#i had my cousins which i remember pretty closely like. imprinting on/trying to follow the interests and behaviors of but we didnt see

[worldofgoo]

something interesting ive been wondering about is how much of me identifying as nonbinary is coping with growing up feeling like kind of a “failed girl” ie not really receiving any of the socializing rites of passage and thus never feeling like i can relate to other girls or really be accepted as one

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Chapter 1- I saw Emma Kissing Santa Claus!

Hi all! If anybody is still there/ I’m caught up in this song. It’s given me the idea for like seven chapter- here is the first. MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄🎁! The rest will be late, like those gifts that trickle in when the glow of the holidays is getting hazy. We need Christmas cheer to linger after this year, so I’m gonna publish as I write! Enjoy! And share!

They talked about it later, years after their lives had taken off into space in opposite directions, the moment they knew.

Well, the moment he knew.

"Wait, what?" Emma asked, looking up from the hollow she'd found between his arm and chest when the December air found the crevices in the windows and chilled their skin. She'd get goose flesh and he'd run his hands up and down her limbs to warm her, then pull the flannel up and over them, no matter how warm he was from doing all the work near their end. "We kissed? When we were TEENAGERS?"

"Well, I was technically a teenager the first time we slept together too."

"We didn't sleep."

Harry wiggled his eyebrows at her and smirked, "Oh, I know."

"Oh my god, I really don't remember this!" She turned all the Christmas parties she'd attended at his mum's house over in her head. Emma figured she'd been at the annual event every year since she was 15 or 16, the age he says he was when they kissed. She has almost three years on him. Maybe she was 14 at the first one. That one she recalls well, She's pretty she still had braces. Nobody kissed her. If her math is good, it's her last Christmas before moving. "No wonder you were so ballsy last year!" She slapped at his chest and he grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips.

"Nah, that was more to do with last year. I was just flush and nobody had turned me down in so long I didn't think anybody ever would again."

"I did!" She at least pretended she wasn't captivated.

"You did. At first!" He reminded her and bit her fingertips before sucking them into his mouth. "Made myself irresistible evidently." He wiggled his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes thinking back at his dogged flirting. He'd found multiple reasons to be near her and had found her close enough to the mistletoe and was charming enough that she accepted the kiss he negotiated out of her as inevitable. Negotiated, that was laughable, he laid one on her and it overwhelmed her reason. Emma thought she played it cool enough, though she remembers they held hands for the the 10 minutes after, at least.

She accepted the other things he was offering on the strength of that kiss, and the fact that since he'd slipped his tongue into her mouth so seamlessly, convincingly, all she could think about for the hours intervening was what else his mouth could do.

While she replayed the memory of that first kiss, the one that counted for her, another blurry memory flashed in her mind.

"Oh! Was it underneath the mistletoe, too?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and her beneath him in the same breath. "You were under the mistletoe the second time!"

"I was mistletoe adjacent, at best." She sighed, she meant to jest, but his long lean body pressed along the length of her clouded her mind and convinced her she wasn't tired anymore or too tipsy off champagne.

"The first time, was me under the mistletoe."

"I kissed you?"

"You did." He confirmed with another kiss.

"How'd I kiss you? Like full on?" She was a little mortified she'd kissed little Harry.

Gemma would have killed her. Would still! That was why she and Harry always just flirted at the party and met up at the inn when the wine had everybody off their head. Nobody knew, it was their Christmas surprise. The secret she looked forward to all year.

"Well, you weren't brave enough to slip me the tongue." He stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth; that was too attractive by half.

"Hmph." Was all Emma could come up to answer with. "Did I say anything?" She smoothed her hands up his back.

His face got dreamy, and he seemed to be reliving something. "Yeah, you told me 'you're getting cute little Styles.' I always hated that nickname, but I felt a little taller that night."

Harry was descriptive, which was funny considering he could be so quiet at times, but he was quick and he knew a lot of words, more than her. He was working on his third language. He would basically narrate while they fucked and it drove her crazy when he'd describe how she looked and felt and what it was doing to him.

"What do you want to ask?" He pressed his nose to the place her collarbones met and she could fill him growing between her legs.

"How'd you know I want to ask something?" He was too observant.

He reached up and pulled the lip she didn't realize was between her teeth free. Ahh.

"Ask." He kissed the lip still imprinted with her teeth marks.

"Tell me about it. Describe it, like you do for me when you're inside me."

He blew out a breath, "Should be easy, I obsessed over it for ages after, before even."

"Before?"

"Yeah, I have had a crush on you since you were 12 and started coming round with Gem." He revealed.

"No, I don't believe it!"

"I loved that you already had your whole life planned out and you were sooo smart and then the next year you had boobs."

"That started out so well." She almost protested, she had boobs at 12!

"I was very impressed by the boobs, you wore this sweater—" she clapped a hand over his mouth.

"No more talking unless it's about that party."

He smiled at her and his eyes went soft at their corners, his dimples were suggestions of a deep feeling. "I think you had this idea, like this was your last Christmas here, in Holmes Chapel—"

She had had that idea. She'd intended to leave for a summer term in Sweden that spring and wasn't sure she'd be coming back. And she'd always loved that party, and Gemma's family. Even Gemma's goofy weird brother who was getting cuter and more confident. "Why do you say that?"

"Dunno," he tilted his head and his mouth flattened out and his eyes went somewhere else, he was looking at her but not the version in front of him. "I think you reminded me of my cousins' when they could first drink. Seemed like you were just throwing caution to the wind, letting it fly. Like you had nothing to lose, cuz this place was about to be a memory."

Emma could only find the energy to stare, she thought she nodded. He was spot on, but she wasn't even sure she could have articulated those feelings then. And she hadn't been that reckless ever before or after that day.

"I'd been watching you, and like I said, had a crush for years, um, and like, you were wearing that shiny top, like liquid silver and your long brown hair was all curled up and your cheeks were red with your merry making and I'd always loved your laugh. You're usually so calculated—"

"That's not a nice word."

"I don't mean it like a bad thing, like maybe a better word would be careful. Like all your moves were preparation for the grand future you were working towards. But when you laugh, it all falls away. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you bend at the waist and just lose it. That night you did it a lot." He kissed her knuckles. "Did you notice I was kind of shadowing you that night?"

"Honestly, not really, I was kinda out of it, or maybe really in it instead of 5 years ahead." She always was at least a week ahead in her mind. In the actual moment, she was usually just ticking that day's checklist off to get to the next thing.

"Yeah. I could see it, you were really in your body, and it made me want you more." He laughed. "The only other time I ever see you like that is...ah..."

"Go on!" She jostled his shoulder.

He bit his lip like the imp he was and said, "When we fuck, it's like when you laugh, there's no tomorrow, or next semester, or internship you have lined up, just the next orgasm on the horizon."

She knew she was blushing but she ducked her chin and shrugged. She couldn't deny it. She could feel that when he moved inside her, when they moved together, it was like when she really lost her head and laughed at something. Better, more. Emma definitely did not tell him it was never like that with anybody else.

Not her college boyfriend, or the Danish guys she'd enjoyed over their version of freshers, and certainly not the completely nice guy she'd been dating for two months back in Amsterdam. Not one of them made her get out of her head the way Harry could. They'd be following every direction she gave them from tongue placement to tempo and she'd be observing the feelings as opposed to experiencing them. But even remembering her first kiss with Harry was a sensory experience. She gave him direction because that's who she is, but she's fairly certain even if she didn't, he'd be able to get her off just by watching her.

She wondered if it was the same as her. He was more cerebral than anybody gave him credit for. Maybe if he talked more about the kiss she'd find out.

He caught her chin, "Where'd you go?" He asked with dopey green eyes.

"I'm just trying to remember." Emma lied. "Tell me more, maybe it will come back to me."

"Oh, from my memory of the proof of your breath you may never remember." Emma could feel her cheeks heat. She had really tied one on, she was absolutely rough the next day. Utterly useless.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I'd ever be here again."

"In Holmes Chapel? Really? You thought you'd never come back?"

"I always wanted to leave so bad, I genuinely thought I wouldn't miss it."

"But you did? You do?"

She nodded. She didn't want to explain that the first time she was way more homesick than she expected and this year, well, this year she wanted him for Christmas again.

He gave her this face then and a kiss that made her think he really was a mind reader, his crystal ball in the shape of her body.

"Not everyday." Take that Mr. Intuitive.

He gave her a smile that looked like a wink and started talking, "Like I said, I'd always just found you so impressive and you were always so pretty. But you came back from Amsterdam different."

"It was all the bike riding," she deflected and ran her hands down his arms to his lower back.

"Nah, it wasn't your body. That's always been nice. You just seemed like you were so happy and it was coming out of your pores."

"With the mulled wine?"

"Yeah! Definitely the mulled wine." He kissed her one then pressed his mouth to hers," Might have been your legs."

She snorted, "See it was the biking."

"You also had them out!" He defended. She had worn a daring skirt. "And maybe the biking." He laughed with her. "You also did that snort laugh I'd only heard through the walls during sleep overs and I was kinda tracking you."

"Stalker." He made a face. "Sorry probably not a joke to you." They didn't really talk about the peculiarities of his job. He was just Hometown Harry to her. Gemma's little brother. Her Christmas gift wrapped in deliciousness the last two years.

"I didn't really mean to, honestly. Was just like water to it's path."

"That's poetic." She teased.

"Hey, I'm a songwriter."

"I'd like to see evidence of that." Emma raised an eyebrow.

"You will." She wanted to ask but he just kept going. "Wanna know the funny thing? I never really had to look hard to find you." He went on. "You always seemed to be in the corners of my eye, like a dream I was trying to remember.

"I kind of remember that." She rolled her eyes and summoned some courage, "You looked different, and I tried to ignore it, but the more wine I had, the more I found myself comparing you to the boy I remembered from two years before."

"Hadn't been that long. I was with Gem when she told you goodbye."

She cringed. "I don't think I really looked at you that day."

"Oof, good thing I have crowds of people to stroke the old ego." At least the laugh seemed genuine though his eyes were a little dull.

"I was really remembering you in your red jumper from two parties before."

"Tell me about that party- we got off track talking about the last one." Last year she remembered In technicolor.

"Where were you the year after?"

"Studying, of course."

"Yeah makes sense." He pinched his lip, then bit hers.

"I remember thinking your jumper suited you so well and—"

"Matched your eyes."

"Yeah." She could feel the wonder of his eyes.

"But by midnight I saw that guy Spencer with his arm around your waist. Went to get a drink and was sulking with my own wine when you passed me. You had this look."

"Drunk?"

"Mischievous." He raised his eyebrows and bit his lip, "And then you pointed to the mistletoe."

"And said, 'caught you.'"

"You do remember!" He accused with a still annoyingly attractive chicken neck.

"I didn't, but I'm having a sense memory now." She widened her hips so he fit in like a piece of ikea hardware.

"Care to relive it?" He was trying to sound nonchalant, but she could see the hopeful blush.

She answered him by fitting her lips between his perfect ones and giving a lighter pressure than she had for two Christmases, waiting for his direction of how her bold move had turned out. He moaned and she sucked just a bit like she suddenly recalled. She really thought that was a wine fueled daydream, she swears. And then her mouth opened on a gasp and she slid her tongue against his and licked into his mouth before sliding her nose to the other side of his. The kiss depended until it was all over them and they would have wound up naked if they hadn't been already.

"This is different."

"We can re-enact it a little bit more faithfully later. It can be your Christmas present." Emma whispered between kisses.

"Nah." He was actually blushing, all the way down. "You're my gift."

[desperationandgin]

Deep as the Road is Long (Part II, Chapter 13)

Rating: General Audiences, pain and sadness.

Also Read on: AO3

Previous Chapter

A/N: I'll give you a head's up right now - part two is short, but it's not easy. You've let me bring you this far, trust me to get Jamie and Claire through this, too ❤ New mood board made by @smashing-teacups; thank you love!

April 2016 (Part 2)

He never asks the question so much as Claire makes a decision on her own. She’s going to Scotland; she’s taking the time off from work and going with him. It pretty much ‘outs’ the nature of their relationship to anyone paying attention but what could it possibly matter now? If there are ethics brought up when she returns, she’ll deal with it then. Not now, not while she’s abroad. Later. Truth be told, she isn’t even sure he wants her there, but he hadn’t told her not to come when she’d said she wanted to be there for him. She took care of everything, getting the authorization to transport Faith back to Scotland, registering her death, gathering all of the paperwork needed. What Jamie needed to sign, she asked him to after explaining what each thing was. She isn’t sure he listened, just signed.

It doesn’t bother her; the weight of it, being too numb to make any decisions. She understands it. On their plane now from Newark to Scotland, she looks at him, too tall for the seat, looking as though he’s trying not to throw up but whether he’s airsick or just grieving and nauseous, she isn’t sure. His entire world has fallen apart; it was supposed to be his daughter here with him on the flight back, excited to go home, to see family, to be well and happy and greet all of her cousins cheerfully. Claire is a poor substitute.

When they land, it’s a long taxi ride to his childhood home, but when Lallybroch comes into view it takes her breath away. It’s large but not obnoxiously so, and just from the outside where their bags are being taken from the boot of the car, she can feel the warmth of family. When they come to greet him, Claire stands out of the way, an observer only. She assumes the tiny ball of dark hair and energy is his sister by the way she wraps her arms around him and he wraps his around her in return. His movements are stiffer but he reciprocates, dropping his head so that his lips simply press to the crown of her head. His brother in law is next, a hug with claps on the shoulder before Ian makes his way with his cane back toward the house, stopping when he sees Claire.

“Ye must be the lass that cared so for Faith.”

When she’s acknowledged, Jenny and Jamie both look at her and the crushing weight of failed promises makes her want to shrink at the scrutiny. She can’t find her voice and once she does she can’t find the right words so she only nods, wetting her lips. “I’m Claire.”

She doesn’t expect the hug that comes, her eyes closing tightly against a wave of emotion. This isn’t hers to share, this grief, not when she couldn’t bring Faith back to them healthy, not when she hasn’t known years of loving such a special little girl. Still, Ian is kind to her, leads her indoors with Jamie and Jenny bringing up the rear. Inside, curious children, three of them, peek around a corner, but when they see their uncle there’s no stopping the little girls even when Jenny yells out for the kids to go upstairs.

