself.

               She gets up from her seat and saunters over to his side.

               “Hi there,” she says, her voice raspy with seduction.

               He shifts in his seat, holding her gaze steady with his own.

               Her heart leaps at the way he is looking at her. His brown hair is styled to softly cover his face. Although he wears a collared shirt, she can see a hint of his hardened muscles from the open flap at the front. A small upturn of his lips beckon her to come closer. Each time his eyes move across her body, it sends shivers down her spine. Oh, his eyes. The deep mysterious pools that lure her in closer.

               He knows he is attractive. He knows that she thinks he is attractive as well.

               Sorry, you’re wrong.

               “Say, would you be willing to take a small walk with me? My body is aching from sitting all night.”

               I am a murderer.

               Perhaps that is not in all accurate. He is primarily a novelist; one who specializes in horror crime fiction. A novelist, who was taking the train to San Francisco to do some research for his new bestseller. And how did he know it was going to be a bestseller? He already had three under his belt.

               He grips her hair and holds her closer to him. They had wandered into the last car of the train, where not a single person was in sight. There, he had led her onto one of the seats, and there is where he holds her down right now.

               She had been an easy target. Well, she had been the one to walk up to him first. All he had to do was sit there and wait.

               She resists against him and pushes harder. However, he has his natural strength over her and so as he towers above, he reaches to grab her wrists and fastens his hold on them over her head. Sweat has beaded her forehead and her mouth opens in a silent scream.

               “Oh my god,” she gasps, “Oh my god.”

               He is relentless on his attack. He enjoys looking down at her this way. He refuses to refer to them as his victims. Instead, he calls them his chosen ones. With a finger, he traces the vein that starts at the top of her neck and watches it disappear again beneath her skin. A light shift in pressure is all he needs for his fingernails to draw blood, and his finger does not stop on their path; they trail further down still.

               She doesn’t even know his name although she wants to scream it. Looking at him, she would have never guessed him to be the person he is showing her to be. His soft looks masquerade the aggression he hides underneath. The nonchalant display of control, as a man who knows what he wants and has never faulted to not get it.

               Sexual gratification. That is what psychologists always deem as the reason for a person to kill. It’s the primary reason people do what they do as they are unable to find anything else to satisfy them.

               Train sex. She never would have thought herself to experience this. But here she is. Here he is. Two bodies that moved in motion with the sound of the train over its track - a metronome to their own rhythmic rocking.

               He is taken by surprise when she suddenly brings her legs around his waist and flips him over. He follows the lines down her abdomen. This time, she straddles him in the dominant position.

               That is why most psychologists are not murderers. They jump to conclusions too quickly for his taste. No, murderers do not kill for sexual gratification. At least not the ones in his books. They kill for the pure reason of wanting to; the pure reason that they are able to.

               Her hair tickles his thighs and it’s his turn this time to emit a low moan. His head hangs over the edge of the seat, and he knows his hair is inches off from the floor. He feels her tongue circle between his thighs. When he glances down at her, he is met with her piercing hungry gaze.

              She makes sure that their contact is never broken as she slowly dips her head back down.

              She’s definitely experienced, that much he could tell. And he is glad, as pleasure quickly rushes through his lower body. He relaxes his head back to its original position, succumbing to his flesh.

               If he were any other man, he would have let her continue. However, a faint click on his watch tells him that their time is up.

               “Finish up,” he orders her.

              It takes a few seconds for her to fully comprehend what he is saying.

              “Are you done?” he asks again.

              She is pushed back to sit on her knees while he slides himself out from beneath. She watches with bewilderment as he grabs his clothes, then proceeds to button his shirt, pull up his pants and tie his shoes before turning back to look at her.

               “Thank you,” he says and then leaves her in stark nakedness.

               The sun had begun to rise and its light filters through the windows. It casts a yellow and orange glow around the entire cart before disappearing again behind the clouds. He makes a stop into the bathroom to wash his hands before returning to his seat, ridding them of any remaining filth.

