#god i love daryn so much

[jaysworlds]

Whumptober Day Six

They had lost. Lucifer had expected it to be a hard fight, but he had never thought it would end like this. He had thought they had the element of surprise on their side.

But no. Lily had betrayed them.

He shouldn’t have trusted her, but he had never though she would choose the archangels over him, over their family. She had put her own children’s lives at risk. Malachi and Isaiah were both dead. Because of her.

Or at least, that is what Lucifer is trying to tell himself, because some small, furious part of him knows that it’s his fault, too. That he had been too blind to see how little Lily really loved him, and he had taken his children to war.

He hasn’t seen her. She hadn’t even come to visit them while they were locked up.

It’s their trial today. Lucifer knows full well that the angels will not be merciful towards him, and that his three eldest children won’t accept mercy even if it is offered. They had known what they were getting into when they followed him to war, and he’s so, so proud of them.

It’s Daryn he’s worried about. She’s only little, the baby of the family, and if they sentence her to death with the rest of them…

She doesn’t deserve that. She’d just followed the others blindly, barely even knowing what she was doing, and it hadn’t been until Lucifer had seen her trying to wield a sword that he had realised she was far, far too young to be fighting.

But fought she had, and now it’s too late.

They’re dragged up the steps towards the acropolis, and Lucifer doesn’t struggle, doesn’t react to the mocking whispers. He won’t give them the satisfaction.

His children are so good, and he’s so proud of them. They don’t cry, not even Daryn, though he can see how much she’s shaking, and he aches to pull her into his arms.

The trial is only a short thing, of course. It’s only for show, playing at justice. The archangels have already decided they’re guilty.

Lily is there, of course. He meets her eye for just a moment, and wonders if she can see how angry he is with her. Perhaps if it had only been the revolution that she had torn apart he would have been able to forgive her, but he can’t help but hate her for what she did to their children.

She looks away. Coward.

The sentence isn’t what he had expected. He had thought they would all be sentenced to death, but instead they’re to have their wings cut off and to be banished.

That’s far worse. Death is quick and relatively painless, but Lucifer can guess that this will be agony, and the pain will last.

And of course, the first person they pull out of the ranks is Daryn.

Perhaps they think it’s some small mercy, to not force her to watch, but Lucifer can’t stand it, can’t watch them hurt his baby girl.

She starts crying as they read the charges, trying to turn around and look towards Esther, towards Lucifer, her blue eyes wide and terrified.

“You bastards,” Esther screams, pulling at the chains keeping her secured, and Daryn sobs louder, only upset by Esther’s anger.

The archangels ignore her.

“You can’t do this to her,” Micah spits, always quick to back Esther up in anything she does. “You’ll all fucking burn.”

Lucifer doesn’t say anything for a moment. He knows the archangels will be more inclined to listen to him than to his children, but he doesn’t want to add to Daryn’s distress.

The angel closest to her forces one of her pretty blue wings away from her body, and she cries out, clearly terrified. Lucifer can’t take it anymore. He won’t let them hurt her, not without a fight.

“Stop,” he cries, and for a moment there’s silence. The archangels look at him almost expectantly. “Please.”

It’s hard to look up at them from the angle he’s chained down, but he tries his best, composure finally breaking a little. Let them do whatever they want to him, but Daryn’s a child.

“She’s a child. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Your son,” Michael says slowly, and Lucifer knows he says it like that completely intentionally, “is old enough to pick a side, and old enough to suffer the consequences of his actions.”

That is, of course, when Daryn decides to finally weigh in. Her voice is still shaking, and there are still tears dripping down her cheeks, but she seems so brave as she tips her head back. “I’m a girl,” she says, “and you’re a bastard.”

And then she spits at his feet.

Lucifer is so proud of her.

Michael seems furious, of course, but there is nothing he can do to her past ordering the guards to continue carrying out the sentence.

Lucifer looks away before the knife comes down on her back, unable to watch, but he hears her scream, hears Esther and Micah cry out in unison.

He can’t feel anything but burning guilt in this moment, shame for what he’s done to his family.

He just hopes that Lily feels even half as guilty as he does.

[dwellordream]

A bit of a strange question, but as the queen of AUs, what do you think wouldve happened to the course of ASOIAF events if robb had instead been a woman?

Thank you! I’ve actually debated doing a ‘Robyn, eldest child of House Stark’ fic multiple times, but I don’t think it will be occurring any time soon because once I’m done with Haunt/Hunt it’s going to be a while before I want to touch anything set during the War of the Five Kings timeline. assuming literally everything else stays the same, and Catelyn simply happens to give birth to a daughter at Riverrun instead of a son: (WARNING this is just me talking off the top of my head, I am not an acclaimed ASOIAF theorist or scholar haha) I honestly have no idea what Catelyn would name her. We don’t know if she and Ned even discussed potential names for their children in the two weeks they had together before he went back to war, so it’s really anyone’s guess. I *don’t* think Catelyn would have felt comfortable naming her Lyarra or Lyanna or Branda without Ned’s explicit approval, and she certainly would have wanted to give her daughter a Stark or northern name, especially since the child was born in Riverrun and we’re assuming she’s redhaired and blue-eyed like Robb in canon. Robyn was historically a Ryswell lady who ruled as Lady of Winterfell after marrying Jonnel Stark (although the marriage produced no heirs) and it’s also close to Robb, so if it were me writing the fic I’d probably just go with that.  There’s also just the always ‘safe’ name choices of Jeyne or Alys/Alysanne, which Catelyn might have felt were very inoffensive names no one could have an issue with. Berena or Arrana or even Serena or Sansa could be other options, but if I was writing this AU I’d want to keep the name change as simple as possible so as not to confuse anyone. So Catelyn gives birth to a little Robyn Stark. I am sure she adores her daughter, but I think she would be feeling a bit crestfallen and insecure that she hasn’t given House Stark a male heir while Ned is off to war- especially since there has never been a Lady of Winterfell ruling in her own right- a lot of fics like to portray the North as being much more egalitarian than the South, but the canonical evidence for that is... shoddy. I think the first big issue is obviously going to be Ned bringing Jon back to Winterfell. Catelyn shows up with her infant daughter Robyn- already a stranger in a strange place, likely feeling insecure and uncertain of her relationship with Ned, which is nonexistent, and surprise! There’s a bastard son literally sitting in the nursery. So I think we can take Catelyn’s canonical feelings of ‘why the HELL would you RAISE your ILLEGITIMATE SON WHO LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU alongside OUR CHILDREN and EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY WITH THIS’ and magnify that by about 10?  I would say Catelyn and Jon’s already rocky dynamic is going to be that much worse in this AU, especially since Catelyn then does not have a son until the birth of Bran in 290 AC. That’s about 7 years where Jon is the only male child of Ned’s at Winterfell. 7 years for people to wonder if he might be legitimized if Catelyn doesn’t have any sons. Unless Ned takes some proactive steps to reassure Catelyn that Robyn could inherit his seat and he wouldn’t put Jon in front of her, I think the relationship between Ned and Cat is going to be quite tense. Hateful and toxic to the degree of Robert and Cersei? No, but frosty and distant. Maybe it would improve with the birth of Bran, maybe it would improve if Ned caved and agreed to send Jon to ward somewhere nearby, such as with House Cerwyn or House Hornwood or even the Tallharts, but I do think we would then see a Ned and Cat at the start of 298 AC who are not as close and deeply in love as they are in canon. That’s not to say I think they’d loathe each other but it would be different. Anyways, I would still say Robyn has a pretty happy childhood. I think her personality would be reasonably similar to Robb’s in canon- she’s loving and protective of her siblings, looks up to her parents, is proud of her Northern heritage but worships both the Seven and the old gods. I think her and Sansa would be quite close, and I think since Robb is pretty much the ‘ideal’ if young and sheltered male heir in canon, Robyn would pretty much adhere to the gender norms of Westeros. I don’t think she’d be a tomboy to the degree that Arya is, although she might quite enjoy hunting, hawking, and riding, and I think she’d have some close friends in say, the Manderly sisters or Alys Karstark (I like to write female friendships, anyways). But one major difference is, of course, that Robyn is not considered Ned’s heir. Bran is. This changes Bran’s personality a bit. I think he is overall still his sweet, curious self, dreaming of becoming a knight, but I think that is tampered some by the pressure to grow up and become a worthy successor to his well-loved and respected father. So we might see a bit of a more ‘mature’ Bran or just one who doesn’t really have much time to be scampering about Winterfell- he’s busy with his lessons or training. Robyn I think would love both Sansa and Arya and be a good intermediary between the two of them, although Arya might still be very insecure about not being as feminine or graceful as her two popular older sisters. I do think Robyn would help abate some of her insecurity and feelings of worthlessness, though; she could keep Sansa and Jeyne in line from being bullying or just derisive of Arya’s wild ways, and she could also maybe show Arya some of the value in things like needlework and a lady’s traditional duties, etc. The big question here then becomes, when Robert shows up, does he want Joffrey betrothed to Robyn instead of Sansa? We can assume Robyn and Sansa both look quite similar, but Robyn is the elder sister and was born around mid-283 AC, while Joffrey was born in early 286 AC, I think that age difference would be seen as completely acceptable. So I’m inclined to say yes, there is talk of a betrothal between Joffrey and Robyn. Is Robyn as charmed by Joffrey as Sansa is in canon? Eh, she might not hate him right off the bat, but I can’t see her really having much of a crush, either. Does this influence Ned to think differently of agreeing to the betrothal, if Robyn expresses no interest in wedding Joffrey and becoming queen someday, or does he put more value on not offending Robert?  If I was writing this AU my personal solution would be to have Robyn already betrothed by 298 AC, thus averting the problem of having her just ‘replace’ Sansa in her own plot. It would also make sense in that as Robyn would be a 14 year old girl at the start of the story, it would seem like there might be more pressure to figure out a betrothal for her than there was for Robb. Given Ned’s desire to shelter his children and keep them close, I think he and Catelyn would want Robyn either marrying into a Northern house or a Riverlands house where they would know what family she was marrying into well and know what to expect. Just in terms of negotiating this betrothal, the North might be more convenient for everyone. Cley Cerwyn, Daryn Hornwood, Harrion Karstark, Jojen Reed, and Smalljon Umber would all be options. Robyn would be considered a very appealing choice in wife in order to get influence with the Starks, so lots of houses would be vying for her to marry into their families. Obviously Robyn being betrothed to a northern lordling sort of sets her up to be left behind as acting Lady of Winterfell when all the shit starts going on, with Catelyn trusting her to look after her little brothers and keep the castle in order. Does Bran still fall in this AU in the first place? I guess it really depends. He might have less chances to sneak off with him being expected to spend time around Joffrey and Tommen as Ned’s eldest son. If he does fall, that is an even bigger blow to House Stark in the eyes of their allies- Ned’s heir is crippled, what now, would probably be the major thought. Rickon is just 3- it will be at least a decade before he’s ruling anyone. This might provide an opportunity, plot-wise for Robyn to step up to the plate and maybe the North winds up being steered in the direction of ‘we love Lady Robyn and her betrothed, *insert Daryn or Harrion or Cley, etc!*’. If she ends up being the one to call their banners... who knows. Obviously she wouldn’t be fighting any battles, but I think Catelyn would see nothing wrong with her daughter leading and making battle plans.  That’s kind of all I got at the moment but it’s definitely an interesting concept! How does Theon view her? What is her relationship like with Jon? Does she still name her direwolf Grey Wind? How does her relationship with Catelyn develop as she grows into a young woman making serious political decisions, not all of which her mother agrees with? Does she feel differently about suing for peace with the Lannisters and trying to save Sansa and Arya at all costs, being a woman herself?

[imaginesteverogerss]

Anyone could claim this, but it was I who submitted that first Clint-is-Steve’s-son’s prompt and I’m so happy to see how much this blog loves it! I would love to maybe back up and see everyone’s reactions to the two telling the team about their parent/child relationship and maybe how it affects the dynamics in combat and maybe the banter between them in those situations? (Many thanks! Sorry this was so long)

@captain-daryn ahhh oh my goshfirst of all, THANK YOU for submitting that first ask; I had never had thatheadcanon and it’s honestly become one of my absolute faves.  I love writing them!  A flashback to Steve and Clint telling theteam.  It got a little long, but hopefully it’s a welcome start to weekly posts!

More Steve as Clint’s Dad posts here.

~~

Steve and Clint had calleda “family meeting”, as Tony had coined them, and now they had four expectantAvengers watching them with a mix of curiosity, wariness, and anticipation.  

“Thanks for meetingus.  We wanted to tell you - share withyou – something that we—“

“—Oh my god are youdating?  You’re dating.  Don’t worry, it’s not against any-“

“-Tony.  No. Wow.  No.  Definitely not.  Also, Clint’s married.”

Clint nodded, browfurrowed deep with worry, or perhaps confusion, at Tony’s outburst.   

Steve sighed.  “I was looking for some information aboutPeggy.  I found…something else.  Family.” He gestured to Clint. “S.H.I.E.L.D. may not have been able to recreate the serum, but theywere able to use the DNA in my blood to create children.  One of which is Clint.”

The shock that registeredon the faces before them wasn’t unexpected. Neither was the fact that Tony recovered first.  

“Ok first of all Iapologize for my question.  I echo yoursentiment, Cap.  Wow.”  He paused only for a moment.  “Wait, children?Where are the others?”

Clint shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Not about all of them, anyway.  Two died young, very young, complicationsfrom super-serum DNA binding or something. We were experiments.  There wereonly four of us.”

“So there might be anotherrelative out there, a daughter or a son?”

Clint shrugged.  “Maybe. Possibly.  We haven’t been able tofind much, in the records we’ve searched so far.”

That seemed to be enoughfor Tony for the time being and he fell silent. Steve estimated a 75% likelihood that Tony was determining whether hecould find the missing information.  

Thor took it in stride inthe way he did many things.  He noddedalong as Clint and Tony spoke and once the gears in Tony’s head had started togrind, Thor strode over where they stood next to one another and clapped eachof them on the shoulder. “It is not always easy or joyous to learn of yourheritage but I am most glad to learn of your newfound family in eachother.”  

Bruce shifted warily fromone foot to the other and picked at one hand. “They made it work?”  

Clint tossed him a ruefulsmile.  “Seems so.”

“Then why-“ Bruce stoppedand shook his head at himself.  “Nevermind.”

“I don’t even know whatlevel the information was classified at. I’m sorry, Bruce.  Youraccident…it shouldn’t have happened.  Someone knew.”