Jamie shakes his head and sits to accept all three children into his arms; wee Jamie, Maggie and Katherine as they’re introduced to Claire later. He doesn’t speak, just holds them all for a few long moments before kissing each of their foreheads in a clear signal that he’s done for now. Jenny pulls them back and sends them upstairs while Claire stands and watches. She can see two infants swaddled and currently sleeping in a bassinet that can be carried easily from room to room. So much new life surrounding Jamie could be good, but for now, she imagines it must feel like a hot dagger to his heart. She watches as he gets up slowly and begins heading for the stairs, each step looking heavy for him to take. For a moment she wants to follow him, but there’s a realization that she needs to fill his family in on how far she’s gotten, of what things need to be taken care of next. So, she stays and sits with them in a large sitting room in front of a fire. It’s so antiquated but it feels like home, and Claire speaks quietly; of those final moments, the things she was sure of (Faith being buried next to Ellen Fraser) and things she felt she couldn’t be the one to decide (what Faith should be wearing). By the time she’s done she’s emotionally exhausted, spent, and makes her way upstairs, following the directions to Jamie’s room. Pushing the door open quietly, she can see him sitting on the edge of the bed and enters, closing the door behind her again as she moves to sit beside him.

“I know how overwhelming this all must be,” she begins, reaching out with one hand and covering his.

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t reject her touch, either.

“There are some things you have to decide, Jamie. I can’t.”

Claire can feel him tense beside her, but she has no choice but to press on. “Do you want...a viewing?”

Heartbeats go by before he finally nods. “Aye.”

“What about a gathering, after, Jamie?”

He hangs his head, jaw working as he tries to process his assorted thoughts. “I dinna care to entertain when all I want is to…”

She knows and reaches out, rubbing his back softly with her hand. “We don’t have to do that. Or, you don’t have to be there. Either way, Jamie, nothing has to happen that you aren’t ready for.” He’s tense beneath her hand and she drops it, feeling useless. “You should try to get some sleep.”

Without acknowledging her words he rises, beginning to undress. She stays frozen in her spot as she watches him strip down to briefs and a shirt before going to lean against the hearth, staring into an empty void.

“Do you want me to go?” she asks him quietly, slowly standing. “There’s a hotel, not far off.”

Jamie turns to her and shakes his head. “No, Sassenach. I dinna want ye to go. I’m sorry, I’m no’...”

Claire shakes her head, standing at his side now, reaching to take his hand in hers. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything, Jamie.” Only her. She’s the one who needs to plead with his entire family to forgive her.

The evening of the viewing, she isn’t sure what to expect. Something quite Catholic, she assumes, but the sheer abundance of people overwhelms her. She doesn’t know five people who would come to her funeral with such genuine connection to her, let alone the hundreds that pour through the doors of the funeral home. Nursery school workers, those nurses who’d first taken care of Faith when she was born prematurely, Sunday school teachers, all of her mother’s family. They fill the small sanctuary and from the back, she watches as they walk one by one down to where the open coffin lays.

In the end, Jenny had to go shopping. All of Faith’s clothes were too big for the size she’d become. But now, as it’s Claire’s turn to view the little girl she can’t help but know she’d love the pink dress with gold trim. It’s perfect, her vision blurring when she realizes someone (Jenny?) tucked a photo of Jamie and Faith into the corner of the lid of the coffin. She won’t be all alone in the dark after all, and a tear makes its way over the apple of Claire’s cheek. Reaching out, one hand lightly presses to Faith’s forehead one more time, the cold expected but still startling.

“I’m so sorry, Faith,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.” There’s more she wants to say but the words are stuck in her throat. Bending, she presses her lips now where her fingers were. There’s no hint of baby shampoo to the red curls on her head. The essence of her is gone and it isn’t fair; Claire wants to scream but the sound is choked and instead, she moves so that Jamie can have his turn. There’s nowhere for Claire to go but to her seat, the one beside her open for him. She can’t hear him, but she can see the way his shoulders move and shake, watches as he leans over and she knows he’s kissing her cheek one more time. Jamie reaches into his pocket and pulls out something red, allowing Claire to catch sight of a gold heart sticker. The Valentine’s Day card, the one from him to his daughter. She’s seen it; she packed up Faith’s hospital room. She’s seen what he wrote inside and remembers it now as though imprinted on her heart.

Roses are red Violets are blue You make the world better Just by being you.

There isn’t a bonnier lass than you in any country a leannan. You will always be the most important Valentine in my heart.

Love,

Da

Jamie finally sits next to her, eyes red, cheeks wet, and for the first time he leans into Claire, seeking her arms which she gives freely. Her arms wrap around him the best they can with how they’re sitting until a priest begins to lead the Rosary. That’s when Jamie sinks back into himself and she can’t be sure if he finds solace or more pain in the repetitive prayer.

When the day of the funeral arrives, Claire stands right beside Jamie at the front of a beautiful church, haunting in its grandness, heavy with the confessions and burdens each old stone has heard over a century or two. She watches as Jamie’s family and close friends carry the tiniest of coffins to the front of the church, feels Jamie’s hand seeking hers. If she’s honest, she doesn’t remember much. The priest speaks about Faith, how precocious she was, how beautiful in spirit, how witty and kind. Claire’s aware of Jamie sitting there, still as a statue, is aware of Jenny in the pew behind them, crying. It feels as though she’s intruding on a moment that isn’t hers to witness, but she’s steadfast, holds his hand, stares ahead, sits when the rest of the family goes up for Communion. By the time they get to the cemetery, she expects it to be a typical Scottish day, gray and drizzling. It’s the exact opposite. The sky is wide and blue, the sun shining down on the graves of all Jamie’s family gone too soon.

The one time she breaks, it comes as the coffin is lowered into the ground slowly while everyone, including Jamie, participates in reciting the Lord’s prayer. She means to, but when her mouth opens nothing comes out but a quiet breath, captured by the memory of Faith laughing so hard at something Jamie’d done that tears of joy poured over her cheeks. The mere idea that the world has been robbed of such a sound forever makes her own tears fall, silently, as a hand covers her mouth. She tries to stop, tries to swallow it down, but it pours out of her now until the woman beside her, Mrs. Crook, reaches out to rub her back. Claire can feel how thin her fingers are, and as she begins to calm she wonders how much life and death the elderly woman has seen in her years of working for the Fraser family. All of the people buried in this specific plot, to be sure. Once calm, Claire clears her throat and lets out a breath, nodding that she’s fine, and the rest of the day, truly, is a blur.

She only feels as though she’s aware of it again when she’s alone with Jamie in his room. Undressing in the bathroom and slipping into a shirt to sleep in, they move around one another, his family having assumed their relationship was so much more than it is. When she’s in bed he uses the bathroom, moving on autopilot before getting into bed beside her, lying flat on his back. What she wants is to hold him again, to wrap him in her arms and protect what’s left of his heart. He’s been through so much, lost so many people. She wants to love him and guard him while at the same time scream that she’s the reason he’s hurting. Maybe he already knows it, and that’s why he won’t reach out to her now.

Silence stretches on until Claire reaches out, pushing a curl out of his face. “I’m here with you, Jamie,” she whispers.

He doesn’t move away but he doesn’t speak, and it’s enough for her to drop her hand.

“I’ll be with you until you don’t need me.”

She has no idea how long it is before sleep pulls her under. She only knows she’s waiting for the moment the penny drops and she’ll no longer be welcome in his bed.

Next Chapter

[clownsgobeepbeep]

✖ for Vepsers

25.)Tender Kiss

Imma pause the angsty stuff in the future just for a bit, but also introduce some friends~

The mentioned conversation here will be written later

（：。）ミ （：。）ミ （：。）ミ （：。）ミ （：。）ミ （：。）ミ

“You guys aren’t busy, right?”

Jelly and her two daughters stood in the front doorway of the home belonging to her brother and Vespers, the latte being the one who opened the door for them.

“Nah, it’s been a lazy day around here.” Vespers smiled at Jelly as he let the trio in, watching Ula who looked off as opposed to her sister who was of course smiling brightly. “What’s brought you guys here?”

“Just a visit if it’s alright.”Jelly shrugged while following Vespers through the house. “Where’s my brother?”

“Locked in his arcade with Phoebe.”Vespers playfully rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door to said room before looking down at Cordelia. “If you want, you can go and join Phoebe. She got a new game.”

“Okay!” Cordelia nodded as the door opened, showing Cosmos who was in his nightwear along with Phoebe who was sitting in front of one of the any screens n the room.

“What?”

“We have company.”Vespers motioned before Cosmos barely noticed the guests, even rubbing his closed eyes turning behind him. “Phoebe, your aunt and cousins are here.”

“Let me beat this level first!”

“Phoebe-”

“It’s fine.”Jelly interrupted while waving her hand with a smile. “She can greet us later, we don’t mind. We could just go to the living room and hang out.”

“Oh, okay.” Cosmos nodded before Jelly made a face, motioning to Ula who was looking inside the game room where her sister and cousin played. “Oh! Um, hey Ula?”

“Yeah?” Ula looked up at her uncle who motioned to one of the other bedrooms.

“Atlas is in there with the twins, if you wanna go hang out with them.” Cosmos suggested before Ula nodded and walked towards the door, lifting a hand to knock on it, though it opened before she was able to.

“Hi Ula.~” two giggling voices spoke before Ua was pulled inside by two pairs of hands belonging to the twins who soon flew right out of the room before shutting the door. “Hi Auntie Jelly.~”

“Hi kids.” Jelly smiled at the twins who, while still floating, hugged their aunt before placing themselves into each of their fathers’ arms. 

“Daddy.”

“Is the food ready?” they asked before Vespers shook his head. 

“Not yet guys, just a little while longer.”

“Daddy.”they then turned to Cosmos. 

“Can we play with Luna outside?”

“Luna is asleep right now, and you know we have to be watching you guys when playing with Luna.”Cosmos reminded them before they giggled to themselves, very well knowing what he meant. “How about you go with Jupiter and Chanel?”

“Okay.”they answered, then disappearing into thin air which actually startled Jelly for a bit.

“Anyways, why are you here?”

“Ula.”Jelly sighed while dropping her smiling facade, walking through the hallway and into the living room where she plopped onto a couch, Vespers and Cosmos sitting on another one as they watched her. “Ever since....ugh! Ever since he came back! She’s been kind of moping around!”

“So tell me, what exactly is going on?” Vespers furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “I thought the guy was-”

“Never coming back? Yeah, I know, We’ve all heard it.”Jelly rubbed her temples before shaking her head. “Things is, Ula feels a tiny bit guilty right now since she went to go talk to him, so she wanted to talk to Atlas, but not alone.”

“Eesh. This sounds like one of your fanfics.”

“Fanf-”

“Anyways!” Jelly exclaimed to interrupt Vespers who was left a tad bit confused, but he shook away the thought before Jelly sat up straight. “I also came here because I need you guys to see something. Do you remember that incubator I asked you to make?”

“Yeah.”Cosmos nodded as now he was the one confused. “I still don’t understand why you wanted it to be cold. I thought chickens-”

“I wasn’t using it for chickens. Besides, it’s not like Ula’s chickens had eggs and I’m trying to raise them.”

“Okay, what did you use it for then?”

“Well, you guys remember those eggs I showed you?”

“Nope.”

“The ones that looked like jellybeans but were super squishy?”

“Those were eggs? I thought they were actual jellybeans  but like, that edible water.”

“Cosmos she literally told us they were eggs she found on another planet.” Vespers turned to his husband. “I’m pretty sure she specifically told you not to eat them.”

“Right.”

“Well, turns out your fancy machine worked just fine for those eggs.”Jelly cleared her throat to get their attention, then reaching into her hair as if to ‘open’ it. Soon enough, there came a quiet series of chirps which made the pair in front of Jelly each raise an eyebrow in confusion. Then, there was a dim light attached to what appeared to be a tendril, and something purple and pink-ish peeked out from Jelly’s hair.

“What...is that?” Vespers’ eyes widened before his eyes saw beady eyes staring at what he believed was him.

“It’s okay, you guys can come out.”Jelly reassured somebody.

“Guys? As in, plural? How are you hiding whatever you have in your damn hair!?”Cosmos exclaimed before shutting himself up at the sight of something floating right out of Jelly’s hair and towards him and Vespers.

“Jelly?”

“I present you guys to the Squishies.”Jelly grinned as Vespers noticed more of the little creatures come from out of her hair, especially surrounding him while more chirps were heard. “At least that’s what I’ve nicknamed them.”

“What are they?”

“Well from the looks of it and how their parents looked, they’re like...alien jellyfish?”

“This one seems to like my antennas.”Vespers glanced up at one of the creatures that was curiously and very tenderly touching the tip of his antennas with a small tendril. Two of the others hovered over where his cheeks were, also gently touching the marks before one rubbed its face on Vespers’ cheek as if to give him a tender kiss.

“They’re very friendly, they hatched a few weeks ago. They just learned how to float and they’re going to get a little bigger.” Jelly chuckled as one she saw the creatures mostly surrounding Vespers, some sitting on his shoulders and others on his head. “They really like you Vesp.”

“I can tell.” he nervously laughed, then holding his hand out as one of the Squishies noticed and placed itself on it before carefully poking it. This in turn made the jellyfish chirp happily which made Vespers laugh.

“Only bad thing is that their planet and parents are no more, and they kind of imprinted on me.”Jelly shrugged before only of the Squishies placed itself on her head, another one still giving Vespers’ cheek gentle strokes. “You guys want to name one?”

[ihaveastorminme]

vi. thee and me – i -

You can’t find intimacy—you can’t find home—when you’re always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood.

       ...       But we want the stricken                  pleasure of intimacy,                  so we risk it.

Junot Díaz & Traci Brimhall

i.

Jon caught sight of her the moment he broke through the perimeter of the encampment and when he did, he made straight for her, instead of seeing to the game that he’d just caught. She was sitting down on the soft earth by the fire, cloak discarded and sleeves pulled back, talking to Sam, Pyp and two of his men from the Reach. Admittedly they were standing a good distance from her, along with one of her ladies - the Westerling girl – who looked positively terrified. Jon could not blame her. The great eagle perched on the ground just at Sansa’s right was a very effective deterrent.

It was massive, its head coming up to Sansa’s shoulder. And it was beautiful too, the feathers on its head as golden as its beak and talons, before deepening to a dark brown down the body. Seeing it in flight, Jon would have sword its wingspan reached seven feet[1], perhaps even more. It had downed a deer three times its size faster than any arrow, using those massive talons to tear open its throat as if it was made of butter.

Jon approached slowly and did not go any further than where Sam was standing. When those dark eyes landed on him, he stopped moving entirely, choosing to sit instead, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, watching. He’d had never seen a white-tailed eagle from this close. They were a notoriously difficult breed to train, too fierce, too independent.

Yet here one was.