              When he has returned to his seat, he eyes his unopened chocolate raisins. The cushion of his seat whooshes as he sits and unwraps the package carefully. He pops the decadent treat into his mouth. It hits the right spot and brings a smile on his face.

              She walks back to her seat a few minutes later, avoiding his gaze and the gaze of anybody else awake on the train.

              Women. So petty, but such easy creatures to read.

              In the distance, several watches beep to signify the hour and the man opens his laptop once again. It had been a great break, but it was time to return to writing. It is time to finish his script.

               He wraps his fingers around her neck and strangles her until she cannot utter a sound. Her silence is a symphony to his ears and each struggle like a conductor leading her own orchestra. He would not stop looking at her. He did not want to miss the moment when she would take her last breath. He wanted to make her into something beautiful, and he believed that she was most beautiful the instance before death.

               “Holy shit, that’s fucking morbid,” she comments after reading the paragraph out loud.

               “Language,” he warns her like a father to daughter. He then pauses and gives her a look. “Are you reading my book?” he asks her.

               She rolls her eyes at his reprimand. “I’ve never read any of your stories before,” she tells him, closing the book.

               He walks up to her and takes the book out of her hands. Lovingly, he strokes the cover. It is a dark piece of artwork with a single number placed in the middle. He had given the title “Seven” with purpose, as the novel follows a killer who hunted to transform his victims into physical exhibitions for the seven deadly sins. Out of all the ones he has written, this one is one of his favourite as the idea had taken him to explore the darker side of history such that he could create his unique manifestation of art.

               “You know I don’t like you reading my books,” he says to her.

               “Why not? My boyfriend is the author of these books. My boyfriend who’s got his fourth bestseller,” she teasingly waves a piece of paper in front of his face.

               “What’s that?” he reaches out and takes the paper.

               “Mr. Kim Seokjin,

               It’s your editor here! Just wanted to congratulate you on the news! Well, knowing you, you probably don’t even know what the news is so I’ll spoil it for you: Beauty, the Killer was a hit! It’s flying off the shelves and the reviewers are calling you the next Stephen King. Seriously, a job well done.

              On another note, you still owe me the script for your new book. Send that over soon.

Thanks,

              Jung Hoseok

               “Congratulations!” she throws her arms around him.

               He pats her back at the embrace. Krystal Jung: his childhood friend who somehow turned into his girlfriend along the way.

              She doesn’t let go of him so he stops patting her.

              No, that is wrong. He knows exactly how she became his girlfriend. He had planned it. Knowing that she had always had a crush on him, he decided then that having a girlfriend could only bring about advantages. She would be there when he needed someone to pick up his clothes from the dry cleaning; there for when he would be too tired to cook; there when he needed to bring someone along with him to the expensive galas that people kept inviting him to. She is convenient to have around, plus he had always gotten along with her well enough.

              “Hey, it’s been weeks since we last saw each other. Why don’t you come rest and I’ll help you destress?” she coyly glances up at him as she leads him over to the bed.

              And let’s not forget the free sex.

              He shakes his head slowly. “Not right now. I’m here to do research for my new book.” At that, he slightly pushes her away. Another time, he may have taken her offer but his hands and feet have been itching to head out since he stepped into their hotel room. If she had not insisted on meeting up first in San Francisco, he would have gotten a taxi straight from the train station to his destination.

              “I’ll wait up for you, then! We can go for dinner,” she gives him a hopeful look.

              He has already turned his back towards her and has grabbed his traveller’s bag. Coat halfway on his body, he pauses at the door. When their eyes meet again, there is pity laced within his words. “Don’t. I’ll be back late tonight.”

              With a final look around to room to make sure he has not forgotten anything, he gives her a pat on the shoulder before leaving.

A/N: I shouldn’t start a new series, but when do I ever listen to myself?

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