“It’s not your fault.  It’s…it might be the fault of a lot ofpeople, including me, but it’s not your fault, Clint.”

They’d known Bruce wouldbe difficult to tell, but Natasha was the hardest to read and, they knew, wouldbe the hardest to face.  For both ofthem.  For their own reasons.  They’d stayed up late a couple of nights,talking and planning and playing out scenarios. It was several long minutes before she spoke.  

“How long have you known?”

Steve let out a long,heavy breath.  “Six weeks.”  

“You’re a better spy thanyou give yourself credit for, Rogers.” She smirked, mouth tight. 

“Nat, we didn’t—“

She held up a hand to stopClint.  “You don’t need to apologize orexplain yourselves.  You shouldn’t.”  She leveled her gaze first and Clint and thenSteve as she continued.  “But if I don’tget a Christmas card from you this year with you two, Laura, and the kids, thenyou will have to explain yourselves.”

***

Two weeks later, there wasa thin, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper outside Natasha’s door.  We’lldo you one better said the unsigned note attached.  Inside was a framed professional photograph:Clint, Laura, the kids, and Steve.  Inmatching Christmas Vacationsweaters.   

Natasha hung it in herliving room.

[thehikingviking]

Kandlbinder Peak & Ventana Double Cone from Andrew Molera State Park

Ventana Double Cone is a bit of an enigma. Standing at a mere 4,856 ft, it is not the tallest mountain along California’s central coast. I wouldn’t consider it well known either, as it lies deep within the Ventana Wilderness, hidden from all but the most committed hikers. However, what it lacks in elevation and fame, it makes up for in terms of remoteness, ruggedness and inhospitableness. I would go so far as to state that Ventana Double Cone is one of the most difficult peaks to climb in the state, at least at the time of this writing. At one point there was a long, but straightforward trail to the fire lookout on the summit. Access to several key trailheads has been closed due to wild fires and landslides, allowing the fast growing brush to quickly reclaim many sections of trail; ceanothus, manzanita, and of course, poison oak just to name a few. The Los Padres ranger district claims they have no money or resources to maintain the trails, so infrequent and minimal trail maintenance is done by volunteers. These efforts are just a drop in the ocean compared to what is needed to fully open up all of the deep Ventana trails.

I had been monitoring bigsurtrailmaps.net over the past few years to try to get a feel for the recent trail conditions. I was planning on climbing Ventana Double Cone from Pat Springs, but a second hand report described the last section of the trail as impassable. I then came across Mike Toffey’s trip reports on Peakbagger.com. He had recently summitted Ventana Double Cone and the nearby Kandlbinder Peak multiple times, and there was a lot of information in his trip reports. From what I was able to glean, horrible bushwhacking and crawling was necessary if one were to retrace his previous steps. Piecing together various fragments of information, I came up with a route that could potentially minimize the worst of the bushwhacking while allowing me to summit both Ventana Double Cone and Kandlbinder Peak. I discussed the idea of a trip and some strategies with Colin Gregory and Daryn Dodge, veterans from my previous Ventana Cone outing. Colin gave me the great idea to reach out to Mike Toffey directly, noting that Mike planned, “to return soon to spend a few days clearing it.” Mike confirmed in text messages that he was interested in returning yet again, and he agreed that my planned route, which would only be a slight deviation from his previous route, would make for a good choice. Remember when they said not to meet strangers on the internet? Mike would later confirm that our latest route was probably the easiest way to get the two peaks in one outing. We planned to start from Andrew Molera State Park along Highway 1, follow the E Molera Trail to Post Summit, continue towards Cabezo Prieto, and follow the ridgeline east until reaching camp along the ridgeline where Mike promised we would find reliable water. The next day we planned to follow the ridgeline up to Kandlbinder Peak, descend 2,000 ft into The Drain, and climb back out onto the summit of Ventana Double Cone. From our prized summit, we planned to retrace our steps, which meant dropping back into The Drain and reclimbing Kandlbinder Peak, Cabezo Prieto and Post Summit. This was different from Mike's previous trip where he stayed along the ridge between Ventana Double Cone and Kandlbinder Peak, which he reported as extremely brushy and downright dangerous. Once the trip was set, Kathy Rich decided to join as well since she was eager to see the center of Ventana Wilderness.

Colin, Mike and I carpooled together from San Jose. I was relieved to learn that Mike was a young, enthusiastic peak bagger, not so different than myself. We shared a lot of peaks of interest. I was perplexed as to why he wanted to return so soon. He claimed that he wanted to establish this route, and he also said he was eager to meet all of us, since he’d seen our names in various summit registers and on Peakbagger. We met Daryn and Kathy at the trailhead putting the final touches to their overnight packs along Highway 1. This is where I usually say that crossing the freeway was the most dangerous part of the hike, however for this trip that would not be the case. The trail ran perpendicular from the freeway and climbed steeply up the hillside until the cars became only an afterthought. I took note of the thick patches of poison oak that lined the trail. Shortly after we emerged onto a steep road that climbed up towards the giant switchback above.

I had done this section of trail once previously as a through hike from Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park to Andrew Molera State Park in an effort to climb Manuel Peak, Cabezo Prieto and Post Summit in one day. That was quite the eventful trip as we saw both a mountain lion and a condor on that lovely day. An apparent difference was the amount of green this time around. I last was here in June, but early April made for much better conditions.

The old road turned trail made a big switchback across the steep mountain face. Colin and Mike ran off ahead while Daryn, Kathy and I were content to hang back and take our time. I knew that this trip would take every bit of energy that I could muster, so I resigned to play the role of the tortoise in this race.

It was not long before Mike got his first tick. I had mostly forgotten about the suckers, lost in “what peaks have you done since” conversation with Daryn and Kathy. Mike is somehow able to feel the tick bite as soon as it starts to burrow in his skin, and can pull it out before it gets too deep. In the few times where I’ve been bitten, I can never feel the bite, and only discover them afterwards by brush of my hand. It was a somber reminder of what lay ahead, so I took some time every now and then to check myself. 

We reached a patch of pines where we took our first rest. Mike claims that a rattlesnake struck at him at this location on a previous trip. I took my pack off and laid down in the shade. Somehow, Mike's water container leaked here and we expected no running water until reached camp. We divvied up the remaining water between ourselves to make sure our guide would have enough to make it. Pico Blanco stood majestically to the north.

We had a long way to go, so I shouldered the pack and we continued onwards to Post Summit.

The trail gradually climbed up and down, but mostly up through green grasses and brilliant poppies. After 4.5 miles we reached a grassy knoll that marked the end of the easy trail.

From here, a cut through the brush climbed steeply up the remaining mile to Post Summit.

I took this section slowly, as it began to get warm. I emerged from the chaparral onto a limestone outcropping which marked my first summit of the trip. To the northwest stood Pico Blanco.

To the southwest was the Pacific Ocean.

To the southeast stood Cabezo Prieto. Hello darkness my old friend. 

To the northeast stood Uncle Sam Mountain and Kandlbinder Peak.

We continued along the ridgeline, doing the opposite of what I did a few years back. I was going through a lot of water and was concerned that I might run out. I put all my faith in Mike because if the water source at camp was somehow dry, it would become a seriously dangerous situation for me. Mike remained steadfast, but I needed to see it to truly believe it.

Down into a saddle, then back up a steep trail we went. It looked like at one point a road used to run over the ridge. How nice would it have been to have a trailhead at the summit of Cabezo Prieto instead? Mike got his second tick here, ripping it off his shoulder blade like a wild man. Ventana Double Cone began to peak out from behind Kandlbinder Peak. It was hard to believe that we would go all the way over there.

We took another long rest on Cabezo Prieto. It was a grunt to get there, but we were done with most of the elevation gain (sort of). I learned later that Colin threw up here, most likely due to exhaustion. We dropped down the ridge here, following what seemed to be game trails. Down, down, down we went, and steeply at that. What at first was grassy slopes slowly became brushier and brushier. Mike confidently led the way here, using his Fiskars 15 Inch PowerGear Super Loppers to clear overgrown sections when necessary. His knowledge of the terrain was invaluable. The “trail” which we followed was not much more than a weakness in the vegetation, and whenever something didn’t look right, he would take the time to make sure we didn’t wander far from the path. Some sections were incredibly steep, and I tried my hardest to keep my balance and not fall into one of the many patches of poison oak. I had long pants and a long sleeve shirt on, which would minimize my exposure to the plant, however it would be nearly impossible to get through without some oils eventually reaching skin. We sidehilled through lush patches of lupine, but such sections were short lived as it wouldn’t be long before we entered the thicket once more. 

-Ceanothus

We paused at one of the old time Ventana Wilderness signs. I’m not sure what they represent, but my best guess is that they indicate where to drop down to a water source.

Our energy was wavering, as was the daylight. I was covered with sweat and dust. Mike promised us that we were close and we finally emerged on a god forsaken semi-flat section of ridgeline which we deemed Toffey Camp. 

-Kandlbinder Peak & Mulberger Dome

I quickly set up my tent, then Mike and I dropped down 200 feet to refill our waters. Low and behold, there was fresh, running water just as Mike had promised. Hallelujah! The hike back up to camp wasn’t so bad, and we ate dinner as the sun began to sink below Cabezo Prieto. 

The next day we woke up and got going a little after sunrise at 7am. We probably should have gotten an earlier start, but I was beat from the previous day’s adventure.

The Soberanes Fire scorched this whole ridgeline back in 2016. While most Californians are fed up with the many recent wildfires within the state, I welcome them as an opportunity to access some of the more choked in peaks. My only regret is not doing this trip a few years back when there was even less brush to contend with.

-Pico Blanco & Launtz Ridge

We waded through knee to waist high manzanita while staying atop the ridge. We reached a limestone outcropping that we had to climb up and over.

From the limestone peaklet, Mulberger Peak and Kandlbinder Peak stood only a short distance away.

The light manzanita slowly gave way to grassy slopes. I spotted a few ticks clinging to my pant legs here and I promptly flicked them off. Ventana Double Cone became visible as we gained a higher section of the ridge.

Mulberger Dome was upon us soon after. I was not aware that Mulburger Dome even existed until this trip. This feature and the subsequent Kandlbinder Peak are unofficially named after Alfred Kandlbinder and Roy Mulberger, original members of the Ventana Chapter of the Sierra Club.

We skirted below the rocky face to the left, then hiked steeply up the grassy slopes to the base of the crumbly dome. We had a short and loose class 3 pitch to scramble up. From our vantage point stood Ventana Double Cone. While it wasn’t very far away, reaching it from where we stood looked unimaginably difficult.

Further southeast were Ventana Cone, Junipero Serra Peak, Cone Peak and Twin Peak.

I gingerly scrambled back down to the more solid ridge, then looked back at the feature which surely gets only a few visitors per decade.

From there, we climbed about a kilometer and 500 vertical feet until we reached the summit of Kandlinder Peak.

Objective 1 of 2 was now complete, although I knew that I had to reclimb this peak later in the day if I wanted to return to camp.

Bottchers Gap, a previously popular but now closed starting point for both Kandlbinder Peak and Ventana Double Cone, was visible to the northwest. To the right of this stood Mt Carmel.

To the northeast stood Uncle Sam Mountain, a summit which my wife and I stood on a year prior while she was seven months pregnant.

Down below us to the east ran The Drain. Above that was Ventana Double Cone’s twin summit. Beyond that stood a line of peaks which included Ventana Cone and Junipero Serra Peak.

To the southeast ran the Coast Ridge. In the distance were Cone Peak and Twin Peak.

Cabezo Prieto, Post Summit and Pico Blanco completed the pirouette to the west.

I was already pretty tired. Something about off trail hiking really saps the energy from you. However I was now only an air mile from the summit of Ventana Double Cone. Several more hours of discomfort would be better than returning for VDC on a separate multiday backpacking trip, even if that required me to drop down into The Drain twice. So we began our steep descent into no man’s land.

Mike claimed that we would have easy boot skiing almost the whole way down into The Drain, however I did not find this to be the case. I contended with a lot of brush and loose rocky sections on my descent. Of the 2,000 ft elevation that we were forced to lose, I would say about 200 feet of that was nice boot skiing. Towards the bottom we had to take much care so as to not kick rocks down onto each other’s heads. The grade relented as we neared the bottom and our route turned into a dry wash. Colin claimed he saw a car further down The Drain, however no one had the energy to go and take a closer look. We speculated as to how a car could even be deposited in such a location. We eventually reached a junction with another dry wash. This would be the lowest point of our entire day. I waited here for the others while I wondered where the water that I so desperately needed was hiding.

Mike arrived a few minutes later to reassure me that water was accessible up ahead. Again, I needed to see it for myself to be completely reassured. We turned left up the wash as a group. After not so long, we came across fresh spring water, which proved Mike right yet again.

The water was delicious. We still had a considerable amount of gain remaining, and I noticed that it was getting late in the day compared to where I hoped to be. I turned up the pace a notch and marched up The Drain. 

I looked back and noticed that Colin and Kathy were faltering. Colin caught up to me and told me that he was probably done, and planned to climb back up Kandlbinder Peak while he had some energy. Kathy voiced a similar plan, stating that her main goal was to see the center of Ventana Wilderness, and that she did.

We all stopped for a final rest at Little Ventana Falls before saying our final goodbyes.

Now it was just me, Daryn and Mike. I knew that suffering was in store, but I was committed to at least reach the summit, and hopefully make it back to camp that night. To the right of the waterfall was a 5.4 route which Mike carelessly free soloed on a previous outing. To the left was a class 4 variation. I was somewhat skeptical of the rating, but after doing the move I think the rating is appropriate. There are itty bitty holds and a lot of exposure as you shuffle across a barren rock face. We all made it across without incident and deposited ourselves above the falls.

Water would go back underground shortly after. The route from here was simple; just scramble upwards until you reach the summit. The next section was mostly class 2-3, but it was steep and tiresome.

Remains from the old summit fire lookout were strewn throughout the drainage. While the forest service went into Sykes Hot Springs and destroyed the hot tubs, all while blaming it on wild fires, for wilderness preservation purposes, I don’t expect them to ever pick up this garbage.

As we climbed higher, the notch a.k.a. La Ventana, became clearly visible.

Scrambling ensued as we climbed higher and higher. Now things were starting to get very interesting.

If the route had better rock quality, I would rate it class 3. However the crumbly rock underneath slippery sand motivates me to call it class 4. Perhaps we can settle on the rating of class 3+.