He’d been so startled when he’d seen it swoop down from the sky, taking their dinner. If Jory hadn’t been with him, he might even have tried to shoot it down. Jon hadn’t believed the man when he said it was Sansa’s bird. No one could own that kind of beast, he’d thought, before remembering that he’d had a bloody direwolf following him around since he’d been a boy! Maybe this eagle followed Sansa too. If it did, then it must have flown here all the way from King’s Landing, just to set a dead rabbit in Sansa Stark’s lap. And now it stood there, calm and still as you please, as Sansa skinned the offering with skill that faltered only a little – skill that Jon hadn’t even expected her to have in the first place. She cut out the rabbit’s heart and then offered it to her predator on the palm of her hand. She did so without thought, like she’d done it before a thousand times.

Before Jon could do so much as take a sharp breath, the eagle stretched its neck and took the heart from Sansa’s hand with manners as pretty as her lady, before gobbling it down in a flash.

What in the seven hells was he looking at?

Sansa looked at him just then. “Hello, Jon. Successful hunt?”

“Yes. We have your great bird to thank for, among others.”

Her smile was brilliant; the blood stark against her pale hand and invisible against her gloved one as she passed the carcass of the rabbit to Pyp, who neared her tentatively and chopped it into four part with a couple of precise swings of the cleaver in his hand. She had arranged her skirts just so - carefully, prettily - so that none of the blood got on her. And then she took the raw pieces of meat in her hands and got up. Jon quickly followed her to his feet, but did not go after her, when she backed away from the fire. She was looking at her eagle, which flapped its wings and screeched.

“Ready?”                                                      

The eagle screeched again, louder this time, almost as if exited, and rose in flight.

Sansa threw the pieces of rabbit in the air one by one, trying her hardest to throw them as high as she could and laughed, when the great bird dove and caught each one in midair, gobbling them down.

This too must be a game they played often.

Sansa clapped her hands when the eagle ate the last of the rabbit.

“Wonderful. She is magnificent, is she not?”

“That’s one word for it, to be sure.” Jon murmured, but Sansa did not hear him. She extended her arm to call the eagle back to her and Jon just about lost his mind.

“Fucking hell, Sansa! Put your arm down!” She had no guard; her arm would be ripped to shreds!

“No, don’t worry, she has an extraordinary character. Watch.”

Jon couldn’t even breathe as he watched the eagle land on Sansa’s arm. The wickedly curved talons wrapped neatly around her forearm without putting a single scratch on Sansa’s skin[2]. Sansa stumbled a little under the great predator’s weight, but held her ground.

“Gods have mercy.” The Westerling girl muttered behind him, hands still raised to cover her mouth in fright. Jon shared her elation, but Sansa only looked happy when she turned to face them.

“See. Our trust in each other is absolute.”

She sounded so proud that Jon could only nod, both in disbelief and awe as he watched Sansa pet her eagle’s neck and ruffle her feathers.

“If it were any other bird, she would pull the skin from my arm. Even without meaning to. Master Archibald, the master Hawker of the Red Keep, has told me he’s handled 10 eagles in his lifetime and that none of them ever allowed him to put them on his bare skin. But Skye is exceptional.”

 “Because she loves you?” Lady Westerling asked. The question seemed to surprise Sansa so much that it showed for a moment in her eyes, before they softened.

“Yes, because she loves me. And she knows I love her.”

“Skye?” Jon enquired. Sansa nodded as she stretched one of the eagle’s wings out, smoothing down some of the feathers that had tangled under it. The eagle cheeped happily.

“That is what I named her.” Her eyes were shining with happiness when she turned them to him. “She’s four years old, and my best and most clever friend.”

“Yes, white tailed eagles are known to be among the most intelligent apex predators.” Sam said, nodding. Jon could feel that he wanted to edge closer, but he did not dare. “She must weigh at least eight pounds.”

Sansa laughed. “She does. I am told it’s a very healthy weight for her species. Oh, I would not come any closer.” She warned, stopping both Jon and Sam in their tracks. “She is not very fond of men.”

Jon huffed. “Of course she isn’t.”

“A happy coincidence.” Sansa said with a small shrug, though her smile was more knowing. “Jeyne, you can come pet her if you want.”

“Oh, I don’t dare, my lady.”

“I promise you will be safe. If she likes you, she will be as gentle as a dove.”

“And if she does not?” Jon asked, before lady Westerling could.

“Then she will snap her beak a little and you will have to back away, but she will not attack you, unless you threaten her first.”

Sansa’s eyes were fixed on her lady’s. Jon could see a steadiness there, one that he thought betrayed some calculation, but he could be wrong. She had so many faces, his cousin, and she hardly showed any of them in its entirety.

“You can trust me Jeyne. I would not see you hurt.”

Jeyne Westerling gulped. “If my lady wishes-”

“Only if you do.” Sansa clarified. “I would not have you terrified either, you know.”

The lady seemed to take heart in this. She straightened her shoulders and inched her way forward, until she was a foot or so away from Sansa, who kept petting her bird, whispering to it soothingly.

“Extend your hand. Slowly.” Sansa instructed. Jeyne did and Jon could see her hand was shaking. But she did not retreat it.

“By touch is mainly how we communicate, she and I. But when you pet her, you mustn’t scare her. She will know when you mean to soothe her and when you mean to scold her.”

“She will?”

“Oh yes. Eagles are very perceptive. I sing to her too, sometimes. She does not understand words, of course, but she knows when you’re being gentle. You are doing well, Jeyne.” Sansa encouraged with a smile, one that Jeyne reciprocated. “Now wait for her to come to you.”

They did not have to wait long. After a moment of what seemed like careful consideration, the eagle stretched its head and nudged Jeyne Westerling’s hand, before retreating again.

Sansa beamed. “She likes you. You can pet her chest now, if you want.”

“And she won’t beak me?”

“No, she will not. Here.” Sansa took Jeyne’s hand in hers and together, she laid them on the eagle’s chest. They shared a smile, both feeding of each others wonder and happiness, it seemed.

“Her feathers are so soft.”

Sansa chuckled. “Yes they are. They were even more so when she was small. I used to hold her close to my face all the time, just so I could feel her soft feathers against my cheek when she turned in my hands.”

“You found her as an eaglet?” Jon asked. Sansa turned her eyes to him, as if she’d just remembered that he was there. There was no trace of anything but calm in them now. Perhaps he’d misunderstood, and the only thing she’d wanted was to share her joy.

“I did, yes. I found her alone in her nest, when she was small enough to fit into my hands. I waited all day but her mother did not come, so I took her with me. We’ve grown up together, in a way. Haven’t we, my love?”

The eagle turned her head to Sansa and chirped again, as if she was truly answering. It made both girls laugh.

“That would explain it. She’s probably imprinted[3] on you.” Sam said, stretching his neck, wanting to have a better look at the bird but not daring to go closer than he was.

“Yes, that’s what Master Archibald says as well. He thinks it’s why she brings me gifts, every once in a while. I used to feed her, and now she wants to do the same. She is a loyal friend.” Sansa murmured, the look on her face softer and full of love.

“Which might be why she flies across the country to find you, no doubt.”

Sansa did not look at him. Her smiles were for her bird alone. “Perhaps she missed me.”

“Don’t you keep her locked?” Sam asked. Jon knew the answer before Sansa gave it.

“Oh, no.” The idea seemed to be to her distaste. “All my birds are free to come and go as they please. But Skye especially - I released her into the wild last year. I wanted her to enjoy her freedom, see new places. She always comes back to me however.”

“You’ve trained more of her kind?” Jon asked, taking careful consideration of her face, every miniscule change on it.

Sansa extended her arm out again and her eagle took flight once more, disappearing into the sun with a loud screech. Jeyne Westerling helped her wash the blood off her hands, and did not react at all when Sansa did not remove her leather glove. Her other lady was less subtle, though Jon did not have much patience for either of them. 

“Skye is my only eagle, though I have three hawks and quite a few other, smaller birds as well.”

“Your legion of birds. Dany mentioned them once or twice. I thought she was joking.” No Jon was wondering just how many little feathered friends Sansa had.

“She was not. We hawk together quite often. The crown prince especially likes to takes us with him when he hunts. He says mine are the best hunter hawks he has ever seen.”

“Did you train them yourself?” Sam asked before Jon could. He had acquired a comfort with Sansa that was a great testament to her skills with putting people at ease. Though it seemed to go both ways, as Sansa smiled at him and they fell into step with each other, forcing Jon to follow.

“I did, yes. I had help of course. Especially at first. I did not know anything about birds when I found Skye.”

“But my lady is a very dedicated learner.” Jory said, getting up from the log he’d been occupying as soon as he spotted them approaching, so that he could vacate the place for Sansa and Jeyne Westerling.

“Thank you, Jory.” Sansa sat down and immediately invited Jeyne to do the same.

“I should go help Anya lay out your things, my Lady.”

“Go and tell her to take the rest of the day for herself. You as well. We won’t be making camp like this for some time, will we Jon?”

Jon sat down next to her. “No, not until we reach the Crossroad’s Inn.”

Sansa turned back to Jeyne. “Take the time to rest, both of you. I know you’re both as unused to riding for so long as I am. You must be exhausted.”

Lady Westerling was both blushing and frowning, her face set into an expression that could almost be called stubborn. “I would not neglect my duties, my lady.”

“You will need to take care of yourselves, so that you can take care of me, don’t you? Go. The day is yours.”

Jeyne curtsied and then left to find her friend and relay her new orders. Jon watched her go before he turned to Sansa again.

“You have a gentle touch with them.”

“Why should I not?”

There was such a genuine look on her face that for a moment Jon thought he had been wrong, and she did not know what those girls had been send to do. But that contradicted what he thought of her.

“You must know they were send here to spy on you.” Jon said, lowering his voice so that it did not travel beyond them.

“Yes of course, but why should that matter?” She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can as easily avoid their presence with gentleness as I can with cruelty.”

Jon chuckled. Of course she would say that like he was missing some obvious point. “As you say, my lady.”

“Was it difficult, to train an eagle, Lady Stark?” Sam asked as he sat down a few logs from her.

“Oh it was. At first it was like taking care of a baby. I had to keep her warm and dry. Feed her at regular times. As she grew, Master Archibald taught me how to hunt with her, how to call her back to me and how to speak to her, how to understand her language. It was arduous at times but enjoyed ever moment.”

“You speak of that bird more warmly than you usually speak of your fellow men.” Jon noted, calling her attention back to himself. In truth she spoke of it more freely and therefore more animatedly than she spoke of anything else.

Sansa only shrugged. “Most of the time I like my birds far better than I like my fellow men.”

Laughter rose from all around. Most, if not all of those men around the fire, thought that a lady as gentle as Sansa Stark would jape when she said something like that, but Jon knew better.  

“Are we so to your distaste, my Lady?”

“Not at all, your grace. Birds are easier to understand, that’s all.”

“And men are difficult?”

“I find men to be strange, in truth.”

“So do I.” Jon said with a grin.

Sansa raised her chin a fraction, eyes narrowing. “You mock me?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He meant it, too. He would never mock a woman who could look at him as if she saw right through him.

Well, he might have, but he wouldn’t mock Sansa Stark for it. After seeing the kind of creature she pretended to be most of the time, he knew it was a privilege to be on the receiving end of her sincerity.

He would tease her for it though! 

“I hear there are a many things most men would not dare to do, that you do all the time.” She said then. There was a challenge in her eyes. A kind of dare.

“That so?”

“Yes.”

Jon took the cups that his squire filled and passed one of them to Sansa, who took it with a small thank you. They had been travelling for a week now: Jon had not seen her actually drink once. She sipped at her cup like a bird, but she never swallowed, though she made a good show of it. She never refused however.

He was burning to know, but he knew he couldn’t just confront her about it. She would tell him, if she wanted. Or she would not.

“What else have you heard?” Jon was genuinely curious, especially because whatever it was, she felt like teasing him for it.

“That you fear no one.”

Some of his men hid their smirks into their cups. Jon snorted. “That would have made things so much easier.”

 “And your life that much shorter, I’d guess.”

To her right, Sandor Clegane didn’t even bother to hide his snort, and – much to Jon’s annoyance - neither did uncle Benjen.

Jon shrugged. “I didn’t stay alive so long by being reckless.”

“That’s a lie, probably.” Sansa said, trying to hold back her laughter. She looked so delighted, her eyes alight as if a fire had been lit inside her skull. There was a fierceness in her that had been coming to the surface more and more ever since they left King’s Landing. Her passion mirrored his, he recognized it, but it was so restrained in her, so carefully packaged. It fascinated him; more than anything else it drew him to her. Made him want to pull and pull at the thread of her, just to see her unravel. He had no doubt it would be a marvelous sight to behold.

“It is a lie, yes. Who is this ‘they’ you keep mentioning?”

“Other men.”

“And you believe everything men say?”

“Oh yes.” No smile followed her words this time but her face was serene. “All stories hold some truth to them. It would be unwise not to believe them.”

Yes indeed. “Even the things that could not possibly be true?”

“Especially those.”

“You don’t speak sense, cousin.”

“No, sometimes I don’t.”

They were shoulder to shoulder, so Jon did not miss how she glanced at his mouth fleetingly when she turned her head to look at him. It was over before it happened, but he was so aware of her in every way, that she might as well have reached out and put her fingers to his lips, for how they tingled. It made something in him drop and roll low in his belly, the threads of desire tugging his nerve endings.

All it would have taken to kiss her round mouth was closing those scarce few inches between them.

“They say that about you as well.” Sansa said, her voice lower, softer.

“That I don’t speak sense?”

She was trying hard not to smile, but it wasn’t working very well. “That you have none.”

“And you believe that too?”

She let out a peel of laughter. Jon was starting to feel proud of himself: taking her with him must be the best idea he’d had in quite some time.

“I think you do have some sense. But it’s not very good, is it?”

“And now you are mocking me.”

Sansa bit her lip just a little, to bite back her grin. That little freckle she had, just at the bow of her upper lip, was all Jon could look at. It took up the entirety of his concentration.

His hands itched.

He flexed his fingers, held his cup more firmly.

“I am, yeah. Do you mind?”

Jon pushed his shoulder against hers gently.

“No. I do not.” He was happy to let her laugh at him, as long as she was laughing. Why shouldn’t he be: there was not a single drop of malice in her. “So, you ignore sense and believe everything. How do you ever decide on anything?”

“Same as you, of course; I make up my own mind.”

Jon couldn’t help but feel she was leading him into a maze she had built with her own hands, but he wanted to follow her into it. He wanted to tug at the string she had given him, see where it leg him. Whatever game she was playing, he had surely played before, but never with her… and never quite so suspiciously and gently at the same time.

“Have you made up your mind about me yet?”

Sansa raised her cup to her lips, made a show of moving her throat. “Oh, I always keep my conclusions to myself.” She said after she lowered it.

“Always?”

“Without fail.”

Of course she would. Who else did she have but herself, anyway?

“Though I am surprised you care what I think.” She glanced at him quickly. “You don’t look like you would.”

 “I do.”

She put the cup down and folded her hands in her lap. Looked at him for some long moments.

“Truthfully, I haven’t decided what I think about you yet.”

“No? Haven’t you heard enough?”

“I have heard plenty. But I feel I know you very little, still.”

“Do you?” Jon straightened. “Perhaps we should play another game of cyvasse.”

She smiled. “No, I already know what kind of tactician you are.”

“Then you already know two thirds of me.”

“I doubt that.” Her eyes roamed his face. Settled on his forehead, then traveled back to his eyes. She already knew what she wanted: he could see it in her face.

“Where did you get that scar? The one on your forehead.”

So Jon told her of the first stallion he’d ridden, when he’d been eight years old. How no one had dared to mount him because everyone thought him wild, but Jon had, and turned the horse towards the sun, so that his own shadow would stop scaring him. He told her of how he’d ridden that horse to the amazement of all the people in the stables that day, how happy he’d been, how proud. Then he told her how his father had gifted the beast to him, in honor of his achievement; how he got drunk that night, and slipped on the stairs on the way to his room, almost cracking his skull open in the process.

He did not tell her that his father had left the stables that day on the middle of his historic ride of that warhorse. How disappointed he’d been to find the King gone, and how that, and not his happiness had been why he’d stolen a skin of wine and gotten so piss drunk that they’d found him in a pool of his own vomit, after he’d slipped and fallen.

He did not tell her those things, and that was not strange. He’d never told anyone that. But he wanted to!

He wanted to. 

ii.

The woodlands south of Harrenhall were peaceful, but had an untamed feel about them. Soaring old-growth elms arched over the lakeside maples along the shores of God’s Eye. Gorgeous shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, falling on the soft, swaying ferns that covered the ground. Jon could hear dozens of birds singing as he walked side by side with Sansa, watching how every now and then she kneeled to the roots of some tree, plucking up herbs and berries. Some of those she collected Jon already knew, some he did not. He knew what to avoid mostly; what was poisonous, what could kill. Sansa’s knowledge stretched onto other useful things: what to cook with, what to make tea with. What to burn for the smell, what to make ointments with. He had a feeling – irrational and without proof – that she even knew what to kill with. But that’s all it was. Just a feeling.

Perhaps it was because, with her hair pulled into one single braid down her back and her simple blue dress with detachable sleeves and front lacing, she reminded him inexplicably of their grandmother. He had followed Lyarra Stark into the godswood of Winterfell quite a few times, just like he was following Sansa now. There was no doubt in anyone who knew her, that the old Lady Stark could and would kill if she had to. Perhaps that was the reason for his association.

Sansa looked little like her grandmother, in truth. They were both tall and stood as straight as spears, but that was the end of their likeness. Perhaps something around her mouth, the way they both pursed it in displeasure. But no, it was the sureness of Sansa’s hands as she chose what to pick from the earth and what to leave, that most tugged at Jon’s memory. It was the way she moved in the woods: without fear or hesitation.

There was nothing to fear, of course. They were close to the camp, Jon was with her, so was Ghost.

“How did you manage to stay unmarried for so long?”

Sansa turned her head to give him a curious look. “My father had not arranged a match for me, until now.”

“I think we both know you had more to do with that than you want to let anyone know.”

She chuckled. “Do we? Then why should I let you know?”

Jon shrugged. “Because I am asking.”

“And why are you asking?” She sounded unperturbed; amused even as she added some more mushrooms in her basket before she picked it up and moved away, to the base of another tree, looking for these little fungi the cook had told her to gather. She had wanted to make herself useful, she’d said, and promptly sent her ladies away to make themselves useful as well. Jon was starting to think she liked spending time alone with him almost as much as he liked it. But she still felt she had to steal such time.

She did not want to be seen being close to him, Jon had realized. She might be starting to trust him a little, but she did not trust anyone else.

Jon did not blame her.

“I’m curious. With you being beautiful, graceful, highborn and rich, the answer is bound to be ingenious.”

The look she gave him was sharp enough to cut. It gave him pause, because he knew what had put it there.

He had not forgotten the rumours about her and Viserys. They’d simply stepped in the back of his mind, pushed there by the certainty with which he had always known that a marriage between Sansa Stark and Viserys Targaryen would have been impossible and quite probably grounds for war. But no one had ever accused Viserys of having sense… and he had always loved to hurt pretty things. Jon’s eyes flickered to Sansa’s gloved hand, a growing suspicion becoming darker in his mind.

When he found her face again, Jon saw a small smile there that was so joyless, it sucked the warmth out of the woods.

“I am an incurable romantic, cousin.” She said, after a length of time that almost made Jon uncomfortable. “I swore I would only ever marry for love.”

Jon hesitated, but then decided to pursue it anyway. “That is a strange thing to say.”

She looked genuinely confused. “How so?”

Jon kneeled next to her, plucked a berry from the bush she had been stripping and set it on the palm of her hand. “I find it hard to believe no man has ever loved you all this time. Impossible really.”

“Oh many have said that they do.” She said dismissively.

“But you don’t think it true?”

“I know it to be false.”

She sounded as unmovable as a rock in that. Jon felt a slow smile spreading on his face.

“Those don’t sound like the words of an incurable romantic to me.”

Sansa rolled her eyes at him, got up and left him there as she went to chase more of her green treasures.

“So a romantic you may be,” Jon continued. “But that has not hindered your sense.”

“The tone of surprise in your voice insults me, your grace.”

Jon laughed. She said his title like it was an insult, but it was so subtle, he could not call her out on it without appearing unbearably vain. 

“On the contrary, I’m just proud to catch you in an inconsistency, however small it might be. I’m very pleased with myself.”

“You may stop, since there is no inconsistency for you to gloat over.” She shoved her basked at him, before she started wading her way through a particularly thick part of the forest’s undergrowth, making her way to the roots of a gigantic oak. “I am a romantic, therefore I will chose my husband carefully, so that he may live up to my expectations. A husband who will be capable of loving me.” She gave him a sharp look over her shoulder. “It does not speak well of your sex that one such man is so hard to find.”

She flicked a bug off the leaves of a vine climbing its way up the trunk of her chosen oak and started plucking its leaves. When Jon said nothing for long moments, she eyed him with suspicion.

“Have you finally got nothing to say?”

“I am surprised, that’s all. I would have thought you to be very easy to love.”

Sansa pursed her lips, looked away, and Jon realized he had upset her.

“Any man who has not made you feel that way is unworthy of you.” He said slowly, abandoning his teasing.

“I agree completely.”

But she was not looking at him.

“And I would hate to think my sex represented by such men.”

“Of course not.” She said lightly as she made her way to him again. Jon extended a hand for her to hold on to on those last few steps. It gave him heart that she took it, despite the frown on her face. “Never let it be said that men are represented by the vices that are most common among them. Meanwhile I have yet to meet a single one that actually respects the woman he wants in his bed.”

Her step faltered and Jon could see the precise instant when she remembered herself, who she was with; when she drew back. He saw it in the flutter of her hands, in how she straightened her shoulders, as if ready take flight.

When she turned to him, the expression on her face was serene.

“Of course, recent events have transformed me. I love Harry Hardying with all my heart. He has renewed my faith in mankind as a whole.”

Jon might have believed that more, had her eyes not been stone cold as she spoke.

“And he loves you, no doubt.”

“As well as any man can love a woman.” She said, turning her attention to the underbrush again, starting to pick up berries one by one. 

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I detect in your voice?”

“Not at all, your grace.”

So, yes then. After all, she was too careful with her words to misplace a single one. But she said nothing more, only kept gathering some leaves of basil she seemed happy to find.

Or maybe she was just keeping busy so that she would not have to face him.

“I don’t hold your frustrations against you, Sansa. Why should I, when they're true. Everywhere in the world, those with power use those without, and so little power is afforded to women, simply for being born with a cunt instead of a cock between their legs. When so many of them have so much more sense than the men around them, who fumble with graces they take for granted. Who abuse them.”

Jon did not think of the words that came out of his mouth. If he had, he might not have said them.

“Just in the Red Keep, you can find a hundred examples of it. Perhaps if the King had respected the Queen more, he would not have shamed her at Harrenhall, some twenty years ago. Perhaps if my grandfather had valued my grandmother’s life, he would not have abused her into gods know how many miscarriages. He might have stopped trying to get her with child at an age where it put her life in danger, if he’d thought her worthy of his consideration as his subject and his queen.”

"Perhaps is my father had truly loved my mother, as so many are fond of saying, he would not have gotten her with child when she was so young, she was bound to die from it." He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. "Yes, you are wise to be cautions in choosing who has power over you since undoubtedly, they will abuse it.”

When Jon looked back at her, he found Sansa wide-eyed and frozen in front of him, lips parted with shock. He was a little shocked at how much he'd said already… and how little he regret any of it, but for the fact that it left him feeling more exposed than he'd ever be had he just striped himself to his skin in front of her. 

“Your mind is more extreme than mine.” Sansa murmured, her voice so gentle Jon flinched. “You should temper it, Jon. Such dark thoughts can only hurt you.”

Jon was surprised when Sansa reached out and laid her hand against his hand. He loosened his fist instinctively, and she wrapped her long fingers around his like she’d practiced it, eyes full of so much compassion, it slit him open easily, bare as he had made himself before her.

“But I think you and I have both been conditioned too much by a single place and the people that dwell there. No single thing has a fixed nature, not even power. And we are not so bound to what came before us that we cannot make different choices - nothing is inescapable. What we believe in matters, Jon.”

“And you believe in goodness?” he did not mean to mock her. It was not his fault the small vein of her bitterness had unleashed his own river of it.

“I do.” She did not miss a beat, her hand tightening around his as if she meant to physically pull him into that belief. “I have seen it. I see it in your eyes too. You have goodness in you. You do.” She insisted when he raised his eyebrows at her. The conviction in her face was fierce, it almost transformed her. “Whatever happened to us does not define us. That is a lazy way to live.”

“Good way not to die, though[4].”

“Easy way not to die. There are others. But I think you already know that.” Jon made a face at her but she pressed on. “I’ve been talking to your men, learning their stories. Pyp, Gren, Satin, Edd. Some of them described themselves as without purpose before they met you. Are there many like them among your men?”

Jon shrugged. “Yes, some. Most are sons of warlord families, leaders of men that have outlived their usefulness[5].”

“And you welcome them in your service?”

“I welcome all those I have a use for.”

“Purely utilitarian, are you?” Though even as she said it, she seemed to doubt it. Jon shrugged.

“What use did you have for Sam? He is kind and gentle and by far one of the best men I know. But he cannot fight, he cannot lie. He cannot really serve you in the game of the capitol. He lacks that instinct.”

“The killer’s instinct, you mean?”

He’d meant to startle her but she did not as much as blink.

“Yes. And you risked much by antagonizing his father over him. Lord Tarly would have been well within his rights to petition the king for you kidnapping his son. Certainly it would have benefited him more than disinheriting Sam.”

Jon could not help a scowl. “Lord Tarly is a cunt.”

She seemed to hold back her amusement. “So I have heard. I’ve also heard he is a dangerous man.”

“And?” He felt like he was being led by the hand and for the first time, he did not enjoy it.

“And you defied him to take his son from where Tarly could hurt him. Did you do that for no reason other than your own amusement.”

“Maybe I did.” Jon said, crossing his arms and leaning against the tree closest to him. Maybe I just enjoyed his company.”

Sansa huffed. “I would not have thought a man as arrogant as you would be so bad at taking a compliment.”

A laugh escaped him without him meaning to at all. He felt lighter quite suddenly. The bird’s song could reach him again, the wind and the whispering of the trees, and Jon finally understood that Sansa hadn’t been leading him into anything, but rather out of his own sudden dark mood.

“Being raised in the Red Keep means one acquires a healthy distrust of flattery.”

She nodded at that, but did not let him distract her. “They love you.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, now. That’s annoying too.” She said rolling her eyes at him and Jon smiled. Yes, he had earned his men’s loyalty. And some of them loved him, it was true. But most had a use for him. As he had a use for them.

“Some of them scare me.” Sansa said so softly she might have been speaking to herself. Jon reached for her and the both stopped walking as she turned to face him.

“No one will touch you. You must know that.”

“I don’t feel unsafe, I just…” She stopped, as if she did not know what words to reach for, so Jon helped her.

“You recognize the potential for savagery when you see it.”

Sansa looked at him, and Jon felt seen in a way that stilled him completely. He felt like his very heart was slowing down.

“I do.” 

That she did, did not surprise him, though there was a puzzle there. He had not thought she was easily frightened, especially when he thought of how at her ease she was in the company of someone like Sandor Clegane, when half his men would not even go near man. But if she could see it in some of his men and in Sandor Clegane, then she could see it in all who had it, could she not? 

Jon felt at the edge of an important moment. He could feel its weight on his shoulders, in the air. “You see it in me, don’t you?”

She did not answer. She did not need to, it was in her eyes and she did not hide it from him. She barely blinked. “We don’t chose who we are, what is done to us or what we have to become to survive.”

“I agree.”

“But that is no excuse.  Neither others nor the gods can make us into something we are not. Not forever, anyway. Responsibility for what we do with what we’re given is on our hands alone.”

Jon nodded, but said nothing. This was not her indictment, he knew that. She believed in choice, his cousin, and taking responsibility for ones actions. There was nothing wrong with that – though it was a profound burden and she didn’t seem to realize how rare it was, that one would be willing to take it on is if it was ones duty. Of course, she was her father’s daughter and her mother’s too. There was more of Winterfell in her than anyone seemed to be aware of, yet Jon could see it in the smallest of details.

Jon could not help but wonder though, what she’d think of all the things he would have to take responsibility for. All the things he had done to get where he was, all the times he had used and abused people without a moment’s regret. He sang one tune but when it suited him, he danced to quite another.

Jon held a hand out and helped her jump over a small stream.

Of course, he knew what she’d say. She’d call him a hypocrite and a liar. More of the same, from the hoards of those that they had both known all their lives.

iii.