I focused as hard I could to not kick a rock on top of Daryn and Mike’s heads. Helmets are definitely necessary if attempting this route with a group.

The sketchy scrambling eventually led to some loose dirt. I crawled up the last section of the drain until I reached the ridgeline and the old summit trail. I could smell it now.

A few minutes later we reached the summit. Holy cow!

I was too tired to do anything at first so I just sat down and consumed my nourishment. With a strong pace, I estimated that we could still make it down with some daylight to spare.

To the east were South Ventana Cone, Ventana Cone, Pinyon Peak, Junipero Serra Peak and Black Cone from left to right.

To the south ran the grand Pacific Coastline.

To the west stood Kandlbinder Peak, Pico Blanco and La Ventana.

To the northwest stood Mt Carmel.

To the north stood Uncle Sam Mountain and Elephant Mountain.

And with that I completed the Ventana 15, and obscure list that I had been working on over the last several years.

https://www.ventanawild.org/news/fe99/peaks.html

This was my first “real” list finish, so this hike will always be remembered dearly. The wise man choses an easy peak to finish any particular list, however I decided to chose a damn hard one. So what does that say about me? The north summit looked comparable in height so we decided to pay it a visit after I had somewhat recovered. A weather instrument remained along the ridgeline, most likely serviced by helicopter.

There was some light bushwhacking to reach the south summit, but in doing so I set aside any doubts that I hadn’t reached the highest point.

While we had reached the summit, we were clearly not out of the woods yet. The main thing that caught my attention was the chute of terror. We took turns descending the chute so as not to kill each other. Going one by one added a lot of time, but was definitely necessary. Each of us kicked down several large rocks as we went, even though we were all trying to be very careful.

Once past the crux, I was able to relax a bit, but I could do nothing to forget about the elevation gain needed to reclimb Kandlbinder Peak.

-More Fire LO Junk

Descending back to the waterfall was tedious, but at least there was nothing life threatening during that section. The harrowing part remained when we had to downclimb the class 4 waterfall section.

The exposure was more apparent on the way down, and the holds were a little less obvious. I grabbed onto a crack and awkwardly set myself down onto safer ground. Daryn had a little more trouble than Mike and me, so we guided his feet until he joined us at the end of the pitch. I was relieved to be done with the technical portion of the hike. I filled up water one last time before it disappeared back into the ground, then we hiked down to the confluence of the two washes. Now the fun part would begin; a two thousand foot climb out of The Drain back to the summit of Kandlbinder Peak.

-Pinacate Beetle

As we climbed up the wash, I started to flirt with the idea of climbing to the window. I had already finished the Ventana 15, and the only thing holding me back from becoming a true Ventanaphile was to visit the namesake for the entire area. I floated the idea to Mike and Daryn, suggesting that it would not add much elevation or distance to include this slight detour, and they readily agreed. Rather than retracing our steps, we hung a little bit more to the right and aimed for the fabled notch.

I was getting very tired, but I had no choice but to continue. Mike and Daryn's sanguine attitude help me stay mentally strong. I had enough water and food, so it was just a matter of suffering for a little longer. The rock was loose in places, and there was still brush to contend with.

Through sheer grit and determination, we all made it to La Ventana where we found a shrine, a fire pit and several small treasures.

My favorite thing was the Wimp List, which was a binder full of people who set out for La Ventana but turned around. We considered adding Colin to the list, but decided not to in the end since he didn’t set out for La Ventana in the first place.

Instead we were all happy to sign the Window Walker List.

The views out of both sides of the window were limited.

There was plenty of fascinating literature inside the summit register box.

OPENING UP THE WINDOW

“Walking along the northern rim of the little Sur basin, one is aware of an unusual and mysterious feature on its opposite side, a gap in the ridge near the Double Ventana Cone through which, like through a window, one can see the distant mountain ranges. Its strange beauty, its remoteness and ruggedness, has that ingredient which lures and inspires men to heroic deeds. It must have held the same fascination even for the early explorers, for the Spanish christened three peaks and three creeks by its name. More recently two items were added to the list: A Sierra Club Chapter and a chapter’s journal, the one in your hand. We are, of course, speaking of the Ventana or the Window.

Like so many mysterious things, the window was an object of many legends. One of them said that it once was a silver mine. We know of at least one contemporary who, intrigued by the prospect of riches, went there to see if it was true. He found no silver but once back determined to find a silver mine elsewhere, which he did by judiciously investing in Union Ice.

Nature jealously guarded the approaches to the Window with brush, rock, and the absence of water, and only a few adventurers broke their way through to set foot in it.

Then about four years ago an idea came to the minds (obviously deranged) of two men to conquer and to tame the beasty feature. As so often happens, one of the men took the idea seriously and began a systematic exploration of the area. Not discouraged by two years of failures, he one day assembled a party of men, women and youngsters, a rugged set, and finally broke through the brush and storm to reach the gap. Finding there standing room only, they somehow survived a rain-lashed night and descended the next day, leaving behind a flagged route. This opened a lively navigation and more adventurers came from all sides, hacking and clawing their way up. Gradually, through persistent efforts of one man possessed with the idea of making the Window as popular as Plymouth Rock, the place was transformed into a cozy and likeable little spot. The crowning achievement came with the installation of a stove, carried there on the shoulders of still the same man; this made the place an official camp. 

To commemorate this event, a be-in was proclaimed for Saturday, May 25, 1968. All invited were to converge at the Window, using ten known routes up (see map). At about noon that day, the stillness and serenity of the mountain was broken by echoes of yodels and shouts from all sides and a few hours later the place was packed full with prominent names of the mountain world. Again it was standing room only, but this fact made no dent in the jolly mood of the conquerors. 

The remoteness of the place would never let one expect there more than the barest of necessitates, yet, like in the fairy tale, exquisite hors de ‘oeuvres were served on trays and a vessel with appropriate chaser passed around. Still skeptical of this show, someone wistfully said that he longed for a cold beer. Instantly a bucket appeared full of ice and bristling with shiny beer cans. 

At this time, dazed and visibly shaken to tears by the spectacle, the man responsible for the whole occasion, Mr. Ward Allison, delivered a harangue, one of the best in his whole career. He revealed himself to be not only a leader but a poet as well, a combination found nowadays, only in presidential aspirants. For his deeds, he was awarded a medal and a laurel crown and a round of spirited cheers.

To top it all, as the day drew closer to evening and people began to cast anxious glances at the single tiny stove which was to provide a place for the cooking of 32 individual meals, a full course dinner of ham, yams, green peas and green salad was served. When on top of that a strawberry shortcake with fresh cream and fresh strawberries and bearing the initials of Ward Allison was carried in, the crowd broke into wild cheering and spontaneous singing.

We suppose that this time everyone who missed the news accounts of the event is wondering how all the food and ice, weighing over 150 pounds, ever got there. It’s simple. It came via the eleventh route (not shown on map), straight from the air. The U.S. Navy came to the rescue and dropped the goodies from a helicopter. A one-man ground support, after scraping the stuff off the brush and rock, kept it cool and out of sight until the proper moment arrived. Luckily, of all the contents, only four beer cans were damaged and had to be consumed on the spot to avoid waste.”

–Marcel Sedletzky, President, Lost Padres Hiking Club

Hikers Open ‘Ventana’ Trails

“Thirty-two Monterey Peninsula hikers and a dog climbed into Los Padres National Forest’s most inaccessible cranny, “The Window,” last weekend to celebrate the climax of several years’ trail-blazing work. 

Food including an oversized canned ham, was dropped a day earlier from a helicopter piloted by Cmdr. George T. Gregory of the Naval Air Facility in Monterey, assisted by ADR3c Kenneth Jackson in a practice rescue operation. the food had been purchased by Los Padres Hiking Club, sponsor of the event.

“Ventana” is window in Spanish, so the notch on the divide between the Little Sur and Big Sur rivers has special meaning for Ventana chapter of the Sierra Club. The 32 Sierra Clubbers, ranging in age from 12 to 70, included nine members of the Los Padres Hiking Club. During the evening’s festivities, they paid tribute to Ward Allison, who has led many groups up to The Window in recent years, and helped induct into office the new club president, Marcel Sedletzky, who has worked to develop the four routes by which The Window can now be reached. 

One party of size came in by way of Pico Blanco Boy Scout Camp, hiking along the Little Sur River until they turned off up Jackson Creek. A second party came from Bouchers Gap, Skinner Ridge and Pat Springs, and a third started from White Rock above Carmel Valley. A fourth group left from Big Sur State Park, climbed to the head of Ventana Creek, and there divided; some made the ascent of the Double Cone, while others climbed directly to The Window. 

–Monterey, California Peninsula Herald (May 31, 1968).

The area is not very big, so it was fascinating to learn that so many people had been up there at one time. We blew some vuvuzelas and sorted through all the junk before going over our exit plan. Mike’s memory again proved to be invaluable as he suggested we follow a route through the brush, sidehilling along the northwest side of the ridgeline. I was of course sick of the bushwhacking at this point, but I knew not much remained. I gasped for breath above the foliage and saw Kandlbinder Peak not so far away with two figures on top. Kathy and Colin had waited for quite some time on the summit and gave us some cheers of encouragement.

Just when I thought the bushwhacking was over, more brush appeared. My mood started to improve once I started recognizing sections of ridge from earlier that morning. Kathy and Colin were gone by the time we reached the summit. I decided to log the summit of Kandlbinder Peak twice. When questioned by Mike, I affirmed that coming back up the peak from the drain was every bit as difficult as hiking up from Toffey Camp. I no doubt climbed the mountain twice that day. I took in the views again, this time with different lighting, before beginning my descent back down the hill.

-Big Sur Drainage

-Little Sur Drainage

-Uncle Sam Mountain

-Mulberger Dome

My goal was to make it back down to camp before dark. My legs had been complaining for the last several hours, but at least the temperature was nice and cool by this point. I had a few bars of service here so I made a quick Facetime to Asaka and Leif.

We closed the distance between Colin and Kathy, but we never caught them.

My goal shifted from getting back with daylight to getting back without having to use the headlamp. As we closed in on our destination, Mike told me about his experience with one of the Dark Watchers. On one of his previous outings, he noticed a lone headlamp as he approached Toffey Camp in the dark. He called out to the figure, but it vanished shortly after, leaving Mike to his lonesome in the spooky wilderness.

We reached camp without needing the headlamp. I had enough water in my reservoir at camp to save me a trip down to the creek. It took us over 12 hours to go less than two miles each way as the crow flies. I was beat.

The next morning we woke with less urgency, but I was still eager to get back to my car. I was really dreading the hike back up Cabezo Prieto, or any uphill for that matter. The heavy pack was dreadful, but if all went well, I would be back home in time for dinner.

The worst of the bushwhacking took place near the low point of the saddle. We managed to stay on track more or less, but it was still physically challenging.

Finally the big climb up Cabezo Prieto began. I was very slow, but speed didn’t matter anymore. We took a long break underneath a shady oak where I sipped on water and munched on miner’s lettuce. This stuff was more lush and tastier than the Sierra Nevada variety.

Once we reached Cabezo Prieto, Mike and Colin decided to head down to Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. I agreed to pick them up later, since Kathy, Daryn and I were content to return the way we came. I enjoyed the many wildflowers along the way.

From Post Summit, I took one last look at Kandlbinder Peak. I will most likely never return.

While there was more uphill sections than I wanted, I really enjoyed the last few miles out to the car. Pico Blanco put on a show.

I was overcome with relief once I began to hear the cars on Highway 1.

I carefully crossed the road and wasted little time to take off my shoes and change my clothes. I bade Daryn and Kathy a brief farewell since I wanted to get out of there. I enjoyed the drive down south to pick up Colin and Mike. I ended up getting a mild case of poison oak later on that week, but at least I wasn’t bit by a tick. While I found the trip extremely strenuous, I was glad that I got to experience such a tremendous hike that only few will appreciate. A great group definitely made the trip much more enjoyable. With the pain of the trip still fresh in my memory, I’m already planning new Ventana Wilderness adventures in the near future.

[starchasertonight]

What if when kadena met Kat was out and Adena wasn't in the relationship.

i honestly meant to just ficlet this but then an accidental 2k word fic happened. so…there’s that. this is an AU.

—

“Remind me why we’re going to this art show thing, again?”Jane asks as they all turn the corner, approaching the Brooklyn gallery.

“’Cause Sutton’s hot hipster guy mentioned he’d be there.”

“Ok, can we please stop calling him hot hipster guy? He’snot that hipster, and his name isBrian.”

“But why exactly are wegoing?” Jane persists, gesturing between Kat and herself.

“So it doesn’t look like she’s going just for him. Suttonsaid she’d be there like she already had plans too,” Kat says with a laugh,nudging Sutton with her elbow.

“We’re not hipster Brooklyn people.”

“You are tonight!” Sutton says, flashing her best smile andJane rolls her eyes while Kat keeps laughing. “Please? For me?” she adds toJane.

“Bet there’s gonna besome artsy queer girls here. There always are at these things,” Kat muses outloud, and Sutton turns on her, eyes narrowed.

“I knew it! I knewthere was a reason you agreed to this so quickly!”

“What? So I’m multitasking,” she shrugs. “I can find ahottie to take home and be your wingwoman at the same time. It’s a win-win,babe.”

Jane’s the one laughing now while Sutton rolls her eyes, andthen they’re at the entrance to the gallery, walking up behind several otherpeople also making their way in.

“What happened with you and that guy?” Jane asks. “What washis name?”

“Daryn,” Sutton supplies.

“Yeah, Daryn.”

“He started sending me good morning texts,” Kat says,leading the way towards the small pop-up bar stationed in the corner.

She knows that Sutton and Jane are sharing a look behind herbut she ignores them, pulling her card out of her wallet.

“Yeah, hi, can I get a vodka cran, please?” she asks thebartender, and Sutton leans against the makeshift bar top beside her.

“Oh! There he is!” Sutton jumps, grasping her arm, and Janeturns her head around.

“Okay, so what do you want us to do?” Jane asks.

Brian looks up and there’s a clear moment where he andSutton make eye contact before she looks away, back to the two of them.

“Wait for him to come to us,” Sutton says, conspiring, andKat thanks the bartender for her drink.

“So what’s this show for?” Jane questions, looking around,and Kat follows suit.

It’s the first time since she walked in that she’s paid anyattention to the art on the walls. The show must be for multiple artists,because the pieces are split up in different sections of the gallery and arevery different from each other. Some are paintings, others photographs.