Jon reached for another berry from the basket she’d set between them. They were sitting by the shore of the God’s Eye, the water lapping at the warm stones they were using as their perch. Sansa was looking ahead, eyes fixed on the Isle of Faces, the outline of which they could see in the distance. She had wanted to come to shore, to see it – the last place in the south where the northern Gods still dwelled. When he’d asked her if she wanted to visit it, she had hesitated however, her eyes losing focus for a moment before she gave him a vacant smile and told him ‘perhaps when we return’. Still, she stared. He could still see the side of her face however, how a small smile had curled there.

“You don’t think me helpless, do you?”

Her question was sudden, but it did not surprise him. He’d understood early on that conversations did not simply stop, with Sansa. They went on in her head and she might pick it up sooner or later, as if you’d never stopped talking about it.

“Because I am not. I have friends.” She added, when he failed to respond.

“Yes, I met Skye already.”

She threw a berry at him, which Jon caught midair then popped it into his mouth with a smirk.

“Human friends, your grace.” She said with narrowed eyes, and Jon had to smile. ‘Your grace’ she called him, but she looked the way Arya might have when she called him stupid.

“In the Red Keep? How did you come by such a rare gem?”

“Do you hunt often, cousin? Is it something you enjoy?”

Jon smiled. “As far as ways of changing the subject go, that was not very subtle. Quite unlike you.”

Sansa made a face, pushed her braid over her shoulder. “No, I’m trying to answer your question.”

She looked annoyed at him too.

Jon gave in. “Yes, I hunt often.” As beast and man. But he did not tell her that.

“Then you ought to know that fresh meat attracts all kinds of predators.”

Jon’s smile fell.

The things that came out of her mouth sometimes...

“And u managed to tame one such animal?”

“No, my taming skills had nothing to do with it. It was chance that brought this particular beast to my side and greed that kept him there, I suppose.” She shrugged, unaffected. In control. “Quite mundane, as far as appetites go.”

“True.” Jon said absently, as he silently went through the list of every single person he had ever seen who so much as smiled at her. “Though the Red Keep has never had a shortage of predators with unusual appetites.”

She eyed him carefully. “You don’t like the capitol at all, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” That was something he’d never hidden.

“Is there nothing there that makes you happy?”

Are you trying to lead me into some kind of trap, Sansa?

He could sense that she was, but she trusted her snares would not have spiked teeth. In fact, Jon thought her traps were rarely felt, so subtly she laid them. The rope could be around your throat, the noose tightening, and you would never know it until the fall snapped your neck. But in this one case, he knew it was not that kind of trap. The question was obvious, they both knew it; he could see it in her eyes just as he was sure she saw it in his. She wanted to ask this of him, without openly asking.

He had allowed this before, but for this – for this one piece of him, she would have to trust him enough to ask for it with open hands and straightforwardly. He had pursued her with intent where she had only curiosity for him, so it stood to reason that he led a surer course than she did, in their interactions, but still. Jon was not so brave with his heart that he could give away all of its pieces, just so that she might consider opening hers.

“There is very little in the capitol to make anyone happy.”

She considered him as if he were puzzle. “You could leave.”

Jon laughed sharply. “I do, all the time. Have you not noticed?”

“You could leave and never come back. You are Prince of Summerhall, are you not? You could stay there.”

Jon did not think she realized how much urgency there was in her words. How tightly she was gripping the edge of the rock, how wide her eyes were.

“I could, yes.”

He saw her relax inch by inch, like a fist loosening. “And risk displeasing your father. If you dare.”

He leaned forward just a bit. She did not move away, nor did she look uncomfortable.  “Didn’t you hear, cousin? I fear nothing and have very little sense.”

She rolled her eyes at him and laid down, black flat against the rock and arms open, as if she was embracing the sunlight.

“Yes, of course.” She said as she closed her eyes. “And you routinely spout wings and breathe fire.”

Jon laughed so loudly, he startled a couple of birds from their perch on a branch close to them.

iv.

Sansa did not hear it, when the bells first started ringing. She was in her room – the safest room the Crossroads Inn had to offer, she was told, right at the heart of the establishment. Jon and uncle Benjen were the only men sleeping on her floor and Sandor… they’d posted Sandor on the stairs that lead to her floor and she had not had the means to object too much, especially as he had waved her words away himself. Jon had bought out all the rooms of the Inn and then generously offered to pay for the meals and drinks of the other residents, as a recompense for their discomfort. The travelers who’d found themselves giving up their beds for a night had seemed all  too happy to oblige the Black Dragon, in exchange for a glimpse of him and the Lady of Winterfell. And those who had not been happy, Sansa had noted, had not made a sound about it.

She’d had her dinner at one of the tables with Jon and some of his men, the way she’d done every night of their journey, and then taken her leave early, more gleeful for a hot bath than she had been in a long time. She had been gleeful about everything lately. The riding, which she’d never enjoyed; the aching of her body, the cold at night and the uncomfortable bedding, the rain, the mud – none of it had dampened her mood. The more their journey went on, the more beautiful the world seemed to her. The air felt sweeter, every sound more delightful.

Sansa knew of course none of this was real. The world was as it has always been; she was just happy to be away from the capitol. It made the whole sky into a song to her. And Jon…

Much to her surprise and undeniable fascination, Jon was different too, when he was away from the Red Keep. His eyes were clearer. His face more dower, sure, his moods darker sometimes; his smiles slower to come, but more sincere, somehow. And he was funny! In a dark way; cutting sometimes, but there was something earnest about it out here. Something that was meant to be enjoyed, not picked apart. He seemed less deliberate as well. He didn't even bother making up reasons to be near her, for one. He just rode by her side and struck up conversations about anything under the sun, from their route and the kinds of trees and plants they passed, to what her favorite books were or how she liked to season her dishes. He was, in every way, an unpredictable conversationalist, but Sansa would be lying if she said it did not amuse her. 

It was hard, not to be drawn to him, not to give in to the pull that he seemed to exert on everyone around him. Hard to resist the full force of his attention, when so often it came back to her. He hoarded her company, did not even try to hide it. There was a touch of obsession there which Sansa could not help but be weary of, but he was so…

She remembered his face that day in the woods of Harrenhall. All that she had seen there; the acute pain and the anger he had used to take control of it. Her heart had hurt for him then. It had been impossible not to comfort him. There were moments when they spoke and he made himself so exposed, so open, all she wanted was to lean in further and find out… find out… Sansa wasn’t even sure what! But the lure of it was powerful. And troublesome!

So many of her feelings intertwined all over him, creating a net that he was only one element of, but he was still the one who could pull at all the wrong strings at once: her homesickness, her curiosity, her weariness, her compassion, the sheer fun it was to be around him. She hadn’t wanted to be near anyone the way she wanted to be near him.

It was… disturbing, in many ways. Mostly because she had started to feel quite at her ease in his company, and Sansa knew from experience, that was not a good sign. Usually the moment she felt safe was when she lost sight of how to protect herself. Besides, she could not forget that this was just one interlude, and not her life. And this too, was not without its pitfalls and dangers, beyond the fascination she may or may not have for one man.

Like the fact that, though away from court, a part of it had come with her in the form of Jeyne Westerling and Mariah Flowers. Jeyne and Shae had not been allowed to come, their duties arranging her household for the arrival of Harry and his retinue having been cited as too important to abandon. Sansa had warned them not to protest about it too much. She'd seen it coming after all. She had not quite figured out in whose pocket the Red Keep's castellan was[6], but whoever he belonged to was no friend of hers. For the most part this did not bother her – unless she thought about how Shae and Jeyne had been kept behind not only so that the two maids from Princess Rhaenys’ household could spy on her, but also as hostages for Sansa's own good behavior.

There was only one person really, who knew she loved her friends enough to risk quite a bit for them… so perhaps it was to Littlefinger that her two new ladies in waiting reported to. Or perhaps not. After all, Petyr knew better than to think she'd try to run away. Though Lord Connington had not seemed as sure, when he bid them farewell, frowning something fierce as they rode out of the gates of the Red Keep.

Seeing Jon gleefully antagonize the King’s Hand had been a strange experience. Sansa could not deny it gave a dark sort of satisfaction to see the Hand’s face turn that particular shade of red, but it also made her a bit envious, an emotion she thought was ugly and did not want to indulge in.

All in all, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Mariah was very obviously there only to learn her, but Sansa liked Jeyne Westerling well enough. Jon made it difficult sometimes, with how little he cared for hiding his intention of spending as much of his time around her, but the difficulties of being followed everywhere by curious ears and eyes were such that Sansa was used to. Her manner was so perfected that by now she could live a whole life under scrutiny and not reveal a single thing she did not mean to. But she didn’t need to, most of the time: Jon seemed to have picked up on her stiffness and continuously relegated the two young women to a different part of the caravan, keeping Sansa in the middle of it, with him riding beside her more often than not.

All things considered, straining a bit to apply her ointment to the burns on her back and her ribs was a minor inconvenience.

That's what she'd been doing, crossed-legged on her bed and stripped to the waist, when she heard thundering steps getting ever closer to her door. She'd barely had time to turn her back to the door when it burst open, slamming against the wall.

“We need to leave!”

“Jon!” Sansa shrieked, trying to pull her night wrap back up her shoulders, her back to him.

“Ah, fuck!” The anger in his voice did not abate, even as she saw him look away from her, eyes on the floor. “Get dressed. Now. We need to leave.”

Sansa tied the sash of her night-wrap tightly around her waist and pulled her cloak around her shoulders with steady hands, just as Jon threw her boots at her feet.

“Are we under attack?” her heart was starting to speed up in her breast, the flutter of fear making her voice harden. He was not in full armor, but his sword was on his belt and his dagger as well. This told her little however: he was hardly ever without either.

Jon thrust a small satchel into her hand, telling her to keep it with her and to leave everything else. He reached for her hand then, and Sansa took it without a second thought. Together they moved through the corridor, Jon keeping his body in front of hers, and down the stairs.

Sandor was waiting for them there, looking murderous, face pulled into a scowl.

“Anything?” Jon asked as Sandor stepped to her other side. They walked out of the Inn through the back entrance that led into the woods.

“Scouts haven't been back yet.” Sandor answered, voice even lower and more gravelly than usual. “No fire in the sky either, nothing fucking wrong except for the fucking bells.”

Sansa did not need to ask what they meant – she heard them as soon as she stepped outside, despite the hammering her blood in her ears. There were bells ringing, the sound of their repetitive gongs fluttering in the night. They walked into the stables, where Sansa was pushed to mount her palfrey. She did not object overmuch – her mind was turning. There were only three reasons Sansa knew for bells to ring like this: the death of a King, a city under siege or the surrender to one[7]. They were too far from any cities, so if there was an attack, someone must be raiding one of the villages they had passed on the way to the inn. And if a raiding party was this close…

It was probably raiders that Jon was preparing for, she thought as she looked around, trying to keep her horse calm. Most of his hundred men seemed to already be there in the courtyard, armed and mounted already. The moment she got on her horse, they moved to surround her like they had practiced it a thousand times.

There were some people missing, however. Her anxiety spiked.

“Where are my ladies? Jory, where-” But Jory had already moved away from her to speak to some of his riders, and he could not hear her. “Jon!”

He turned his head in her direction as if he'd just heard her. He stepped towards her then, wrapped his hand around her ankle, his hold so tight she could feel it through the leather of her boots, eyes fierce as he stared up at her face. 

“I will keep you safe. I promise.”

“I'm not frightened.” She dismissed, even if it wasn't the whole truth; she was afraid always, but never had that stopped her from being brave. “Where are my ladies? I don't see them.”

He let go of her ankle. “They were sent ahead with another party.”

Sansa frowned. “Why- What is happening?”

His squire, Satin, brought him his own horse and Jon mounted it fluently, as if his newly donned armor weighted not a thing.

“I don't know yet. But I will find out.” He turned on his horse to look at her. “Stay close to Ghost. I will find you when it’s over.”

She couldn’t help it. “But-”

“I will find you.” He’d brought his horse so close to hers that the side of his led almost brushed hers. “Trust me.”

He didn't wait for her to answer. He rode away with only half his men, leaving the other half with her. Was that not reckless? What if he needed them? No one gave her the time to ask those questions however. The moment Ghost started running, their line followed, and Sansa had to devote all her concentration at staying on her horse and staying alert.

The night would be long.

v.

They rode through the woods for what felt like hours. Sansa did not know where they were going, could not have been able to tell if it had been the middle of the day, let alone at night. There was a half moon out, but in the woods, its rays could not penetrate that deep. That, and the need for stealth was what made them move slowly along their path. Or what Sansa thought was a path. Sometimes she got glimpses of Ghost, leading them like a pale shade through the darkness. Uncle Benjen followed him without hesitation, like they both knew where they were going. Like he trusted Ghost to know, Sansa corrected.

At one point, she felt as if she was climbing up, perhaps a hill of some kind. Despite Sandor and Jory trying to clear a path for her, she felt the branches of the trees pull at her hair, her cloak. More than once she was too late to turn her head away and felt her face sting. Sandor stayed by her side the whole time, though he hardly spoke a word. They were as silent as they could be, trying to blend their breathing with the sounds of the rest of the woods of the Riverlands.

When they finally stopped, Sansa was so tired she was about ready to fall asleep on the saddle. Her thighs burned, her back ached, her hand hurt and her neck felt stiff. When she got down from her horse her knees buckled a little. Immediately, Sandor's hand was on her arm, keeping her steady.

“You’re about to fall over, little bird.”

“I just might. Are we stopping for the night?” She did not mean to complain, had made a point of it, but Sansa was not sure she'd be able to get back in the saddle without whimpering this time. She'd been so tense riding that her whole body ached twice more than usual.

“Fucked if I know. The beast has stopped and it’s him we've been following.”

Sansa looked towards the beginning of the line, tried to make out Ghost through the darkness. She could see him, pale like silver under the rays of moonlight that managed to filter through the trees.

A branch snapped close by her side. Before she could so much as turn, she felt Sandor set himself in front of her like a living wall, the sound of his sword leaving its scabbard slicing the night in two.

“At ease, Clegane.”

At the sound of her uncle's voice, Sansa let out a breath she didn’t realize she'd been holding, and reached half-blindly for Sandor's back, to stay him.

“Uncle Benjen. Have we stopped?”

“Yes, we rest here until dawn.”

“What happened? Were we attacked?”

Once her uncle was close enough to touch, she could almost make out the line of his face in the darkness. He might have been frowning, or she might have been imagining things.

“No. We heard the bells and thought better to move. If there was a raid in any of the villages close by, that Inn is not a defensible position.”

“And these woods are?”

“Yes.”

There was no doubt in his voice, and even though Sansa could not see his eyes, she knew they were as steady as ever, and on her. On her as they had been for days, and on Sandor too, who her uncle regarded with suspicion and perhaps even a little distain.

“Rest, Sansa. You are well guarded.”

Yes, Sansa was starting to understand just how well guarded she was.

Sending her handmaids in what was probably two different directions with their own escorts, to confuse whoever might be after them, was part of it. It was an ugly deception, one that Sansa had not seen until it presented itself to her fully formed into her hands, right in that moment. Sansa felt her anger rising: a slow, steady bloom in her veins burning outwards from her chest, adding to her exhaustion, sharpening its edge like whetstone against steel. Her eyes stung with the effort of restrain.

She had realized of course that Jon’s men took turns guarding her, even if they did so subtly, with a casual attitude that had almost flown over her head. Almost, but not quite. They were better than the guards in the Red Keep, because they did not act like guards, but Sansa had learned to recognize how men moved when they meant to circle you. Whether for protection or encroachment, it did not matter; it always felt the same to her. She’s seen it so many times, she could spot it now just by the direction they chose to step in.

She noticed it Jon too sometimes, though instead of at her back, he moved the same way Sandor did, placing his body between her and whatever noise he heard that he had not liked. But Jon was less obvious than Sandor, who of course never bothered to hide his intention. Jon moved like he didn’t think about it, even though by the way his eyes seemed to be alight out here, corners tight with tension, he was always thinking about it. Always ready for a fight. Sometimes she thought he walked on the tips of his toes, ever ready to sprint into action. Which was strange, considering Sansa had seen him training these past two weeks they’d been travelling. He fought like a man possessed, so quick that sometimes his sword was hard to see, and immovable as a wall.

She’d seen him fight and remembered how he played cyvasse; remembered how strange and difficult it had been, at first, to anticipate the moves of a player who seemed to base a good part of his strategy around appearing unpredictable and senseless. She supposed she should have seen this move coming too, Sansa thought as she settled down at the roots of a tree. He was a born tactician and she’d known he thought nothing of sacrificing a few set pieces of it got him what he wanted.   

So why was she so angry?

She adjusted her cloak and remembered the satchel Jon had shoved in her arms just as they left the Inn. It was around her arm still. She pulled it in front of her, opened the flap to feel what was inside.

Cloth, she realized, and something beneath them that felt very much like a bag of coins.

Truly, no one could accuse Jon Targaryen of not being a man prepared.

Sansa pulled the clothes out and it turned out to be britches and a long doublet, not unlike the riding clothes that Dany was fond of. At this point however, Sansa would not be surprised at all to see that these fit her perfectly.

She took off her boots angrily, wincing at her body’s protest of the movement, and shoved her feet into the britches, pulling them on under her nightgown. She resented Jon and in that moment she wanted to slap his face, but she would not ride a single second more with her thighs bare on that saddle, or she would not be able to ride again for days. She left the doublet in the satchel for the night, huddled into her cloak instead as she settled her bedroll on a soft patch of moss at the roots of a tree and laid on it, Sandor sitting down just at the other side of her. When Ghost came and laid down beside her, Sandor cursed, but did not try to persuade her to send him away. His huge body curled around hers, soft and warm, as if he liked being near her as much as she liked being near him.

Sansa leaned her head against his massive shoulder and listened to the beatings of his heart. It drummed faster than a human’s, and she thought if she counted the rhythm, perhaps she might forget her turmoil and fall asleep. She timed her breaths with his, the way she used to do with Lady. Petted him gently, pressed her weight more fully onto him, when he showed it did not bother him. Slowly, the noises of the men around her began to fade and so did her own turmoil, as Sansa concentrated on the feel of Ghost’s fur between her fingers, his heart beneath her ear, his chest expanding and moving her with every breath he took. The steady beat followed her into the darkness behind her eyelids, expanding in her head like a sunrise over water. Until it took over everything else; until it was the only thing she heard, as steady as the sound of the waves breaking upon the shore.

She felt stronger whenever Ghost was near, in some strange, unexplainable way. The way she always felt bolder when she confronted Jon. They were both such tangible parts of the North that they both soothed and pressed against an ache inside her she had long tried to bury.

The thought of it now made her eyes sting a little.

Ghost brought her no pain however. Whenever he was near, the thought of Lady did not pulse like a fresh wound that had just been cut. Lady, who used to lay with Sansa just like this. She’d let Sansa lean on her as if she were a pillow; let herself be petted and brushed until her coat was soft as Skye’s feathers. Skye, who was hunting tonight, perhaps in these very woods. Sansa sunk her hands into the fur at Ghosts neck. The part of it that was closest to his skin, the warmest part, was also his softest part, and even that could not compare to the feel of Skye’s feathers. Nothing compared to that. Nor to how precise she was in flight, how the night air felt under her wings when she rose and rose and followed the stars, riding on the back of the wind.

She could almost see it: the black expanse dotted with stars, the moon shining over dark woods, turning the rivers silver. There was a village further north, she could see the lights of the fires but that was not what she was searching for. Riders in the dark was who she needed to find. Riders, fire, screams, blood. But she found none of that. Only a village, and people in the square, around a tall building with a star on top of its thatched roof.

She flapped her wings and rose again into the air, high with the wind, until everything below her was as small and insignificant as the stars above. There was no north wind tonight, and she was hungry still.

The earth moved and Sansa was wrenched from her thoughts. She startled awake, breathing heavily, looking around frantically, trying to pierce the darkness. Ghost turned and nudged her cheek with his snout and she understood that she had not fallen from some great height. Ghost had simply moved.

Sansa curled further into her cloak, realized someone had actually covered her with something, but fell asleep before she could wonder more about it. When next she opened her eyes, the sky was lightening with the first rays of the dawn, and everyone was already on their feet.

Sansa moved, then groaned softly at the stiffness of her body. Gods she felt as if she’d been beaten, only her body was hurting in places she did not even know she could hurt. She sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and then combed her fingers through her tangled hair; undid her braid and then did it up again, trying not to yawn for the third time. She’d had a bath just last night but there was little she would not give now for a hot steaming one, if only so soak her sores in.

She chewed on some leaves of basil as she stretched her feet in front of her, trying for some relief.

“Good morning, cousin. Sleep well?”

She didn’t even have to look up. He’d crouched as he spoke, just at the foot of her bedding so that he could see her in the eye. He looked as if nothing at all strange had happened. His curls were a bit tousled, his clothes a bit dusty, but he looked wide awake despite the dark circles under his eyes and the smile on his face was so pleased, it soured her mood further.

“I slept wonderfully, thank you, your grace.”

That made his smile fall a little. She noticed his eyes go from her face to her hand, to her booted feet and he frowned. “I am sorry for your discomfort, but I assure you, it was for your protection.”

“Of course.”

Sansa tried to rise to her feet in as dignified a manner as she could, which was hard considering she was ruffled and had slept in her clothes. She felt discomposed, the threads of her self possession slow to come together.

“What were you protecting me from, if I may ask?”

Her coolness made him frown harder but he answered her all the same. 

“Nothing, as it turns out.” There was an edge to his voice as he said this. “The high sparrow has died, apparently, and in the Riverlands that is cause for ringing the bells from dusk till dawn, to let the people know of his passing.”

Sansa nodded. She had not known that. She looked around searching through the trees for her two companions.

“I don’t see my ladies. They did not return with you?”

“No. Their orders were to ride ahead on the Kingsroad until further instruction.”

“As a diversion.”

His eyes zeroed in on her. “Yes, exactly so.”

There was a stillness to him in that moment, as if he was bracing for something. Perhaps her voice had a different quality when men could not be soothed by a smile on her face.

Perhaps she was just angry. 

“I see. And I suppose you saw fit to tell them that had someone really been after them and they’d been caught impersonating me, they would have been killed for their trouble?”

“No, there was no time to share details with servants, my lady.”

“Indeed.” Sansa said through gritted teeth.

Jon’s eyes looked unusually bright in the pale light of the dawn, his frown something fierce. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but then his teeth around whatever words he chose not to speak, and he bowed his head to her, as if he meant to leave. Sansa was almost disappointed in some strange, insane way, but it did not last long. Jon didn’t take two steps away from her, before he changed his mind and came back, stopping so close to her that Sansa almost had to take a step back not to run into his chest.

“You realize that their lives are worth less to me than your safety, dont you?”

“You do not get to decide the worth of their lives! They are in my service, as long as I am their lady. If they have to risk their heads for me, their lives will not be thrown away like they don’t matter. I will speak to them, they will hear it from my lips and they will know why and what they’re doing. And they will have the choice to say no.” 

Jon passed a hand down his face, letting out a harsh breath. She could see his frustration with her growing, just as she could see the iron bands with which he controlled it. She observed it all with an almost dethatched fascination.

“They are not Jeyne or your Shae. They do not serve you or love you, Sansa. They’re here to spy on you, betray your secrets to someone who will undoubtedly use them to hurt you! Do you really want to fight with me because I used them to do what they are meant to do?!”

“They did not come here, they were send here! There’s a difference.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “You advocate choice and responsibility for yourself but won’t allow it in others? They had a chance to say no, but here they are.”

She felt as if she would explode out of her skin and into a thousand birds, so strong was her ire. Her hands shook. She fisted them into her skirts.

“Choice? Jeyne is the second daughter of an impoverished minor house, and Mariah is a bastard born girl of some lord I never heard of. Do you think someone like that can say no in the Red Keep? To Connington, or worse.”

Jon snorted.

Sansa wanted to push him.

“Oh yes, Black Prince. There are worse in that place than someone who frustrates your pride. People who no one can refuse without getting hurt.”

“You mean like you could not.”

Her breath froze in her lungs; she could not let it in or out. He could have slapped her and she’d would have been less startled.

Until that moment Sansa had not understood why she’d been so incensed, but then he said it, and all the pieces fell into place, the picture complete and so thoroughly humiliating, she had to turn away from him, her hand going to her mouth as she absorbed her own shock.

A moment ago she’d thought she was ready to rip him open but now all that animosity was just… gone. Dany had always said that Jon had a way of using the truth as if it was a weapon and Sansa had never understood how that was possible. In her experience, the truth had only ever a blade turned towards her, not one she could yield. But now she did understand. It did not feel like he was using something against her, exactly; but neither did he allow anything to go unsaid, even when he knew it would hurt her, and that was merciless in its own way. 

“Yes.” She said slowly, her voice full of emotion she could not hide. “Exactly like me.”

She felt his hand at the small of her back, just as his chest pressed against her shoulder as he stepped closer. The way he said her name then, softly, almost like he was pleading for something, closed her eyes and made a shiver rattle up her spine. Suddenly Sansa felt like she could not take a full breath. She could not stand to have him so near.

She took a step back and then turned to face him just in time to see his hand fall back against his side.

“I would have told you, if it ever came up." He said, before she could open her mouth to speak. "I would have left the choice to you, if there had been time. I wasn’t trying to hide anything. And I wasn’t punishing those girls for anything either.”

Sansa nodded slowly. She knew that. She did.

“I know. I… my anger has little to do with you, in truth.”

It might have been a shameful thing to admit, but it was nothing he did not already know, wasn’t it? What gave her the most pause, what made her feel as if she could not breathe around him all of a sudden, was how she’d thought nothing of letting it loose with him. She’d never done that, ever, not in years. It scared her stiff. She didn’t quite know what to do with herself now.

Sansa licked her lips, dared look at him in the face again. The look she found there was so soft she wanted to cry. Of course, she blinked back the urge, settling down her racing heart one breath at a time.

“I have been surrounded by people who think they know what’s best for me all my life. So many of them never even saw fit to tell me even things that concerned my person. I suppose this that is what I’m angry about and you were just… a target.” This time she did meet his eyes, because she was certain they were dry and finally steady. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. You didn’t deserve it, not really.”

Jon shook his head. He moved, as if he meant to come closer to her again but then thought better of it.

“That’s alright, I can take it. I’m sorry I put your ladies in danger.”

“Are you, really?”

“No.” He admitted, something in his shrug that was almost resigned. “But I am sorry it upset you.”

Sansa nodded. She knew that was the best she would get out of him. But then he did something that surprised her: he offered her his hand, palm up.

“Shall we part as friends?”

She looked from his palm, unable not to notice the scar there along the inside of his thumb, to the open expression on his face, something in his eyes that was almost like hope.

“We are not parting yet.” She said, picking apart his words if only to have something to stall over. She didn’t want to touch him in that moment. Just the thought of it made her shake a little.

His smile turned playful at her words, his hand still between them, open and waiting. “No, we’re not. Let us reconcile, then.”

Sansa lifted her chin a fraction. “We will reconcile when Jeyne and Mariah are by my side again. Is that acceptable to you?”

Jon nodded, that small knowing smile never leaving his face. “That is fair. And acceptable to me.”

It was only then that Sansa noticed the silence that surrounded them. When she looked around, she saw they were alone amongst the trees, the closest man so far away she could see them, but not hear them as they made ready to start riding again.

She blinked, stunned. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck and cheeks and resisted the urge to hide her face in her hands.

“We made a scene, didn’t we?”

His chuckle was warm and still much too close. “Don’t worry about that.”

Sansa groaned. “I’m embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be. I think you might have impressed them even more than you already have.”

She snorted softly and shook out the cloak that she’d been covered with, a small smile coming on her face when she realized it was Sandor’s. She might have pointed out that she had no need to impress anyone, but that would not have strictly been true. She had liked getting to know some of Jon’s men, and she very much wanted to impress them. She had wanted them to like her, because when men did, there was no predicting what they might tell her.

“Really?” She said instead. “By acting like a shrew?”

“By withstanding my anger. None of them would dare speak back to me when I’m in a temper.”

“None of them have the advantage of being highborn ladies.” Sansa retorted as she rolled up her bedding and stood up. Jon took it from her and Sansa thanked him, before trying to go around him then, thinking they would join the others and continue on. But before she could, she felt his hand wrap around her arm, just over her elbow. She turned and though her heart started hammering against her ribs when he pulled her closer, she did not pull away.

Jon leaned in so close to the side of her face that his curls touched her temple. Sansa could only stare at him, though she did not dare turn her head fully. From this close, she could see every shade of grey in his eyes, count his dark eyelashes one by one.

She could not breathe.

“Don’t make yourself smaller for me. There’s no need. I can see you for who you are, Sansa.” He touched his forehead to the side of her temple then, and Sansa’s eyes closed of their own accord.

She opened her them slowly, feeling sluggish, her limbs heavy. “That sounds like a threat.”

Jon laughed, the sound ticking the back of her neck and then diving down her spine all the way to the tips of her toes.