The pictures really catch her eye, even from a distance,because they’re striking portraits of people. She makes a mental note to maybecheck them out more later, once they successfully run into Brian.

Brian finally comes over with a friend (who unsuccessfullytries to hit on Jane) about ten minutes later, and then Sutton is gone,chatting and walking with him around the gallery. She and Jane share a subtlefist bump, across their cocktail table, and that’s when she notices a girl withside-shaved hair and a septum piercing not so subtly glancing at the two ofthem.

Jane notices too after a moment, giving Kat a look, and shegives a small shake of her head in return.

“I can already smell that she doesn’t wear deodorant, so that’sgonna be a hard no from me,” she whispers, matter of fact, and Jane holds theback of her hand to her mouth to hide her laugh.  

A woman starts speaking from a microphone, diverting theirattention, and thanks people for coming, explaining the show and introducing theartists.

“…and last, but certainly not least, Adena El-Amin.”

Several people cheerand clap as a woman wearing a flowy red top, hair wrapped and covered, smilesin acknowledgment at the crowd in the room and hugs the woman holding the mic.

Kat can tell even from her spot by the bar that the artistis beautiful, and she doesn’t even realize that her head is tilted, biting herlip and staring after her, until Jane elbows her.

“No way.”

“What?” she questions, feigning innocence.

“There’s no way you’re getting her to go home with you,”Jane says, and she scoffs.

“Is that a bet?” she answers, competitiveness kicking in,and Jane groans.

“What are the odds that she’s even into women?”

Kat watches Adena, the way she greets people, the way sheinteracts with the women around her, and she’s already getting some vibes.

“Mm, fifty percent, at least,” she hums, thoughtful.

“Wow, ok. Didn’t mean that as a literal question. How do youeven…”

She sets her empty drink down on the high table, doesn’t letJane finish her question before cutting in with—

“Wish me luck, tiny Jane.”

She walks away toward the artist before Jane can stop her.

She decides to go look at Adena’s art first, so she hassomething to talk about, something to open with. And it’s only after staringfor several minutes at the gorgeous portraits of people from mosques throughoutthe city that she makes her way over to the photographer.

She’s exactly as pretty close-up as Kat thought she’d be,and there’s a brief moment of butterflies in her stomach. Because yeah, she’sgood at this and she knows she’s hot, but this woman is gorgeous and apparentlyalso talented as fuck. But Jane is gonna give her such a hard time if shedoesn’t follow through after acting so confident, so there’s no backing downnow.

“Hi,” she says, as soon as the person talking to Adena turnsaway. “I’m Kat,” she continues, extending her hand, and Adena reaches out toshake it. “Your photographs are so beautiful, I had to meet you.”

The artist smiles back with warm brown eyes, and her hand issoft against Kat’s before she drops it.

“Thank you, Kat. And thank you for coming over to introduceyourself. I always enjoy meeting new people at shows.”

“Of course,” she answers, giving her best relaxed smile.“And I love those earrings, they’re gorgeous on you.”

She sneaks in the initial compliment, subtly flirtatiousenough that a straight girl wouldn’t think anything of it. But then Adena picksup on it, gives her a slow smile in response, blinking up at her, and bingo.

Adena doesn’t blush though, doesn’t show any sign ofbashfulness. Instead she just smiles, arms crossed against her chest when she surveys Kat with curiosity and answers—

“What brought you here tonight?”

“My friend’s trying to impress this guy she met on tinder,and I was her wingwoman,” she says, deciding for honesty, and Adena gives asurprised laugh. “Tell me more about this project,” Kat smiles, inclining herhead towards Adena’s photographs.

She knows that artist types love to talk about their work,that it’s the best way to keep conversation going with Adena right now, andsure enough Adena’s face lights up, answering her.

Here’s the thing, though, that she doesn’t see coming—

Adena? Is actually an incredible person to listen to. Andthe more she talks about her work, answering Kat’s follow-up questions, themore she’s genuinely interested in it all.

Adena talks about both the love and the tension that shefeels in places of worship, the conversations that led to these pictures, andKat is absolutely enamored with her. The more that the conversation unfolds,the more unsure of herself she feels, like she’s been thrown off her gamecompletely.

This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.

“Listen, Kat, there are some other people here that I needto speak with, to thank,” Adena explains, and she wonders how long they’ve beentalking. “But I would very much like to continue our conversation. Do you havetime, after the show? It will probably be another hour or so before I’mfinished. If not, I understand. I know it’s getting late.”

Kat smiles at her, more bashful than earlier, and nods.

“I’d like that. I’ll hang around, come find me when you’reready.”

They end up at a late night café, a couple blocks down, andthey’ve been talking for nearly forty-five minutes when Kat pauses, shaking herhead.

“You know, I honestly had no idea we’d end up talking likethis, when I walked up to you,” she admits, a little unnerved by how quicklythis has become something like a date.

“Oh?” Adena asks, curious and chin resting in her hand.

“No, I just thought you were really attractive,” Kat laughs,opting for honesty, and Adena smiles at her.

Her face is more contemplative than anything else, gaugingKat’s reaction, when she says, “You should know that I’m not one for hook-ups.”

“I already figured that out,” she says, and Adena quirks hereyebrow. “I’ve given you like, at least two clear openings to leave this caféwith me that you swerved.”

Adena laughs and then bites her lip, looking in to Kat’seyes, and god she’s so pretty thatKat just really wants to kiss her.

“So…what now?”

Adena asks it like she means it, like she’s truly open to possibilityfor whatever’s unfolding between them, and there’s something so disarming aboutit all.

Her phone screen lights up with another text from Jane outof the corner of her eye, also revealing the time and how late it is.

“Now…” she hums, holding Adena’s hand where it’s resting ontheir little table and giving her a flirtatious look. “Now I give you my number,and… I leave because I have an 8 AM meeting tomorrow. Aaand, you text me if youwant to see me again.”

Adena looks into her eyes, making Kat swallow, then gives alittle quirk of her lips and reaches in her bag for her phone.

“Okay.”

Kat doesn’t think about what this means right now, the implicationsof it all. Because she doesn’t date. She doesn’t.

But this felt suspiciously like an impromptu date, and she’ssad that it’s over, and she’s already hoping that Adena follows through andtexts her.

This doesn’t happen to her. Ever.

She knows she’s gonna have to talk to Jane and Sutton aboutit, and she’s already dreading their overdramatic excitement.

Adena gives Kat her number too, and then they’re standingoutside of the café together. It feels weird, leaving like this. Do they justsay bye and start walking in opposite directions? Do they hug?

Kat really wants to kiss her, and in any other situation theclear signs would be there for her to just go for it.

Adena holds her armsout for a hug and Kat follows her lead, sinking into her embrace. She feelswarmth spread through her body at the intimate contact, at how good she feelseven just like this. And when Adena starts to pull back, Kat looks into hereyes, decides to go for it and whispers—

“Can I kiss you?”

She honestly doesn’t know what the answer is going to be.But then Adena is nodding, coy smile on her face when she leans in and Katbrings their lips together, cupping her face.

She feels her whole body react, because Adena kisses hermore deeply than she expects, mouth relaxed as their lips glide together, andKat grasps her waist. And then, just as she’s starting to get lost in the kiss,hands wandering her back, Adena pulls away, smiling and blinking up at herbefore she takes a step back.

“You don’t play fair,” Kat says, trying not to whine, andAdena’s eyes are sparkling when she gives her a knowing smile.

“Goodnight, Kat.”

“G’night, Adena.”

She’s still standing there, dazed from the kiss, when Adena smiles and walks away.

[ladywolfmd]

Ships that Pass in the Night

Part I & II | Part III & IV | Part V & VI | Part VII & VIII | Part IX & X

IX. The Dream

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded, “Don’t leave me again.”

He clenched his fists against the windowsill while his back remained turned to her. “You know I have no choice.”

“There’s always a choice. Or have you finally done it? You’ve chosen to let me go?”

Continue reading on AO3 or here.

He turned abruptly then and crushed her against him before cupping her face to look him in the eye. “I chose you. That’s why I’m doing this. I chose you above all. Everything I’m doing is for you. It’s the only way I know you’ll be safe.”

She closed her eyes then and let the tears flow. “What if you don’t come back?”

She felt him kiss away her tears and coax her eyes open to see him smile at her. “My love, what is it that I promised you? When you asked me where I would go?”

A faint smile graced her face at last. “You corrected me. You told me, ‘where would we go?’”

He stroked her cheek. “Aye. You carry me with you always. Just as I carry you here with me too,” he took her palm and placed it on his chest over his heart. “I came back just as I’ve said, I’ll come back again and I promise I won’t leave without you ever again.”

…

Her skin was ice cold, no matter how much he tried to warm her up while the light in her eyes was slowly fading.

How could he warm her up when he himself was frozen too?

The war had ended, the realm saved, except for her.

She was too stubborn to leave when asked that he had barely been able to see her still alive.

Not that he was any better.

He was wounded too and likely won’t live to see the morning.

“You…came back,” she said weakly and he had to fight through the pain both physically and not to crawl to her and take her hand and cheek in his palms.

“I did…I promised…” he whispered back.

She smiled. “I know…you would…that’s why…I waited…”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said almost angrily.

She gave him a look that was almost fierce if not for the blue in her lips. “We’re here...together…at last…”

He wanted to cry. “We are…”

“We’re here…before the…old gods,” she lifted her hand weakly to trace his face.

“Aye.”

They shared a look and he understood. “Do you take…this man?”

She smiled her radiant smile and nodded weakly. “I take this man.”

And there under the heart tree, they sealed their union with a frozen kiss.

Then darkness.

X. The Rooftop

Jon had just about given up when Daryn called him to say that Wylla’s guest had already left White Harbor. He was up the rooftop doing what everyone told him he did best.

Bloody brooding.

He was already wearing his uniform, stalling as much as he could in hopes of getting a glimpse of her. He was due to leave to fly his plane to Karhold in a few hours.

How could I let this pass?

She was just there with him. Too many times already she was pushed his way and they were actually talking inside the old ballroom too.

Stupid. He was stupid. And now he missed his chance.

How many chances were there?

The bus, the party…he straightened then. Could she be the same person from the plane? The red-head Val and Satin wanted him to greet?

And then he remembered the party after the fireworks. She just disappeared. And he didn’t even know who to look for because all of a sudden Wylla’s guest, the dancer was swarmed by people, causing a commotion while he searched for his mystery girl at the same time dodging being introduced to the guest—oh for fucks’ sake!

He swallowed. What if she was the guest. What if she was the dancer?

But no. It couldn’t be. The dancer had silver hair.

Hair that could’ve been just a wig—Jon Snow you truly are a bloody idiot!

If only he just followed what everyone told him to do then he would’ve met her already!

What was Wylla’s friend’s name? They already mentioned it to him and now he was regretting barely listening.

“Sansa,” he blurted out.

“Yes?”

Jon’s heart almost leapt out of his chest from shock and then realized too late that the voice that answered was familiar. His heart raced and his palms grew sweaty at the realization sinking in that he was suddenly afraid to turn around.

“You…called my name?” he heard her walk closer and he swore he wasn’t breathing.

He swallowed then before he lost his nerve and he’d lose yet another opportunity. So slowly, he turned.

He couldn’t help holding his breath at the sight of her truly in front of him then. His dreams did her no justice.

Her hair had a richer red hue while her eyes were bluer and softer—she was so beautiful that the whole of him ached for her.

She looked taken aback as well, her eyes wide, her full lips slightly open after letting out a quiet gasp. She looked as unbelieving as he did, both their eyes roaming over their forms.

Their eyes locked and visions swam in his mind in what felt like years but was actually just a quick moment.

Did she see them too?

Does she know?

Does she know how long he’s waited for this moment?

Her tearful answer said it all.

“Is it really you…Jon?”

And just like that, tears leaked from his eyes too as he gathered her in his arms and lifted her the same way he did, thousands of years ago when she came to him just as he was brought back.

“It’s me. Sansa, it’s me. Is it really you? Are you really here, my love?” He whispered against her shoulder.

“It’s me, Jon. I’ve waited so long,” she cried with her face pressed against his.

“I’m so sorry, Sansa. I’m sorry it took so long to find you,” he sobbed, holding her as tightly as possible.

They pulled away slightly to face each other. “We’re here now.”

Jon brushed his nose against hers and rested his forehead on hers. “Together. At last.”

Sansa smiled back at him before taking note of his uniform. “You’re the pilot.”

“Aye. And you’re the ballerina,” he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Suddenly she looked worried. “You’re leaving.”

Jon’s smile faded as well. “I thought you left for Winterfell earlier.”

“Jon…how are we going to make this work? I…I’m going on tour soon.”

Jon swallowed. Both their jobs would require them to part but he just had his Sansa back after so many years just to be deterred once more. “We’ll find a way, I promise.”

Sansa looked at him before smiling again and nodding. “We will. Together.” She rested her head on his shoulder then, her arms wrapping around his neck while his wrapped around her back.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered. “I can’t believe we found each other again.”

Jon held her tighter. “I can.”

Sansa pulled away and looked at him so lovingly that his hands traced up until he was cupping her face and neck once more.

After looking into eyes he’s only dreamt of seeing once more, he finally leant down and kissed her.

And for the first time in centuries, there was no darkness that followed.

Inspired by this quote:

“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”

― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn

AN: Here’s the last of it. I really hope you like it @weasleyrose! I’ve had this plot for years already and I’m really happy I finally had time to write it down. So thank you for the opportunity (and the deadline haha it really helped). Merry Christmas! 

[s-cornelius]

12x18-12x20 Scorecards!

12x18 The Memory Remains: B+

12x19 The Future: A

12x20 Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes: A

I thought about watching and scoring a few more episodes for this batch, but I think these three are a great examination of the idea of legacy and family (legacy goes all the way back to the introduction of the MoL, and family has been an important theme so far, but it explodes in these three episodes). These episodes ask the questions: who is your family? what are you willing to do for them? and what is your legacy?

Characters make “bad” decisions. The brothers in 12x18 continue a dark family legacy of killing for a god that provides them with prosperity. Cas hurts and betrays the Winchesters to help the Angels; then to help the nephilim. Max Banes takes up the dark burden to create a simulacrum (?) of his sister, bringing her back to life (permanently?) and damning himself. But they are all decisions made for the sake of family or legacy--these are characters doing what they think they have to do. I think it’s very satisfying in this part of the season to see characters making choices, and making bad choices--even if they are unintended bad choices--and having to deal with the consequences. Max didn’t know he was making a bad choice when he was being flippant about his mother missing (even though she was already dead), but that guilt about his behavior drove him to take up the witch’s burden. (Going back a few episodes, Eileen didn’t know she was making a bad decision when she tried to kill Dagon and hit the BMoL dude instead, but the dude is still dead and the BMoL still have a code.)