“I promised you protection, remember. You have no more cause to be weary of me than you have to be of your eagle friend.”

Sansa straightened and immediately he let her go, though his hand brushed against her forearm as she put some distance between them.

“We shall see, your grace.”

He nodded. “We shall.”

+

[1] Apparently this is within the standard measuring for a White Tailed Eagle, which is the species I’m talking about here

[2] I know this sounds super fantastical, but this is something I took from an actual documentary, where an Eagle Hunter of Mongolia did this exact same thing with his eagle. He said it was extraordinary, and that this was his favorite eagle and the only one he could do this trick without losing bits of his arm, but it is real. (Admittedly, the eagle did not LAND on his arm, but then again, that man wasn’t a skinchanger either so… )

[3] t this particular point, I am indeed, bullshitting my way through this XD

[4] Winter Soldier, Natasha Romanoff

[5] Borgia quote, from a bit of gialogue betwen Micheletto and Cesare.

[6] am literally lying through my teeth here. I don’t know whose decision it would be, to do this. Im not even sure that anyone could do this to her, since both Shae and Jeyne are part of Sansa’s household so she decides for them. Anyway… ignore me.

[7] Yes, i am referencing The Stupidity Never To Be Named. It game me this idea, so I guess its not totally useless.

[nobaettadr]

[sinister voice in the background: talk about seliph!]

                                      send me a topic to write a meta on!

ooc.

…………….where…….do i even begin. the way leif feels can be pretty much summed up in two separate categories which influence and feed off of each other, so i think it’s probably the most organized to talk about them separately, though do keep in mind that they’re not at all separate in his mind and they all sort of end up collapsing in on the complicated melting pot of feelings labeled ‘seliph’.

1. admiration / inferiority. in many way, seliph represents what leif has always aspired to be and what he wishes he could have. while seliph lost his parents as well, he had a relatively stable upbringing and more or less made his own decision to set out and face the empire head-on with tirnanogue squad behind him; he was surrounded by people who supported him from day 1, and had a community within which he was accepted and, in a lot of ways, the center of attention. in contrast, leif never lived a secure life; as we know, he was on the run from day one, and while he did also personally want to liberate manster, for the most part he felt that he was destined to do so because this is the mindset that finn imprinted on him for as long as he can remember: you are the son of quan and it is your birthright to free manster when you come of age. no question. of course, there’s also the major holy blood thing. that goes without saying. and the fact he got to meet his parents.

it’s also really important to note when seliph comes into leif’s life: he comes in at the mentally and emotionally lowest point in leif’s life – he’s just undergone siege for six months at leonster castle. after finally fighting all the way there, tooth and nail, and reclaiming his homeland, he’s a hair away from losing it again ( seriously – depending on the game, he’s either defending it p much solo or he has like a paltry handful of forces left, he’s been backed into the last corner of the castle, and morale is the pits ). both he and narration express hopelessness and the inevitability of defeat. the sense of failure and worthlessness that leif feels at this time ( the siege also takes place after dorias’ death due to his mistake ) cannot be put into words. these six months, in my leif’s canon, are the darkest of his life.

it’s also important to look at how seliph is introduced to him – through august, his chief adviser and the one he looks to the most after dorias dies. august, first, drops his title: “the isaachians call him the ‘child of light’. then, he tries to frame seliph in a kind of ‘heroes are made, not born’ way which, while the premise is good and i do believe august was trying to make leif feel better here in his augusty way, leif doesn’t quite take it that way. august says “And [Sigurd’s] son, Lord Celice, is fighting to fulfill his father’s wishes… The people are overjoyed. They wouldn’t hesitate to give their lives to his cause. It’s the perfect scenario.” coming off the back of his own recent experiences with the people of leonster and his own army slowly losing faith in him and his abilities, it’s no surprise that leif compares himself to august’s narration of seliph and automatically considers himself inferior.

the battle to defend leonster ends when seliph’s forces arrive on the scene, and august himself, despite having spent the pre-chap urging leif to still have heart, immediately says “lord seliph’s army has arrived! we have been saved!”, which, to leif, automatically registers as ‘of course, i had to be saved by my cousin. i couldn’t do anything for the people i was supposed to protect. everyone’s already lost hope in me and has just been waiting for him to get here and save us.’ then, actually meeting seliph for the first time, it’s clear to see that leif already considers himself lesser and assumes a subordinate position to him. for instance, i’m pretty sure in the original japanese that he refers to him with respectful honorifics, whereas seliph simply calls him ‘leif’, implying automatic familiarity because they’re cousins ( and bc it’s seliph who’s like you’re cousin! :D we’re automatically close! ). leif also continues to apologize for wanting to go to manster and rescue eyvel rather than joining seliph’s campaign in conote, thanking seliph for granting “my selfish request”; we know it’s not just him bowing and scraping in front of seliph because he refers to it the same way in private later with august.

following that, the conversation with august:

august: lord leif, how was your meeting with lord seliph?leif: he’s an admirable individual. i can’t believe he’s only a year older than me.august: yes. he has gathered an army ten times our size, and has crossed the yied desert at that young age. he is quite a figure.leif: you were saying before that he was ‘made to be a hero.’august: of course, i won’t deny that. however, it is also true that lord seliph does have talent and ability that makes him worthy of being made a hero. he will become much greater than his father, sigurd.leif: i still have a long way to go. i’m ashamed of myself.

speaks for itself, really.

so i think it comes down to – does leif have an idealized vision of seliph? absolutely, to start. he most certainly sees seliph as the ‘scion of light’ and thinks he represents everything that leif wishes he could be. what i imagine – and you can offer your thoughts on this too, if you want, or correct me! – is that this vision eventually changes and develops as they become best friends over the course of fe4. what’s really important for leif is that, as they become friends, he comes to realize that seliph is not perfect, flawless, confident, a born hero. he realizes that seliph has doubts, fears, and insecurities of his own that, in fact, mirror leif’s, and by realizing this, he realizes that having doubts doesn’t make him weak or inferior, that seliph is just like him. this is what gives leif confidence and helps him grow as a person, and also helps him begin to respect and love seliph not as an idolized hero figure, but as a relatable person, someone he can stand on equal ground with and understand emotionally.

in fact, i think it’s really important that, in heroes, seliph talks about how he’s actually a coward, how many times he wanted nothing more than to run away from all his responsibilities and he cites this as one of the incongruities between who he is and how people see him. i think this is interesting in particular because leif, for all his flaws, has never thought of backing down or running away. he’s never been afraid of what he’s had to face. seeing this side of seliph would be vital for him to understand that he actually has characteristics that even make him more qualified than the person he’s idolized, and that they can mutually learn from and strengthen each other.

i’m gonna put the rest of this under a read-more bc a. this is already long and b. heavy tw: incest mentions so uh, look away? you asked for this

2. love. as far as my leif goes, he fell in love with seliph at first sight. objectively, i’m sure some of it was idealized, along with the rest of his feelings about him, but he felt drawn to him in a way he’d never to anyone else before. leif’s certainly had crushes, some of them rather strong ( mareeta ), but he has never, before or since, felt the absolutely flooring sensation of adoration and admiration and i-would-give-my-life-for-you intensity he felt upon meeting seliph for the first time. as they became friends, the emotions only developed and shaped around their growing relationship; if, as i imagine took place in canon, leif came to understand seliph as a person rather than as the ‘scion of light’, his feelings developed accordingly and he fell ever deeper in love with those open, honest eyes and that goofy giggle, the way he scrunches his nose at food he doesn’t like, the way he gestures.

it’s honestly really difficult to put into words adequately the sheer power of my leif’s love for seliph, so i won’t try. but is has most definitely kept him up at night and been the source of countless daydreams, heartache, and tears. ( hell, thinking about it too long makes mun cry so like. ) he would do anything for seliph. 

he does, however, also feel terribly ashamed about his feelings, which is why few know about them despite the fact that he’s also an open book, so people probably do suspect and he just doesn’t know about it. nanna knows about it because she knows him inside and out, and asvel probably because he’s the only one leif trusts 120% no strings attached no ifs ands or buts. seliph is his cousin, which means his feelings are taboo, and even if they weren’t, he doesn’t feel he could ever be worthy of him. for each daydream, each bit of longing, it’s almost immediately followed by a shame and self-disgust so powerful it makes him feel physically nauseous. he loves him so much he can’t articulate it. that’s pretty much it.

leif is convinced that, while he’s sure time will help him overcome it to the point where it’s not so painful all the time, he will always love seliph. he hopes he’ll come to love other people and that he will make them happy and they’ll make him happy and he’ll feel fulfilled, but he doesn’t believe that he will ever feel about someone else as strongly as he’ll feel about seliph – it’s just one of those things he knows, as surely as he knows the sun rises from the east. ( and from a mun standpoint, this is also what makes it hard to ship him with anyone in ferpcanon because no one really likes the idea of someone else being first in their SO’s heart, yeah? )

i…….think that’s everything. i could probably talk about it more but that more or less covers the basics of the intricate shitstorm of emotions. thanks for asking haha :’D

[lostboysuga]

He Sings In The Morning

also posted on wattpad, twt, and ao3

ao3 link

don't confuse pls !!

part one !!

3.4k words

Taehyung was sitting on Hoseoks bed, trying to patiently wait as the older male continued to try and perfect his costume. He finally came out of the bathroom after almost 2 hours wearing all black and a headband. “What are you, a rat?” Taehyung asked, not quite sure what he was supposed to be.

Hoseok sighed and said, “I'm a mouse,” He pointed up at his ears, “Duh.”

“Oh. Well whatever, you took so long that we're late for the party now.” Taehyung deadpanned, scrolling through his phone.

“What seriously?! Why didn't you tell me?!” Hoseok scrambled to grab everything he needed, including car keys and wallet just in case. Taehyung just let himself get pulled along, not really seeming very interested, since he didn't even want to go, and Hoseok was just dragging him along.

They got into the car and drove up to the party a few miles away. The music was blasting and you could hear it even inside the car with all the windows up. Taehyung rolled his eyes and got out of the car with Hoseok following close behind.

They both entered the house and it looked as though the party truly was in full swing and they were nearing the “best part of the night” for those who actually go to parties. Hoseok ran off somewhere when he spotted his cousin, leaving Taehyung to navigate the party alone. He didn't mind it much, he just wished Hoseok wasn't such an airhead and realized that there are other people living in the world.

Taehyung knew he wouldn't last through this party without a drink so he went into the kitchen because that's usually where all the alcohol is in movies. Taehyung didn't know much about parties because he was kind of a loner. Hoseok and a few others were his only friends. But he liked it that way, better friends over more friends any day. Hoseok was his bestest friend in the whole wide world, and Taehyung liked it that way. He didn't really need anybody else.

He got a drink after being asked the ridiculous questions about what he wanted to drink as if he was at a legit bar. he didn't know what to ask for so he just asked for whatever would be best for the party. The girl that was making the drinks smirked and grabbed bunch of things that Taehyung could barely read what they were. She handed him a pink drink in a plastic cup, apologizing for not being able to put it in a glass.

Taehyung muttered a small thanks and walked away. Before he took a sip of his drink, and it smelled like straight vodka. But he got a hint of cranberry juice and realized he'd just been served a really strong cosmopolitan. “Jesus, what am I a fucking girl?” He said to himself, tempted to throw the drink out, but decided against it as he saw Hoseok flirting with some boy who probably was way older than him. Hoseok caught sight of Taehyung and shouted for him to come over.

He seemed to have met an oddly pale older boy dressed as a vampire. He seemed to have really natural looking makeup on, but when Taehyung got closer he realized that the boy wasn't wearing any makeup at all. Taehyung tried not to be weirded out by this and instead tried to make small talk.

“Enjoying yourself?” Taehyung asked monotonously, though trying his hardest not to sound like he wasn't interested. Truly this boy looked like he didn't want to be here either.

“Not hardly.” The older male replied.

“Me too. I'm Taehyung, by the way.” He outstretched his hand for the older boy to shake, and he did.

“I'm Yoongi. Nice to meet you.” Yoongi seemed to be a little too formal for Taehyung, which was odd only because of their surroundings. They were at a college Halloween party, but Yoongi seemed to be the only one here with a serious costume. He looked like a true vampire, fangs, cape, the whole nine yards.

“I really don't want to be here, but my best friend brought me so I had to come.”

“My apologies that you're not enjoying yourself. Perhaps we could go somewhere together?” Taehyung pondered this for a minute or so, and then finally glanced over at Hoseok, who was dancing with some random drunk dude. He knew either way he'd be left behind when Hoseok forgot about him and decided to run off with some guy.

“Sure. Wherever is fine as long as it's not here.” Yoongi reached for Taehyungs hand and Taehyung let him intertwine their fingers together. Yoongis hands were cold; really cold. Taehuyng didn’t want to ask why his hands were so cold, so he kept his mouth shut. They walked out, hand in hand, and in minutes the house was just a spec in the horizon. Yoongi led Taehyung, what seemed to be, miles away from the house, and away from Hoseok.

Eventually, they came what looked to be a forest, but it seemed very out of place, as it was right next to an apartment complex. But Taehyung wasn’t quite complaining, even if he was slightly afraid of Yoongi, as he’d seen too many crime shows and knew that forests were where you dumped dead bodies.

The came upon a very dark looking stone with a skull imprinted on it, and Taehyung was starting to get pretty freaked out. Just who was this dude? He was super creepy, that’s for sure. Yoongi mumbled some words that didn’t sound like English, but then the stone moved open like a door and and Yoongi led Taehyung inside. Taehyung was sufficiently frightened enough to go home now, but once they got inside, he wasn’t all that scared anymore.

It looked like a little underground cottage. It was kinda cute if Taehyung had to admit. “Is this where you live?” Taehyung asked, letting go of Yoongis hand and walking around to view everything Yoongi had inside of what Taehyung assumed to be his “house’’.

“This is in fact where I live. Do you like it?” Yoongi smiled as Taehyung walked all around Yoongis absolutely fascinating home. He didn’t quite know what it was about this place, but he really seemed to like it. Maybe it was that smell in the air… What was that smell? It was nothing like Taehyung had ever smelled before. He wasn’t sure what to call it or what to compare it to.

What was it about that smell that made him so light-headed? What even was in that fragrance? “What… Is… This..?” Taehyung then suddenly passed out from the scent looming through the air, while Yoongi remained completely unaffected by the scent, as he made it himself in the basement where he made potions and other concoctions. As a vampire, he was quite adept at brewing potions, despite many people thinking that potion-making was only for witches and wizards.