And this has been the Winchesters M.O. from the start--a bad choice is justified if it protects the family. They are willing to risk death, damnation, loss of bodily autonomy, etc. if it will save the other brother. It has been frustrating in past seasons when that has been framed as a good thing. In this season, it is explicitly in the text, as well as in narrative mirrors, a bad thing.

Individual scorecards under the cut!

12x18 The Memory Remains

(Written by: John Bring, Directed by: Phil Sgriccia)

THE BAD:

I don’t know if it’s the actor or if it’s directing choices, but the sheriff's line readings are odd.

The cold breath effect while Dean’s in the freezer looks so fake haha

THE GOOD:

That’s a damn fine shot from Daryn in the freezer to Sam and Dean walking by with the sounds of the factory drowning out Daryn’s shouting.

It’s nice having the colt back from a purely aesthetic perspective because the boys sure look good holding it :D (it’s very stylish)

I like the uptempo jazzy music while the BMoL are in the bunker. It’s the first time I’ve been interested in a scene they’re in.

“Hunting people. Killing them. The family business.”

It’s nice to get an overt conversation about legacy since I’ve talked a lot about it in the past (see here)

SCORE: B+

STRAY THOUGHTS: More fucked up families for this season of fucked up families. And uh oh Ketch is getting creepy (well, creepier).

12x19 The Future

(Written by: Robert Berens and Meredith Glynn, Directed by: Amanda Tapping)

THE BAD:

Joshua’s now a boring ass white dude? Well at least he didn’t last long

THE GOOD:

AMANDA TAPPING!!!!

This is a good scene with Dean and Cas. It’s been so long since they’ve had a scene together that I’d forgotten how good they are together.

Kelly’s faith in her baby reminds me of s4 Castiel a little, so it makes sense that Castiel would get on the nephilim bandwagon.

SCORE: A STRAY THOUGHTS: A very well-done myth arc plot episode. Cas stealing the colt and making Dean go unconscious (as Dean says “don’t!”) hurt, but the good kind of this-is-written-well kind of hurt.

(Tho apparently no one watched it according to SuperWiki haha. It has the lowest rating of any episode of spn)

12x20 Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes

(Written by: Steve Yockey, Directed by: Richard Speight)

THE BAD:

I don’t really have anything. This wasn’t an episode that made me the most excited (which is why it’s not an A+), but it is very good.

THE GOOD:

I love Max and Alicia :D

I love the colors in this episode. There’s a lot of purple and green and it looks really great. I know people miss the desaturated palate of the earlier seasons, but this is a good argument for color)

SCORE: A STRAY THOUGHTS: This might be another “I’m getting old” thing, but the actress who plays Tasha doesn’t look old enough to have children who are in their 20s …

More fucked up/tragic families :(

I know a lot of people were upset with this episode when it came out but holy shit, I thought it was great. I think Supernatural has a genre problem sometimes--it has horror roots, but it’s hard to sustain a horror story across a whole season, so you get a sort of action-adventure arc with occult themes. But on an episode to episode basis, the genre can be straight up horror, thriller, adventure, mystery, sci-fi, southern gothic, etc., and that sometimes works really well, and sometimes not so much. I think the best episodes often know what their genre is, and know what the genre conventions are. This was a horror story--not in the jump-out-and-scare-you sense--but in the slow march of inevitability sense. Tasha Banes is dead very shortly after the episode begins, and even though Supernatural likes to bring people back, that is not this story. She’s dead, and it’s just a matter of time before her children find out.

This is a story about witches, but more than that, human choices, and that makes for the best kind of horror. What would you do for your family? What exceptions would you make? It’s something that’s been kicking around in the past few episodes of this season (since at least 12x13 where I picked up watching again), and Max makes the bad decision. Max essentially makes the decision Dean made at the beginning of s9, but with extra damnation added on top.

[jetfuel-cantmeltsteelbeams]

So You Wanna Start a War ?

Timeline: New Court - Daniel Nightengale Chronicles

Location: Astor Smithe-Nightengale’s personal Manhattan apartment // Captive in the Sub-Realms of Arole // Amelie Smithe-Nightengale’s personal residence // Drigulian royal chambers

Characters: Astor Smithe-Nightengale, Daniel Nightengale // Nicolette Blythe-Demmekke, Mattea Cross // Braxis Draekmol, Amelie Smithe-Nightengale // Jaxon Mile, Daryn Cross-Demmekke, Astraea Demmekke

Song Used: So You Wanna Start a War by Klergy // Like I Can by Sam Smith // So You Wanna Start a War by Klergy  

Summary: Astor suffers migraines and shuts herself up in her apartment away from family. Hearing a sound in a backroom, she goes to investigate but finds nothing. // Nicolette searches for a way out of her rooms after a horrible encounter with her birth-father who had sought out her twin brothers. // Braxis witnesses something unseen trigger Amelie’s transformation while the goddess sleeps, but before he can find the source, she returns to her normal state. // After his training, Jaxon goes to check on the children in their nursery. An unseen threat triggers Daryn and Astraea’s powers. 

Astor Smithe-Nightengale One Half of the Throne of Creation  Deus Astoria, Great Hawk of the Skies

walked through the lazy sunstreams escaping her tall Manhattan apartment windows. Wearing nothing more than an oversized t-shirt and black lace panties, she ran a slow hand through the tangled mass of brown curls as she surveyed the crowded kitchen countertop.

With a scowl at the mess she’d created over the past two weeks, Astor rummaged through the cabinets until she found a single clean red solo cup and K pod. Setting it beneath the dispenser, she flipped the Keurig on to watch as the machine heated and poured her coffee. Leaning with her elbows on the counter, she let her head fall into waiting hands just to massage at the migraine that had been burning through her self-control for days now. 

So you wanna start a war, In the age of icons?

The shades had stayed drawn, the apartment left in darkness while she fought against the blinding pain behind her eyes. She hadn’t touched her cell since turning it off as soon as she walked through the door to the only residence hidden from her family. 

Selfish, hiding away like this. Your family worries about you. Astor rolled her neck, eyes closed. They only worry about what mess you’ve gotten into this time. You’re nothing but a liability. Her lips parted against the shock of pain that ran from temple to jaw. You’re a coward. You’re a hero. You’re a horrible queen. Those men owe their lives to you-

A creak in one of the back rooms had Astor opening unfocused blue hues. She stared down the hallway to her right, wondering if she might just be imagining the sound. A result of sleep depravation, or any number of psychosis stemming from her newly obtained- and difficult to control- powers.  Just as she turned back to pull her cup off the machine, she heard it again. A bump against one of the walls. No one in her family knew this apartment existed, let alone where it was. Leaving her cup on the counter, she wondered what poor bastard had chosen to break into a god’s apartment this early in the morning. Don’t thieves mainly work at night?

So you wanna be immortal,  With a loaded gun?

Slowly, she put one bare foot in front of the other. The hardwood beneath her made no sound as she crossed the kitchen.

Horrible queen.

So you wanna start a war, war?

I am one half of the Throne of Creation, she told herself, more powerful than ever. Still, a force stronger than anything she’d ever felt pressed against her chest. A chill crept up her spine, begging her to turn and run.

Panic filled both lungs like concrete, making it hard to breathe. Whatever was waiting for her at the end of the hall felt... wrong. Instinctively she knew fear, raw and unchecked. as she strained her ears to listen. Silence, but the pressure remained. Ominous and foreboding, like a ghost story come to life. 

I am the daughter of God, she repeated, one hand reaching for the only door in her apartment opened by a crack. Astor had a bad habit of closing the doors she went through, in all aspects. I am the daughter of the most powerful human ever to exist. As if a wall of cold brick had appeared, she froze with the one hand barely grazing the rich dark wood. A small part of her wanted to call for Bela, to send him racing headlong into whatever waited on the other side. She knew he’d come; they were mated souls, after all. 

Idly, she wondered if he could feel her fear down that bond.  A deep breath to steady her nerves, hardening her now silver eyes. I am the daughter of Lucifer, gatekeeper of all Hells realms, and I will not be afraid. With one great push, Astor forced the door open.

The room was empty.

So you wanna start a war.

-

Drig’uhl Nicolettte Blythe-Demmekke The Bridge Between Two Kingdoms First Reigning Queen of Angels

paced the small chambers she’d been seen to. After that sorry excuse for a reunion, she’d been parted from her brothers without protest from either raven-haired prince, led to a suite that she could only assume was as far away from the others as possible.

And the doors were locked, of course. She’d already tried them all, even the windows and walls for hidden passages. She’d come up with nothing less than a few broken nails from trying to pry a bookshelf from the wall only to find it was bolted steady.

So she paced, nibbling on the skin around her thumb nail as she struggled to come up with some sort of escape plan that didn’t end with her kingdom searching for a new ruler.

As she reached the far wall of her bed chamber, Nicolette heard a second set of footsteps behind her. Turning, hoping against chance that it was one of her brothers come to clear the air between them, she frowned when greeted with a long mane of blonde hair and steely green eyes. Mattea was dressed in her usual fighting leathers, with whips of black flame on both hips. The tall demoness had her arms crossed as she leaned against the bookshelf.

Nicolette knew the footsteps hadn’t been an oversight on Mae’s part, that they were as good of a greeting that the demon would give.

“If you can move around as you please, why don’t you get my brothers out of this shit hole?”

Her temper spiked at the nonchalant shrug of Mattea’s shoulders. “I asked. The princes don’t want to leave.”

“Can you at least get a message to the others? Tell them where we are?” They’ll come, bringing armies if need be. It’s what they did.

Mattea just stared, and Nicolette knew that the demon wasn’t leaving her brother’s side. Even for the few seconds it would take to flash into Drigulia, Mattea wouldn’t risk leaving Evryn without a smoking gun.

Or fire whips, held by an undead demoness that had fermented in the darkness of Hell for apparently a little too long.

Nicolette growled low in her throat, the incisors that rested inside her gums lengthening with her rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped. Mattea’s eyes slowly moved from the angel’s face, roaming up the walls to focus on the cathedral ceiling above. “That man in there is not their father! And if my brothers think for a second that just because he donated sperm to our mother and that gives him any right to just walk into our lives-”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said,” the demon whispered as she pushed herself off the wall, “shut up.”

She was parting her lips when she felt it. The suffocating cold that filled the room, seeping through her skin as if it were nothing but paper and ash to settle in her bones. The feeling of being watched, of being monitored by unseen eyes sent the hairs on her neck prickling.

He could be a sinner,  Or a gentleman.  He could be your preacher,  When your soul is down. 

Mae’s head turned at an odd angle, bottoming out Nicolette’s stomach. She’d never seen the demon look… intrigued.

“Are they watching us?” The raven whispered, moving closer to her friend as the pressure in the room increased. If she’d been human, she might have found it hard to breathe.

Thin, blond brows arched as recognition flashed on Mattea’s face. Staring at the wall as if she were the only person in the room, a look of wonder sparked in her eyes. He could be your lawyer  On a witness stand, but,

“You’re like me.” The whisper that escaped her friend sent Nicolette back a step. She wasn’t sure what exactly Mae meant by like me, but she sure as shit was not sticking around to find out.

Just as Nicolette opened her mouth to say as much, the pressure faded. The feeling of being watched dwindled down to nothing more than the creeps.

He’ll never love you like I can, can. 

They were alone once again.

-

Braxis Draco Prince of Darkness  Heir of Rhydstrom the Great

frowned at the bedroom he found himself in, wondering what exactly had gone wrong in his life that he was counting flowers on the wallpaper, illuminated by a pink salt lamp on the nightstand. They were beautiful, really. Painted with individual care and great detail, but still. They were flowers. The bed he was on was designed for a little girl, just hitting the peak of her gender stereotype. A baby blue dress hung on a hook by the closet door, complete with a necklace of pearls and matching accessories nicely arranged for quick access. On the desk across the room, books littered the surface. Some still open, as if they’d been left reluctantly and with plans to return as soon as possible.

He’d pulled himself up a few hours ago to lean against the cushioned headboard, one knee drawn up to drape a long arm over. He was still in the black leather pants he’d arrived in yesterday, but his shirt lay discarded on the floor a few feet away along with his shoes and jacket.

And for hours, he’d watched her sleep. These days she didn’t get much of it, due to the stress of managing her kingdom whilst looking for her absent twin. So when she finally fell asleep, he tried not to wake her.

If only my family could see me now. The Prince of Darkness, strongest dragon heir to Rhydstrom the First, surrounded by creepy stuffed animals and lounging in a room that looked like a commercial ad for an eight year old girl’s wet dream.

And utterly contempt watching the rise and fall of his little brunette’s chest as she snored softly into the pillow by his thigh.

His brother and sister might laugh, but there were a few souls on his family tree that weren’t completely corrupt by his father’s menace. Like his little cousin Bernette- who insisted on being called Benji. At a startling eight years old, the little girl could make smoke fire from both nostrils. He knew, because every time he’d seen her in the past year she’d demonstrated.

Lost in thought, Braxis gently brushed a strand of hair from Amelie’s cheek as he debated on bringing it up in the morning. Considering their last family reunion had gone down on a damn battle field, he was hesitant to initiate more contact between the two great halves of his life-

His hand still resting in her hair, Braxis watched as Amelie’s skin began to darken. “Fuck,” he whispered, shifting to his knees. Broken, neon hieroglyphs to a long dead language began appearing, swirling atop the black. The planes of her face began to alter beneath the glow of words he couldn’t read, transforming the woman he loved.

It wasn’t until her breath came out in a frosty puff that he noticed it. The pressure in the room, followed by a frost so cold every hair in his body reacted.

From somewhere in the suite, Braxis heard glass shatter. He debated briefly on waking the sleeping goddess by his side, but decided instead on slipping from her bed on the basis of, I’m a fucking dragon. There’s not much in this world that could kill either of them without a struggle.

So you wanna start a war, In the age of icons? So you wanna be immortal, With a loaded gun?

With only a fraction of thought, Braxis summoned his war sword as he crossed the open doorway and entered the hall. A few steps brought him to the landing, leading him down a flight of stairs into a wide living area.

The air was thicker here, power crackling against the bare skin of his chest. Dragons didn’t claim to have an inner Instinct like the angels or shifters, but every semblance of common sense he had told him to turn around and run. To get as far away from the source of it and never look back.

The kitchen was where he found it; a picture frame had fallen from its place on the counter but somehow ended up in the middle of the kitchen floor. Braxis scanned the room for a cause, but nothing else seemed to be out of place.

Careful of his bare feet, he walked over to brush away the larger pieces of glass from the photograph. The faces of Luna, Astor, Amelie, and Nicolette smiled up at him, all in civilian clothes, serene except for the line of white that had been struck through the film over each girl’s eyes.

And as quickly as the pressure had appeared, it dissipated. The room felt lighter, less ominous, seconds after Braxis cleared the glass from the photo.

When he returned to the bedroom, picture in hand, he found Amelie curled up now on his side of the bed. Still asleep, now back in her usual form.

So you wanna start a war In the age of icons? So you wanna be immortal, With a loaded gun?

So you wanna start a war, war? So you wanna start a- War.

-

Jaxon Mile Lord of Lions King Consort to the Queen of Angels

sipped from the protein shake he’d prepared himself in the kitchens. His wife and brother-in-laws could be so lazy sometimes, he doubted they even knew how to find the kitchens without getting lost. Let alone how to prepare their own food.

Pros of growing up at the compound; he could make a triple decker BLT in less than a minute and stuff it down his throat in half that time.

Now if only he could find his wife to brag.

On the way to his workout, Jake took a detour to the playrooms that Nicolette had set up for the kids. He tried to spend as much time with the little monsters as he could, if only to make up for the attention they weren’t getting from the missing queens.

And maybe a little for himself. They were good company most days.

For the most part the children had free reign of the castle, restricted from only a few key areas such as the armory and war rooms. Nannies followed them around, keeping them on a loose schedule that the girls had insisted on.

Jaxon tried not to show his surprise when he turned into the first of the connecting rooms and found Astraea alone with Daryn. The former had been put in a pretty green dress, her brown hair loose but tamed as it fell straight to the ribbon around her waist. Her red hair wild in riotous curls framing a pale face, Daryn was pulling at the brown leggings under her own copper colored dress.

Jake could count on one hand all the times he’d seen the small brunette playing with the other children. Aside from sitting quietly beside her brother Alexei, Astraea kept to herself. And while Daryn was also relatively quiet herself, he’d never seen the two play together until just now.

If stacking blocks a few feet away from each other in complete silence could be considered ‘playing.’

Scratching at the stubble on his cheek, Jaxon mused on whether or not he was checking in with the kids enough when it happened. For no apparent reason, Astraea’s cold grey snapped to the far corner of the play area, focusing on a spot just above a teddy bear literally four times her size. Jaxon stepped farther into the room, following her gaze but found nothing that would harden a four-year-old’s face the way his niece’s was now.

“Taea?” But she didn’t move, didn’t shift to acknowledge him at all. Jaxon watched as Daryn’s small hands moved from the blocks to cover her eyes, head bowing into her own lap.

“Tae-”

But the brunette cut him off with a deadly whisper. “Bad.” Then, a pinprick of white energy appeared not a foot from her face, growing as fast as it had appeared. The room hummed with power, the very floor rumbling with the force hovering in front of the princess. A jerk of her chin sent the ball, about four foot in diameter, hurtling to the spot she’d locked eyes on. Jaxon was sent grabbing blindly for the door frame to steady himself at the impact, as he was sure the rest of the castle did.

And when the smoke finally cleared from the air, Jaxon made out two small forms still sitting where he’d found them. The tips of Daryn’s fingers, curls, and each foot was covered in a thin veil of ice that Jaxon would bet money on being so hard, even he couldn’t break through.

Coughing into a fist, Jaxon shuffled to the girls through the dense cloud of rubble that filled the air. “Taea, what the hell?!”

But grey eyes, too old for their age, turned up as the princess tilted to face him. “Bad’s gone,” she whispered, as if she’d just shooed away an obnoxious bird from her windowsill.

[dolorousedditor]

Untitled Robbaery

(Haven’t posted much writing here lately so here’s a glimpse of a side project that grabbed my attention last summer)

Basic premise follows the SuperTullys. Cat and Edmure do right or fuck up in the best ways possible.

ROBB

He shouldn’t be here.

Standing within a ruined castle, sweltering beneath the midday sun, all of this only deepened his unease.

The yard was overgrown and much of it filled with the crumbled stone of a collapsed keep. Although little save its broken foundations remained intact, the castle’s massive curtain walls still stood, marred only by the unchecked spread of moss and vines, which crept up the stone like tendrils.

There’d be no need for ladders or ropes to scale these walls. Several castles here in the Westerlands had fallen to him after such assaults. Yet Robb could not claim credit for the devastation wrought upon Tarbeck Hall.

The lions did this. House Tarbeck joined with the Reynes of Castamere in rising against Casterly Rock.

And Tywin Lannister destroyed them for it.

Grey Wind stirred at his side, the direwolf answering the grim thoughts with a whine. Unlike his friend, Robb could not afford to let his worries show. Not while his bannermen were near. Galbart Glover, Ser Wendel Manderly, Ser Patrek Mallister, Dacey Mormont, he caught all glancing at him now and again. Looking to their king for guidance, wisdom, strength.

Expecting everything of him.

To be king is more than a title to boast. It is a duty. One judged by deed and how we face the whirlwind.

None stared with the intensity of Lord Rickard Karstark, whose severe features betrayed his impatience. The lord knew as Robb did. That Tywin Lannister had crossed the Red Fork and was at this very moment rushing to drive them from his domains. The lion had taken the bait but few had been in the mood to celebrate. Not with the ironmen ravaging the North.

Karstark was not alone in disdaining how he’d handled Balon Greyjoy’s treachery. The lord’s mood had soured further when, instead of taking the fight to their foes, Robb brought them here.

As he adjusted his crown, he sought the reason for their diversion. The sun had made the circlet of iron swords hot to the touch, yet his lady mother’s face remained cool and impassive as they waited. Lady Catelyn wore a gown of blue and red, the colors of House Tully, as she stood proudly beneath a Stark banner. While it flapped in the gentle breeze, the Lady of Winterfell did not waiver.

Until their eyes met and she raised an eyebrow.

“They will come,” Lady Catelyn said, sensing his thoughts. “We were early after all.”

“No, we were wary. If this is a trap, let them try and spring it with my men dug in and ready.”

He’d led three thousand to Tarbeck Hall. His archers ringed the walls, his cavalry arrayed on a hill to the east, and the Blackfish’s outriders watched all approaches for any sign of treachery.

That gnawed at him. For he was already guilty of considering a betrayal of his own.

“Lord Tyrell and his family have not come so far to act recklessly,” the lady continued. “Were that his intent, we would not hold such esteemed guests.”

The hostages she spoke of were cousins to Lord Mace Tyrell and a son of Lord Mathis Rowan. All members of the escort that accompanied Lady Catelyn to the battlefields of the west.

He’d sent his mother to the Reach to seek an alliance with Renly Baratheon and his southron allies. When word came of Renly’s death and how Stannis was willing to war against his own brother to secure the throne for himself, his hopes were dashed. Hence Robb’s surprise when, while his army raided the lands south of Casterly Rock, their outriders did spot an equal force marching north towards them. Not army of lions, but one of roses.

To find his mother among them came as a shock, yet it paled to that he felt to hear the proposal she carried.

“I cannot marry Margaery Tyrell. I am promised to another,” he would remind her. “A betrothal you arranged for me. One sworn in good faith to Lord Frey.”

“I had not forgotten,” Lady Catelyn did reply. “Nor has it slipped my mind how that betrothal was strangled from us by Late Lord Frey. A man who extorted our family when he should have done his duty by my father. What loyalty is owed to a man who shows none himself?”

“There is the duty I owe myself. To do the honorable thing,” he had said. “Would Mace Tyrell truly want a man so callous to wed his daughter?”

“Renly served well enough. Mace and the Reach lords were willing to aid him in usurping Stannis’s claim and Renly did not prove himself half as worthy as you. No Stark has done what you’ve managed in generations. The realm holds its breath at every move the Young Wolf makes.”

“What are my bannermen to think should I make this move? To abandon a sworn vow?”

“Your men are drunk with victory, Robb. They’ve grown accustomed to it. Now with the North under attack, they’ll hunger for vengeance against the Greyjoys just as they do the Lannisters. A marriage to Margaery Tyrell gives you the strength to sate their bloodlust. Wed this girl and the war is yours to win.”

She need not have said so. He was not so blind as to see the opportunity being handed him. A Frey wife won him four thousand men and a fragile kingdom. A Tyrell bride could deliver twenty times what the Freys had and help him deliver on all he’d promised he would as king. Not only to his men but to his family.

To himself.

His mouth was dry and heart heavy when he gave voice to it all.

“I want to get back to the North. To Bran and Winterfell. To have my sisters returned to us and justice done by father,” Robb had stared deep into his mother’s eyes at that. “But we both know he would be ashamed of me even considering this. Freys have died for me. They’ve fought by my side.”

“And many more may die should you reject this offer out of hand,” Lady Catelyn countered as she wrung her hands. “Your father was not perfect, Robb. He had his faults and, as deeply as I grew to love him, he did dishonor me. Still I loved him. Men served him. And he did all in his power to protect you and your brothers and sisters. Would he be proud of this? No, likely not. But he would understand. He would risk dishonor if it meant doing right by his people. By his blood.”

Robb suspected his mother would have been disappointed at how tempted he was all along. He forced remorse at the prospect of dishonouring the Freys, his mind so clouded with thoughts of the finest knights in the realm at his beck and call. With his memories of leaving Bran and Rickon behind at Winterfell, or watching Sansa and Arya depart for the south. Then came his father and the other dead. Eddard and Torrhen Karstark. Daryn Hornwood.

With Tywin Lannister approaching and the Greyjoys loose in his homeland, more were sure to fall.

Thus he agreed to meet with the Tyrells. To discuss their proposal as well as get their measure.

And to glimpse the lady who offered him both doom and salvation.

Robb’s nerves were so on edge that he nearly started when a call came down from the walls heralding an approaching party.

There were no gates left to Tarbeck Hall so the newcomers entered with ease. The Blackfish led them on, the older leather-clad knight holding the Stark banner high. He and Robb’s other guardsmen looked plain indeed compared to those of the Reach. As finely as the riverlords and westermen dressed Robb was taken aback by how lavish and vibrant the Tyrell party was. Among the many knights and lords two grabbed his attention almost immediately.

The elder of the two was tall and broadly built, with a well-trimmed beard and surcoat bearing two golden roses. His younger companion shared many of his features and even Robb noted the lithe, golden-eyed man to be among the most handsome he’d ever laid eyes upon. All this despite the dark circles beneath his eyes and weary expression he bore.

“Southron flowers,” Lord Rickard grumbled to Galbart. He did so just quietly enough that their guests remained ignorant of the slight. Robb did not altogether disagree, for he much preferred his wools, leathers and furs to silk and satin.

Gods and this is how the men dress, I can only guess at the frill and pomp of the women…

“Your Grace!” His uncle barked from atop his horse. “Allow me to present the sers Garlan and Loras Tyrell. Good knights, before you stands the Young Wolf! King in the North, King of the Trident, Lord of Winterfell! King Robb Stark!”

“Well met, King Robb,” Ser Loras dismounted and bowed. His brother quickly following suit.

“On behalf of our father, the Lord of Highgarden, we congratulate you on your many victories and offer condolences for your terrible losses.”

“I thank you for both, Ser Garlan, Ser Loras,” Robb gestured to his mother. “And for bringing my mother safely back to my side.”

“It was our pleasure. The Seven know our sister found great comfort in her company.”

“Comfort and joy, Garlan!” A melodic voice called his attention back to the gate where more riders were arriving.

He saw her then. Flanked by twin Tyrell guardsmen and riding upon a hickory mare, ca one of the most beautiful women Robb had ever laid eyes upon. Her softly rolling curls of thick brown hair matched her lively eyes and her body was both slender and shapely. His eyes lingered upon it. Unlike the Tyrell brothers, this lady was not dressed in a grandiose fashion. Her gown was a simple green, with golden stitching about the sleeves and bust. Pinned there was a rose wrought in gold, though its loveliness paled to the wearer.

Or the shy smile she offered as Ser Loras helped her dismount. Then it was Ser Garlan’s arm she took to stand before the northern party.

“My son, allow me to introduce the Lady Margaery Tyrell,” Lady Catelyn said. This bid Margaery to curtsy before him, those lovely eyes falling to the ground before seeking his again.

“It is an honor, my king,” the lady stayed low, “may the old gods and the new grant favor upon you and your sword.”

“As I wish for you and your family, my lady,” he said. Still she did not rise so Robb held out his hand to take a hold of hers. Her touch was warm, her fingers lightly running across his to take hold of his hand. Such gentleness felt most welcome after all these months of war.

A memory of Theon at the Crag came back. Of how the Greyjoy heir smiled as young Jeyne Westerling helped tend the wound Theon had taken in storming her castle.

“Well worth that arrow to enjoy such a fine woman’s company,” Theon had jested and sent the young lady blushing from the room.

“You’re ruining your heroic repute,” Robb had replied. “The men are saying you took that arrow to spare me. That couldn’t be so. Not after you cursed me for sending others to treat with Lord Balon rather than his own son.”

Theon’s smirk had faltered then.

“I knew Lady Stark didn’t trust me. Finding out my brother felt the same…”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. Lord Balon has only kept the faith when we hold something he values.”

“You mean when you hold a sword over my head,” Theon had snapped. Rubbing at his bandaged arm he had met Robb’s gaze fiercely.

“There was no blade at my throat when I pushed you from harm today. None when I named you a king. A brother. Would a mere captive do all that?”

“I did as a king must, Theon.”

Those words were likely less comfort to Theon than the soft bed and care Robb left him to at the Crag. The captured castle was meant to be place for Theon to heal yet soon after became his prison, for once word came of the Greyjoy betrayals he sent orders that Theon be held there. Some like Lord Karstark had demanded Theon’s head in response but Robb had defied them.

For the nonce at least, he lamented.

That was another hard decision awaiting him. Like that the Tyrells brought with them to Tarbeck Hall. Though to look upon Margaery Tyrell was to dull its harshness.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Margaery said once he’d released her hand. Suddenly a bereaved expression crossed her face.

“Dear brothers, I must say we have been poorly served in the word we’ve had of our host.”