«☾»

Taehyung awoke in a red and black room,and not recognizing his surroundings, he began to panic. He shot up, and despite getting a headache from sitting up too fast, he didn’t care because he didn’t know where he was and that was a big problem. He began to scramble around the room, looking for clues as to where he was, but he couldn’t find anything. He tried to think about where he was last night, but his memory was so fogged, he couldn’t even remember who he left with. Did he really have that much to drink? He swore he only had 1 drink, and he didn’t even finish half of it.

Then, a voice came from behind the door to the room Taehyung was in, and it sounded so familiar. “If you keep making a ruckus, I won’t allow you to come out.” Who was it that had that voice? Who was it that he knew?

Then it hit him, and all his memories came flooding back in a flash. It gave him an even worse migraine. Hoseok, the party, Yoongi, the creepy door leading into Yoongis house in the forest. Everything. It made him fall backwards and onto his bottom. The owner of the voice who he now recognized as Yoongi asked if he was alright. When Taehyung responded, he opened the door as slowly as he could.

“”You!” Taehyung shouted. “What did you do to me?!”

“Quit your incessant shouting, I only changed your clothes!” Yoongi looked very irritated with Taehyung but the younger boy didn’t care. He was furious and didn’t believe Yoongi one bit. He looked down at his outfit and suddenly he looked exactly like Yoongi did; clad in black leather and a cape.

“Why am I dressed like you?!” Taehyung was so livid he wanted to just rip off the clothes he was in.

“Because you’re mine now.” He pointed to his own neck and smirked. Taehyung mirrored this action and felt two small holes in his neck, and his eyes went wide and he suddenly knew why he was so naturally pale, why he lived underground, why he knew how to make potions and turn them into aromas to knock people out.

“You… How could you..?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” Yoongi replied, placing his lips on Taehyungs. The younger male had no idea what to do and didn’t want to get knocked out again, so he kissed back. Yoongi smiled into the kiss and Taehyung tried his best to smile as well, but it came out as more of a grimace than anything even close to a smile. Yoongi pulled away and Taehyung tried his best to make his “smile” a little more believable. Yoongi smiled again and pecked his lips, so that was a good sign, saying that it had worked.

“Since you’re human, well, for a while anyway, you can go outside during the day, but you’ll get hotter easier and sweat more, so I’d suggest you stay here as often as you can. However, I will allow you to go out until you finally turn.”

“T- turn?! You bit me?!”

“I thought we already established this. I bit you to the point where you’d become a vampire and spend the rest of your days with me.”

“Why… Why would you do this to me..?”

“Because you’re the one, Taehyung.” The younger boy was taken aback by this statement, but tried to act as though he was okay with this. He knew he wouldn’t have any other choice anyway so there was no point in defying Yoongi at this point in time. And even if he wanted to, who would believe him? Hoseok surely wouldn’t believe him, even if he saw the bite marks.

He sighed and said, “How many days do I have?”

“At the very least a week. However it’s different for everyone. It could even take a month. I’d say be back here in at most 72 hours.”

“Okay…” Taehyung didn’t know how he could fix this, but he knew even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. It wasn’t like there was a potion to cure vampirism. And even if there was, there was no way Yoongi would give it to him, let alone even confirm there was a potion to cure it. “I’ll… Be back…” Taehyung tried to not let the tears pooling in his eyes fall, but he couldn’t help it. As he was leaving, where Yoongi couldn’t see his face, he let them fall, because this was probably the last time he’d be able to cry without Yoongi breathing down his neck.

Taehyung tried his best to find his way home, eventually getting to a main street and walking home. Truly, Yoongis cave wasn’t that far from Taehyung and Hoseoks shared apartment. He walked into the apartment, and hoped to God that Hoseok wasn’t there. Miraculously, he wasn't. Taehyung went straight to the bathroom to put bandaids on his neck, in hopes that it wouldn’t draw so much attention to the bite marks. He could always just say that they were pimples and be done with it.

Taehyung wondered how he’d get everything he cared about over to Yoongis, unsure of how much his few backpacks could carry. He had a suitcase as well, but he didn’t know if that would really help him at all. He did his best to get everything out, making it seem like he’d never even been there.

He took a suitcase and a backpack of his favorite outfits and filled the rest of his backpacks with books and all the empty journals he’d recently purchased, along with every single pen and pencil he owned. He wanted everything that would be important to him while living with Yoongi. Maybe he could start writing letters to nobody, asking them to please rescue him from Yoongi. He knew there was no point wasting paper like that, though, especially if he was going to spend the rest of eternity alive and with Yoongi.

He grabbed all of his practically all the way full bags, and went to leave his room. He stopped in the doorway to look back at his room. It was a skeleton of what it used to be, a ghost even. Hardly anything was in there except his computer and a few other items he didn’t care about. But all the photos of him and Hoseok since high school were in his suitcase. He couldn’t leave without them. He could live without them, without the memory that he was once human and had a wonderful life ahead of him.

He sighed as he began to cry again, and turned back towards the hallway, and walked out of the apartment, leaving his key on the counter.

[justventingjustventing-blog]

“See you laters” are the worst.

I’m not talking about the kind when you go on a trip or won’t being seeing someone close to you for a short time. I mean the kind when you have to say “see you later” to someone you only get to spend a short time with every few (a.k.a. SHIT TONS OF) months. People in long distance relationships will know what I’m talking about, in fact that’s exactly what I’m talking about.

I use the term “see you later” rather than “good-bye” because in my mind good-bye is forever, see you later is more promising in the future. I’m sure many of you have seen things stating the same thing, I like to take it to heart. 

Being a young army wife, our relationship started out pretty much like in the movies (or like you hear about all the in the military community). We started seeing each other seriously just a few weeks before he went to basic in fall of 2015. We already knew we were going to get married at the ages of 17 and 19. That was the first see you later. He lived a town over and since he would have to go through my hometown on his way to MEPS we decided him and I would drive the first 10 minutes (to have some last alone time) and his mom would follow and pick him up there, I couldn’t go with because I had to work. The moment he got out of one car and into the next will forever be imprinted in my memory. I remember thinking how terribly I was going to miss him, I remember crying my eyes out and watching them drive away, never breaking eye contact until they were out of sight. I remember thinking “the next 2 months can’t go by fast enough”, since he would be in basic through Christmas he was able to come home for a couple weeks. It’s funny now how 2 months really doesn’t seem as long as it did then. 8 weeks. 56 days. I remember thinking about how I knew I was going to have to get used to this in the future, and dear God was I right. 

The second see you later was when he came home for Christmas during basic. I was so happy to see him and spend every waking moment with him, we had the time of our lives, we always do. At this point in time we were dead set on getting married after he was out of AIT but we hadn’t announced it yet so his mom wasn’t so happy that we were spending every night together, I was still just 17 and our families like to be “morally correct” like that. But of course we still spent the night together the entire time he was home and when he had to go back he was not taking that 3 hour drive to the airport without me by his side - which his mom wasn’t too happy about that either, so you can imagine how awkward the ride home was. I was able to help myself from crying at the airport when we kissed “see you later”, I think the awkwardness of the circumstance helped me from being overwhelmed at the time being. I thought “this won’t be so hard we’ve done it before and everything was fine, we can do it for another 2 months and then we will be able to talk to each other rather than writing letters! This is cake!”. It was far from that, in fact it was harder. He would tell me how much he missed home, even more than when he first went to basic, and all I wanted to do was give him a hug. It sucked. 

My mother-in-law and I got to go see him graduate basics, that was a fun trip! We only got to see him for 2 days, so I don’t really count that as a “see you later”. I say that because I didn’t have the heart crushing feeling I had the other two times before. It’s like when you go on a vacation on the other side of the world, you have jet lag. It takes a few days to feel it, and then a week or two to get used to it. I was so ecstatic to see him, and since it was for such a short time it was like a really long dream. We didn’t have time for normalcy to set in. We spent those two days just staring at each other and smiling and just enjoying each other’s presence. Plus, he was going to AIT! He was finally going to have the luxury of having his cell-phone! I was more excited about that than sad about the fact we would have to go another 3 months states away form eachother. 

Not too long after getting home from that is when I learned to make time go by literally as fast as I can. It was my senior year of high school (2nd semester) but I graduated a semester early so I could work and just do what ever I want, and that’s exactly what I did. I worked and took classes through the college to pass my time. I got a second job at the high school cafeteria (I thought it was pretty fun serving my classmates...bitches) for a few months, and I just tried as hard as possible to be doing something every waking moment. During this time apart we announce we were engaged! We just used Facebook, and then I decided I should probably tell my parents before they hear it from someone else. It was a fun time. 

In April of that year (2016) my family went on a trip to San Fran to see one of my cousins get married. Just a week after I was going to go see my husband (at the time fiance) graduate AIT! But this time I went by myself. It was just a short trip, I was hoping to spend two days like we did last time, but instead I only got the one day - his graduation day. But I don’t regret going. It was a memory I’ll never forget and I am so proud to say I was there for my husband. So like the time I saw him before, we didn’t have time for normalcy to set in, so I felt like I was in a dream.... a really really amazing dream... 

After I got back home I continued doing the same things I was doing before my trips up until May. My husband was still at Fort Lee where he went to AIT, even though he had graduated already it wasn’t time for him to leave because of orders. In May I still walked across the stage with my graduating class like normal, I was really hoping he would be able to make in for that! But he ‘still wasn’t able to leave’. Well, I had a feeling That he was going to surprise me and sure thing he did! This was another moment in my life that I will forever remember. We were all walking out of the gymn while the procession (I think thats what it’s called) was playing and as soon as I got through the door and was about to turn down the hall I saw my amazing man standing right there! Best. Moment. Ever. He was home for 2 weeks and in that two weeks we got married and just had shit loads of fun. As always. 

But the thing that sucked about it - we would have to say “see you later” again. A-FUCKING-GAIN. He found out when he was in AIT that he was getting stationed in South Korea. Originally we were like “damn that sucks because we can’t be together for a whole fucking year still” then we were like “oh wait we can probably be together families move here all the time” then we were like “fuck he got put on a small base with no housing in a random Korean city, maybe we can get an apartment off base and be together”, well by the time we kinda got things figured out it had been like 4 months so we just thought “fuck it”. This “see you later” was one of the worst ones. Probably because it was more recent and honestly they just keep getting worse. Can you tell I’m getting angry now? Because he was home this time for 2 weeks like in basic, but we had been together much longer now and we were married now! AND I WAS ALREADY SO TIRED OF NOT BEING WITH HIM. We thought after AIT we would finally be able to BE together! It sucked. Like always. Normalcy set in when he was home for that 2 weeks, and honestly it makes saying “see you later” even more difficult. 

By this time, after he got to Korea, I was still trying to make time go by as fast as possible. I loaded up on classes, was no longer working at the highschool so I tried finding another second job - not with much luck as they didn’t fit well with my schedule. I found one but only stayed there for 2 weeks, working as a dairy department stocker at a grocery store. Fucking hated it. I pretty much hated everything by this point in time. Didn’t know when I would see my husband next, unless it would be in a year, then I knew, but that fact made me even more sad.

Luckily he was able to come home about 4 months (give or take) of him being in Korea.He came back for one of his cousin’s wedding. It was amazing having him home again. Of course I couldn’t help but think about how he was going to leave in 2 weeks from then. Then 1 week. Then 4 days. Then tomorrow. Then I’m driving home by myself after dropping him off at the airport. It was a depressing image in my mind and it was depressing when it actually happened. I tried not to think about it when he was home for those two weeks because I found myself being bitter and sad, and that was not the way I wanted to be when my husband was home for only 2 weeks every 3-4 months. I think this was the worst see you later out of all of them. In fact it is the last one so far. I was devastated. I didn’t want to go 7 months with out seeing my husband. That was just too much for me. I could do 4. But not 7. 

Well, I decided I was going to visit him. I was terrified of going by myself so I found a friend to come with! We spent a few months planning it, I decided on February because that would be about halfway between the time he went back from leave and the time he would be done there. That way I wouldn’t have to go more than 4 months with out seeing my husband. It made me feel better. I continued working and doing classes, I even decided to get my own rental house while I was waiting for him to come back to the states! It didn’t last long. My roommates were pretty much the shittiest roommates ever with out actually ruining any of my stuff or being dicks. I partied a lot that 1 month I was there. And by party I mean get drunk and then get upset because I missed my husband and then go to bed. Fun. Times. 

So I moved back in with my mom and it was almost time for my trip to see my husband! My friend and I took the train to Chicago (it was cheapest to fly out of O’hare.. like way fucking cheaper). We got to the airport and it turns out my friend couldn’t come with. He only had a card passport. Couldn’t use it. It was no good. Fuck. So I went by myself! Stayed a night in China because my connecting flight was the next day - terrifying. It was terrifying because I’m cheap and got the cheapest hotel and it was sketch. But I survived and made it to Korea! My husband met me at the airport and we had an amazing time! (Do you see the pattern here?). I couldn’t help myself from thinking about when we will have to say “see you later” again, but I didn’t let it interfere with enjoying being with my husband. I made the trip so I would be in Korea for about two weeks. The glorious but deadly two weeks: long enough to fully enjoy eachother and have the time of our lives, and also long enough for normalcy to set in. You know what is coming now. But the question is: Is it going to be as terrible as the other times, going weeks feeling lonely and sad and crying just trying to keep myself busy, or will I be able to go back to normal? Will this next 3 months of my husband being out of the states go by fast and will we REALLY FINALLY be able to be together after this long ass year?! - I know we will but it just feels like it is inevitable. But I know it’s real. I don’t to be sad and depressed like I usually am after saying “see you later” but I can never help it. And everytime before this seems like it got worse. Will this time be like that too? I think this to myself as I sit here in my hotel in South Korea waiting for my husband to get off work and come see me so we can have our last time together before I go to the airport tomorrow morning. I don’t want to leave him. I just want to live with him and be with him with out knowing when we have to say our “see you laters”. GOD 

P.S. I don’t regret marrying the man I love who is in the military. And I am not mad at him nor the military, I am so so thankful. I just wanted to vent how I feel about missing him. And if you took this post to think I am angry at someone, no, I’m not, I’m just putting my feelings out there.

P.P.S. (or is it P.S.S.???) I also wonder every now and then what it would be like to actually have an army wife friend like me - since I haven’t really been acquainted with this life yet I just don’t know. Does anyone else feel like this? I feel stupid about this but i guess that’s the good thing about not putting my identity out there. 

Bye. 

EDIT: Also I am very thankful that I was able to visit my husband where he was rather than him being on a true deployment. It’s gonna suck when that happens. 

Ok. Bye for good.