“Oh?” Ser Garlan raised an eyebrow.

“Among all those testaments to his warrior’s skill and glorious campaigns, I recall no mention of his handsome bearing. If the truth was known most maidens of the Reach would forget his youth and name him the Comely Wolf.”

Dacey Mormont’s snort was nearly covered by Ser Garlan’s chuckling. Robb was bemused by the flattery, which was a rare occurrence in an army of northmen.

“That may give my foes the wrong impression,” he pointed out and brought a mirthful glint to Margaery’s eye.

“Do you imagine they’d expect someone taller?”

[readbookywooks]

Catelyn

The woods were full of whispers. Moonlight winked on the tumbling waters of the stream below as it wound its rocky way along the floor of the valley. Beneath the trees, warhorses whickered softly and pawed at the moist, leafy ground, while men made nervous jests in hushed voices. Now and again, she heard the chink of spears, the faint metallic slither of chain mail, but even those sounds were muffled. "It should not be long now, my lady," Hallis Mollen said. He had asked for the honor of protecting her in the battle to come; it was his right, as Winterfell's captain of guards, and Robb had not refused it to him. She had thirty men around her, charged to keep her unharmed and see her safely home to Winterfell if the fighting went against them. Robb had wanted fifty; Catelyn had insisted that ten would be enough, that he would need every sword for the fight. They made their peace at thirty, neither happy with it. "It will come when it comes," Catelyn told him. When it came, she knew it would mean death. Hal's death perhaps . . . or hers, or Robb's. No one was safe. No life was certain. Catelyn was content to wait, to listen to the whispers in the woods and the faint music of the brook, to feel the warm wind in her hair. She was no stranger to waiting, after all. Her men had always made her wait. "Watch for me, little cat," her father would always tell her, when he rode off to court or fair or battle. And she would, standing patiently on the battlements of Riverrun as the waters of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone flowed by. He did not always come when he said he would, and days would ofttimes pass as Catelyn stood her vigil, peering out between crenels and through arrow loops until she caught a glimpse of Lord Hoster on his old brown gelding, trotting along the rivershore toward the landing. "Did you watch for me?" he'd ask when he bent to bug her. "Did you, little cat?" Brandon Stark had bid her wait as well. "I shall not be long, my lady," he had vowed. "We will be wed on my return." Yet when the day came at last, it was his brother Eddard who stood beside her in the sept. Ned had lingered scarcely a fortnight with his new bride before he too had ridden off to war with promises on his lips. At least he had left her with more than words; he had given her a son. Nine moons had waxed and waned, and Robb had been born in Riverrun while his father still warred in the south. She had brought him forth in blood and pain, not knowing whether Ned would ever see him. Her son. He had been so small . . . And now it was for Robb that she waited . . . for Robb, and for Jaime Lannister, the gilded knight who men said had never learned to wait at all. "The Kingslayer is restless, and quick to anger," her uncle Brynden had told Robb. And he had wagered their lives and their best hope of victory on the truth of what he said. If Robb was frightened, he gave no sign of it. Catelyn watched her son as he moved among the men, touching one on the shoulder, sharing a jest with another, helping a third to gentle an anxious horse. His armor clinked softly when he moved. Only his head was bare. Catelyn watched a breeze stir his auburn hair, so like her own, and wondered when her son had grown so big. Fifteen, and near as tall as she was. Let him grow taller, she asked the gods. Let him know sixteen, and twenty, and fifty. Let him grow as tall as his father, and hold his own son in his arms. Please, please, please. As she watched him, this tall young man with the new beard and the direwolf prowling at his heels, all she could see was the babe they had laid at her breast at Riverrun, so long ago. The night was warm, but the thought of Riverrun was enough to make her shiver. Where are they? she wondered. Could her uncle have been wrong? So much rested on the truth of what he had told them. Robb had given the Blackfish three hundred picked men, and sent them ahead to screen his march. "Jaime does not know," Ser Brynden said when he rode back. "I'll stake my life on that. No bird has reached him, my archers have seen to that. We've seen a few of his outriders, but those that saw us did not live to tell of it. He ought to have sent out more. He does not know." "How large is his host?" her son asked. "Twelve thousand foot, scattered around the castle in three separate camps, with the rivers between," her uncle said, with the craggy smile she remembered so well. "There is no other way to besiege Riverrun, yet still, that will be their undoing. Two or three thousand horse." "The Kingslayer has us three to one," said Galbart Glover. ‘True enough," Ser Brynden said, "yet there is one thing Ser Jaime lacks." "Yes?" Robb asked. "Patience." Their host was greater than it had been when they left the Twins. Lord Jason Mallister had brought his power out from Seagard to join them as they swept around the headwaters of the Blue Fork and galloped south, and others had crept forth as well, hedge knights and small lords and masterless men-at-arms who had fled north when her brother Edmure's army was shattered beneath the walls of Riverrun. They had driven their horses as hard as they dared to reach this place before Jaime Lannister had word of their coming, and now the hour was at hand. Catelyn watched her son mount up. Olyvar Frey held his horse for him, Lord Walder's son, two years older than Robb, and ten years younger and more anxious. He strapped Robb's shield in place and handed up his helm. When he lowered it over the face she loved so well, a tall young knight sat on his grey stallion where her son had been. It was dark among the trees, where the moon did not reach. When Robb turned his head to look at her, she could see only black inside his visor. "I must ride down the line, Mother," he told her. "Father says you should let the men see you before a battle." ‘Go, then," she said. "Let them see you." ‘It will give them courage," Robb said. And who will give me courage? she wondered, yet she kept her silence and made herself smile for him. Robb turned the big grey stallion and walked him slowly away from her, Grey Wind shadowing his steps. Behind him his battle guard formed up. When he'd forced Catelyn to accept her protectors, she had insisted that he be guarded as well, and the lords bannermen had agreed. Many of their sons had clamored for the honor of riding with the Young Wolf, as they had taken to calling him. Torrhen Karstark and his brother Eddard were among his thirty, and Patrek Mallister, Smalljon Umber, Daryn Hornwood, Theon Greyjoy, no less than five of Walder Frey's vast brood, along with older men like Ser Wendel Manderly and Robin Flint. One of his companions was even a woman: Dacey Mormont, Lady Maege's eldest daughter and heir to Bear Island, a lanky six-footer who had been given a morningstar at an age when most girls were given dolls. Some of the other lords muttered about that, but Catelyn would not listen to their complaints. "This is not about the honor of your houses," she told them. "This is about keeping my son alive and whole." And if it comes to that, she wondered, will thirty be enough? Will six thousand be enough? A bird called faintly in the distance, a high sharp trill that felt like an icy hand on Catelyn's neck. Another bird answered; a third, a fourth. She knew their call well enough, from her years at Winterfell. Snow shrikes. Sometimes you saw them in the deep of winter, when the godswood was white and still. They were northern birds. They are coming, Catelyn thought. "They're coming, my lady," Hal Mollen whispered. He was always a man for stating the obvious. "Gods be with us." She nodded as the woods grew still around them. In the quiet she could hear them, far off yet moving closer; the tread of many horses, the rattle of swords and spears and armor, the murmur of human voices, with here a laugh, and there a curse. Eons seemed to come and go. The sounds grew louder. She heard more laughter, a shouted command, splashing as they crossed and recrossed the little stream. A horse snorted. A man swore. And then at last she saw him . . . only for an instant, framed between the branches of the trees as she looked down at the valley floor, yet she knew it was him. Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black. He was not wearing a helm. He was there and he was gone again, his silvery armor obscured by the trees once more. Others came behind him, long columns of them, knights and sworn swords and freeriders, three quarters of the Lannister horse. "He is no man for sitting in a tent while his carpenters build siege towers," Ser Brynden had promised. "He has ridden out with his knights thrice already, to chase down raiders or storm a stubborn holdfast." Nodding, Robb had studied the map her uncle had drawn him. Ned had taught him to read maps. "Raid him here," he said, pointing. "A few hundred men, no more. Tully banners. When he comes after you, we will be waiting"—his finger moved an inch to the left—"here." Here was a hush in the night, moonlight and shadows, a thick carpet of dead leaves underfoot, densely wooded ridges sloping gently down to the streambed, the underbrush thinning as the ground fell away. Here was her son on his stallion, glancing back at her one last time and lifting his sword in salute. Here was the call of Maege Mormont's warhorn, a long low blast that rolled down the valley from the east, to tell them that the last of Jaime's riders had entered the trap. And Grey Wind threw back his head and howled. The sound seemed to go right through Catelyn Stark, and she found herself shivering. It was a terrible sound, a frightening sound, yet there was music in it too. For a second she felt something like pity for the Lannisters below. So this is what death sounds like, she thought. HAAroooooooooooooooooooooooo came the answer from the far ridge as the Greatjon winded his own horn. To east and west, the trumpets of the Mallisters and Freys blew vengeance. North, where the valley narrowed and bent like a cocked elbow, Lord Karstark's warhorns added their own deep, mournful voices to the dark chorus. Men were shouting and horses rearing in the stream below. The whispering wood let out its breath all at once, as the bowmen Robb had hidden in the branches of the trees let fly their arrows and the night erupted with the screams of men and horses. All around her, the riders raised their lances, and the dirt and leaves that had buried the cruel bright points fell away to reveal the gleam of sharpened steel. "Winterfell!" she heard Robb shout as the arrows sighed again. He moved away from her at a trot, leading his men downhill. Catelyn sat on her horse, unmoving, with Hal Mollen and her guard around her, and she waited as she had waited before, for Brandon and Ned and her father. She was high on the ridge, and the trees hid most of what was going on beneath her. A heartbeat, two, four, and suddenly it was as if she and her protectors were alone in the wood. The rest were melted away into the green. Yet when she looked across the valley to the far ridge, she saw the Greatjon's riders emerge from the darkness beneath the trees. They were in a long line, an endless line, and as they burst from the wood there was an instant, the smallest part of a heartbeat, when all Catelyn saw was the moonlight on the points of their lances, as if a thousand willowisps were coming down the ridge, wreathed in silver flame. Then she blinked, and they were only men, rushing down to kill or die. Afterward, she could not claim she had seen the battle. Yet she could hear, and the valley rang with echoes. The crack of a broken lance, the clash of swords, the cries of "Lannister" and "Winterfell" and "Tully! Riverrun and Tully!" When she realized there was no more to see, she closed her eyes and listened. The battle came alive around her. She heard hoofbeats, iron boots splashing in shallow water, the woody sound of swords on oaken shields and the scrape of steel against steel, the hiss of arrows, the thunder of drums, the terrified screaming of a thousand horses. Men shouted curses and begged for mercy, and got it (or not), and lived (or died). The ridges seemed to play queer tricks with sound. Once she heard Robb's voice, as clear as if he'd been standing at her side, calling, "To me! To me!" And she heard his direwolf, snarling and growling, heard the snap of those long teeth, the tearing of flesh, shrieks of fear and pain from man and horse alike. Was there only one wolf? It was hard to be certain. Little by little, the sounds dwindled and died, until at last there was only the wolf. As a red dawn broke in the east, Grey Wind began to howl again. Robb came back to her on a different horse, riding a piebald gelding in the place of the grey stallion he had taken down into the valley. The wolf's head on his shield was slashed half to pieces, raw wood showing where deep gouges had been hacked in the oak, but Robb himself seemed unhurt. Yet when he came closer, Catelyn saw that his mailed glove and the sleeve of his surcoat were black with blood. "You're hurt," she said. Robb lifted his hand, opened and closed his fingers. "No," he said. "This is . . . Torrhen's blood, perhaps, or . . . " He shook his head. "I do not know." A mob of men followed him up the slope, dirty and dented and grinning, with Theon and the Greatjon at their head. Between them they dragged Ser Jaime Lannister. They threw him down in front of her horse. "The Kingslayer," Hal announced, unnecessarily. Lannister raised his head. "Lady Stark," he said from his knees. Blood ran down one cheek from a gash across his scalp, but the pale light of dawn had put the glint of gold back in his hair. "I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it." "It is not your sword I want, ser," she told him. "Give me my father and my brother Edmure. Give me my daughters. Give me my lord husband." "I have mislaid them as well, I fear." "A pity," Catelyn said coldly. "Kill him, Robb," Theon Greyjoy urged. "Take his head off." "No," her son answered, peeling off his bloody glove. "He's more use alive than dead. And my lord father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle." "A wise man," Jaime Lannister said, "and honorable." "Take him away and put him in irons," Catelyn said. "Do as my lady mother says," Robb commanded, "and make certain there's a strong guard around him. Lord Karstark will want his head on a pike." "That he will," the Greatjon agreed, gesturing. Lannister was led away to be bandaged and chained. "Why should Lord Karstark want him dead?" Catelyn asked. Robb looked away into the woods, with the same brooding look that Ned often got. "He . . . he killed them . . . " "Lord Karstark's sons," Galbart Glover explained. "Both of them," said Robb. "Torrhen and Eddard. And Daryn Hornwood as well." "No one can fault Lannister on his courage," Glover said. "When he saw that he was lost, he rallied his retainers and fought his way up the valley, hoping to reach Lord Robb and cut him down. And almost did." "He mislaid his sword in Eddard Karstark's neck, after he took Torrhen's hand off and split Daryn Hornwood's skull open," Robb said. "All the time he was shouting for me. If they hadn't tried to stop him—" "—I should then be mourning in place of Lord Karstark," Catelyn said. "Your men did what they were sworn to do, Robb. They died protecting their liege lord. Grieve for them. Honor them for their valor. But not now. You have no time for grief. You may have lopped the head off the snake, but three quarters of the body is still coiled around my father's castle. We have won a battle, not a war." "But such a battle!" said Theon Greyjoy eagerly. "My lady, the realm has not seen such a victory since the Field of Fire. I vow, the Lannisters lost ten men for every one of ours that fell. We've taken close to a hundred knights captive, and a dozen lords bannermen. Lord Westerling, Lord Banefort, Ser Garth Greenfield, Lord Estren, Ser Tytos Brax, Mallor the Dornishman . . . and three Lannisters besides Jaime, Lord Tywin's own nephews, two of his sister's sons and one of his dead brother's . . . " "And Lord Tywin?" Catelyn interrupted. "Have you perchance taken Lord Tywin, Theon?" "No," Greyjoy answered, brought up short. "Until you do, this war is far from done." Robb raised his head and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "My mother is right. We still have Riverrun."

[hannahcoursey]

Jealous Minds Part 2

Author: Hannahc56

Word Count: 3,391

Request: Hi! Can I put in a request for a dean x reader? Dean and the reader are friends with benefits and neither want a relationship because they’re too much pressure for both of them being hunters. But then during a case, YN runs into an old boyfriend and they actually had a great relationship and broke up because he had to move for work and they both got out to catch up and Dean is super jealous because he wants that same type of relationship with her. (Sorry if it’s too much. LOVE YOUR WORK!!!)                

PART ONE                                                                     

A few hours had passed and you found yourself eagerly waiting for Daryn to pull into the gravel parking lot of the motel. You had put on a nice pair of jeans, without blood or holes, and a nice black tank top. You’d popped in a pair of earrings you always had sitting in the bottom of your bag that you never got to wear. With a few quick swipes of mascara, you were as dolled up as you were going to get. It wasn’t much, but you felt alright and put together for once and a small part of yourself wish you could do this more often. It was nice to feel pretty every now and then, but your lifestyle didn’t call for a nice manicure or decent clothes. Loud pounding on the door pulled you out of your thoughts, as you took one more look at yourself in the mirror before running to open it. The smile fell off your lips when the door revealed Dean. His face was hard, it was obvious he was in deep thought. When he looked up and saw you, his expression softened. The two of you stood there while he took every inch of you in. A heat rose to your cheeks and you cleared your throat. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked, leaning your arm on the door. Dean’s eyes shot up to yours and he slightly shook his head. 

“I-I just wanted to come and,” he hesitated, licking his lips, “Wish you good luck on your date.” He finished. You rolled your eyes and sighed. 

 “Funny, Dean. See ya.” You turned to shut the door, but his hand sprawled across it. 

“No, I mean it,” He nodded, “I know how much you cared about Daryn, I-I hope that it goes alright.” He said, letting his hand fall away from the door. You stared at him, your brows crunched in confusion of what sort of scheme he was playing at. His eyes darted back and forth between yours as your brain searched for words to string together to respond. When you didn’t say anything, his eyes fell to the ground and he nodded slow. “You look nice.” He said, his lips in a tight smile, “Anyways, have fun.” He finished, before turning and walking away, leaving you standing in the doorway. You blinked, trying to process the words that’d just come from his lips. Your heart felt like a cinder block in your chest. You let your hand fall to the door knob and slowly pushed the door shut. You leaned against it, your mind running a million miles a minute. Across the room from you was a dusty mirror, only your reflection stared back at you. Why was your heart pounding in your chest? Why were you even going on this date? Was this even to be considered a date? Before you could answer any of the questions that rattled around in your mind, a loud knock from behind the door you were leaning against shook you out of the deep consciousness you’d fallen into with a jump. Maybe Dean was back - maybe he was going to tell you not to go, that the two of you would spend the rest of the night tangled up in the scratchy motel sheets, whispering throughout the night, stealing kisses on exposed skin. The thought alone had you ready to bolt out of your room to find him. You turned and opened the door, Dean’s name about to fall off your tongue, when your eyes fell on Daryn. 

His eyes shimmered when he saw you, a smile lighting up his face. Your expression dropped for a moment, before you forced a smile. He pulled a small bouquet of roses from behind his back and flashed his picture perfect grin at you. 

“Daryn, these are beautiful,” You shook your head and accepted the gesture, “You shouldn’t have.” You turned and set them down on the table beside you. He threw a hand up and waved. 

“Hey, it’s the least I could do,” He laughed, as you pulled the door shut, locking it behind you. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you as if he was memorizing every detail of your face. Color rose to your cheeks and you looked down. “You ready?” He asked, your eyes floating up to meet his again. You nodded and followed him as he walked over to his car, a new sporty car that surely was meant to be impressive. He walked with you to the passenger side and held open the door for you as you got in. Right as you sat down, you heard someone call your name from down the motel strip. You looked around, scanning for someone underneath the overhead flicking lights of the walkway until your gaze fell on Dean. He waved a hand at Daryn, who hesitantly waved in return.

“Have her back by midnight alright? Trust me, you don’t wanna see what she looks like when the fairy godmother’s spell wears off.” He laughed, throwing a wink in your direction sarcastically before turning towards the motel room door and walking in. Daryn pulled open the driver side door and slide in the low-riding seat. His eyebrows were crunched in confusion as he looked over at you.

“So, do you guys usually share rooms or?” He trailed off, the awkward tension in the air filling the small cabin quickly. You felt embarrassment rise to your face as you shook your head, trying to laugh it off.

“No, no, most definitely not, he just was probably grabbing something from the room, I guess,” You struggled to string together a sentence and rubbed your hands against your thighs nervously. Daryn let out a strangled laugh and started the car without saying anything more. You looked out your window, silently cursing the older Winchester as your heart fluttered at the thought of the things the two of you did behind locked motel room doors. 

The ride to the bar was mostly quiet, the sound of the radio filling the spaces where neither of you could manage the right words to say. When you pulled up, Daryn escorted you to a booth in the corner. The place was packed. It was loud, lights strobing every second, making it hard for you to make out where you were walking, and you struggled to imagine how fun it would be to actually get drunk in this type of atmosphere. The bass music of the loud rap made your chest rumble and you found yourself yearning for a biker bar, squeezed between the boys at the bar while classic rock played from a jukebox.

“Y/N? Y/N/N?” Daryn said your name and you shook yourself out of your daydream.

“I-I am so sorry, was I spacing out?” You ran a hand through your hair and took a breath, letting out a light laugh, “Long day, you know how it goes.” You gave him a grin. He nodded and waved down the bartender before turning his attention back to you.

“I was just saying how great you looked tonight,” He said, his tone genuine and inviting. You couldn’t fight the smile that rose to your face thinking of the memories the two of you shared.

“Well thank you Daryn,” You tucked the hair behind your ears and leaned forward on the table, “You don’t look half bad yourself.” You beamed at him. Before he could answer, the bartender stepped up and asked for your orders.

“I’ll take a-” You began, but Daryn reached out and laid his hand on top of yours, effectively stopping you in your tracks. 

“I’ll take a beer and the beautiful lady will have a Vodka Cranberry please, extra cranberry.” He told the bartender as she nodded and walked off. A feeling you couldn’t put a name to filled your chest. Was it nostalgia? Or was it disappointment? You flashed him a quick smile. “Not too bad for not seeing you for this long, I still remember your favorite drink.” He laughed, reaching over and grabbing your other hand with his other hand, focusing entirely on you. 

“No, I’m impressed, that was pretty good. I gotta tell you though, I’m more of a whiskey bourbon kinda gal these past few years.” You said, trying not to visibly shiver as the thought of a Long Island Iced Tea hangover. His eyes grew wide for a moment before he let out a breath.

“Wow, you?” He shook his head, “Now that surprises me. You could hardly keep it down when we were younger.” He chuckled, bringing back memories of your high school days, sneaking around drinking your parents alcohol. 

“Well yeah,” You snorted, “We were drinking rubbing alcohol it seemed like, we had the nastiest stuff.” You felt yourself thinking of all the times you’d use a fake ID to get the cheapest vodka you could find, only for it to taste twice as bad the second time later on in the night. 

“Yeah, yeah, that led to some pretty rough nights,” He agreed, squeezing your hands softly, “But also some of the best nights too, you know?” He finished, his voice softening as his expression did. And there it was - that same pang in your chest. The more it happened, the more it began to feel like disappointment seeping through your lungs. He stared at you, his iri’s moving from your E/C eyes to your lips. You nodded and pulled your hands out of his, pretending to scratch the back of your neck. He leaned back in the booth, your mind grasping for things to talk about.

“So, what have you been up to? You were at State College for half the first year then disappeared off the face of the earth, no one knew where you went.” He pried, your heart sinking to the bottom of your chest. God, anything but that question. You cleared your throat and tried to force eye contact, but the topic proved too difficult. 

“T-That’s a very fair question,” You let out a laugh that came out more like a sigh, “I-I just needed some time off, I traveled for a while,” You said slowly, which wasn;t necessarily a lie, “And just needed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.” You finished, trying to tell him as much of the half truth that was possible without getting too much into the nitty-gritty. It was true, technically. You did travel while hunting monsters with the brothers and you did struggle with what you wanted to do for awhile; keep fighting the good fight or take a stab at the apple pie life. He nodded slow, as if he was ingesting what you were telling him and you prayed he wasn’t overanalyzing it too much. The holes in your story would be too large for him not to notice how it didn’t add up. “Anyways,” You scrambled to try to change the subject, “What made you want to become a ranger? I never would have pegged you for the type.” You asked right as the bartender brought over your drinks. He smiled while looking down the neck of his beer, thinking of his answer. Before he had the chance, you phone rang in your pocket. You struggled to get it out of the small compartment of your tight jeans and threw a hand up to him and he nodded. The phone vibrated as Dean’s name flashed across the screen. Throwing your legs off the side of the booth, you made your way outside to answer. 

“Dean?” You tried, holding the phone to one ear while you pressed a hand over the other. Mumbles came through the other end that sounded like gibberish. “Dean, I can’t hear you, gimme a second.” You said, hoping he could make out your words better than you could of his. As soon as your reached the parlor doors to the outside, you called his name again through the phone. “Okay, sorry about that, what’s up?” You asked, shoving your hand in your pocket.

“Y/N,” Dean said, his voice raw, causing your heart to plummet, “Something’s wrong, you need to get back here,” He coughed, hardly audible on the other end. 

“Dean, talk to me, what’s going on?” You asked, panic rising in your tone.

“J-Just come home,” He wheezed before the line went dead. Your hands shook slightly, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You turned on your heel and ran through the crowd, bumping into people and elbowing your way through them. When you reached Daryn, his soft expression had turned to a look of confusion.

“Daryn, I have to get back, something’s wrong.” You shook your head, trying to settle your hands as Daryn quickly got up from his seat and threw a few bills down next to your untouched drinks. Without making sure he was following, you raced back to the front doors, beelining to his car. When the both of your reached it, you strapped yourself in and he drove off, leaving dust in the rearview. The drive back to the motel felt like it took hours. When you pulled up to the strip, you noticed the Impala still sitting outside and your feet were on the ground before the car was in park. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears, your eyes scanning the surroundings. You noticed your motel room light was on. You turned to Daryn.

“Listen, I really appreciate you taking me out tonight and I-I’m sorry it had to be cut short, but I need to make sure everythings alright.” You rushed through your words while you managed to throw him a smile over your shoulder.

“Y/N, I can stay and make sure- '' He bega, but the thought of what unnatural force could be inflicting pain onto Dean was enough to make you cut his speech off short.

“No, no, I got it under control - I can call you, you still have the same number?” You spoke fast, trying to politely get to your motel room as quickly as possible. Daryn looked at a loss for words. To see him scrambling to try to spend another minute with you made your chest heavy with guilt, but this was Dean at stake. You turned before he could answer and opened the door so quick, you almost hit the wall behind it yourself. You were in fight mode, ready to rip apart whatever was wreaking havoc, ready to patch up Dean if he needed it, a million thoughts going through your head. Taking in the scene in front of you, the breath you had in your lungs slipped from your lips.

The room was dimly lit by dozens of small candles of all different colors and heights. On the table next to you was the beautiful bouquet from Daryn and a simple rose sitting next to it. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, nervously rubbing his hands down his thighs. Your hand fell to your chest as you took a deep breath in.

“Dean,” Your eyes filled with tears that you begged not to slip down your face, “You scared the shit outta me.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. Dean looked down at his hands.

“I-I know, I didn’t know how else to get you to come back,” He said, his voice low. You couldn’t believe the sight before you and you stood still, taking it all in. “Y/N, I should’ve done this a long time ago, but seeing you with Daryn” He said, shaking his head as he looked up at you, “ I couldn’t take it, watching you leave with him.” He stood up and crossed the small room to you, his hands picking up yours and rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. “I don’t have the fast car and the big bouquet and all that crap - but the way I feel about you,” He struggled to find the words and you knew that all of the effort he’d already put into this gesture was big for him, “What I can offer you is to always be there for you, to always stitch you up, to make sure you’re not alone when you wake up in the mornings - We don’t have to do this stuff alone Y/N and we’re crazy for thinking we had to.” He shook his head and his warm hand cupped your cheek. “I wanna do this with you, I mean it.” He finished, his eyes anxiously looking into yours, waiting for your response. Even in this lighting, his eyes were bright and lively, his nose peppered with the freckles you’ve loved since you noticed them the day you met him. Bringing your hand up to his other cheek, you pulled him in, your lips colliding together as if it were the first time. His other hand found its way to the side of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair as he pulled you in, passion filling your every movement. You pulled away, a few tears making their way down your flush cheeks.

“I would love to Dean,” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his, “I’ve been in love with you since I laid eyes on you.” You smiled, your heart beating loudly at the confessions the two of you were sharing. He leaned back and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

“God, me too sweetheart.” He mumbled into the kiss, before pulling away and taking in every inch of your face before letting go of your hands and moving to the bed. Out of a small plastic bag, he pulled out a few styrofoam containers. “Got you your favorite,” He spoke as he opened the containers, spreading them around the bed. Two burgers sat in their separate containers with fries, and a few slices of pie in the other. You walked over and sat on the bed with him as he laid the food out and sat next to you. 

“Mhhh, bacon cheeseburger.” You took a deep breath in, the aroma of the greasy food filling the room. He rubbed your back, smiling.

“Extra bacon, the usual.” He laughed, still looking at you. You turned to him and kissed him once more, the feeling of his lips against yours making your heart drop to your toes. When you pulled away, his eyes were still shut, savoring every kiss the two of you shared.

“I am so in love with you, I hope you know.” You whispered, still close to his face. He blinked slow and a lazy grin crossed his features.

“I know.” He replied, his sarcasm causing you to throw your head back and let out a laugh. 

“Good, I’m glad.” You replied, smacking his shoulder. He took a deep breath and looked at the candles around you.

“Now can I blow these out? It’s starting to smell like a friggin’ hallmark movie in here it’s nauseating.” He grumbled, your laugh filling the room as you shook your head at him.You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing as he went around to each of the candles and huffed them out.

You put on the tv and played the first movie that popped up and thought about all of the choices you’ve made in your life that got you to this exact moment. Life with the Winchester boys isn't for everyone. The life you lived was fast and dangerous, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. With Dean’s arms around you, shitty take out food in front of you and a whole life to share with him ahead, you found yourself filled with the sort of peace you didn’t think you’d ever get your hands on. 

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