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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

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You Got What I Need - Brock Boeser

Pairing: Brock Boeser x Reader (f)

Summary: When Brock says something horrible in the midst of an argument, you take off and leave him alone to face the consequences of his actions. Will he be able to win you back, or are you gone forever? Chronicling the aftermath of a fight, featuring big brother Anders Lee.

Word Count: 5.5K

Author’s Note: I had so much fun writing my first fic for @antoineroussel’s fic exchange, I had to do it again as a pinch hitter 😜 This was written for @dazeddobson - this may be a little bit (read: a lot) self-indulgent and contrived but hey, it’s our world and these boys are just living in it, right? I tried to cater to multiple of your likes/asks! Hope you enjoy, beautiful!

Warnings: Angst, language, alcohol use, references to sex/adult themes, brief hockey violence, a little bit of toxic masculinity. Also included: some protective Islanders to make you feel nice and soft.

When Elias answered his door, seeing you with red eyes and a duffel bag was the last thing he was expecting. No, scratch that; having you collapse into his arms, choking out a sob, was the last thing he was expecting.

As soon as the initial shock wore off, he was holding you, hushing you quietly as you let your tears out, spluttering out nonsensical words as you tried to explain what happened not even an hour prior.

You and Brock had spent the afternoon at the dog park, bundling up in the cold January air in Vancouver, carting Coolie and Milo for a day to frolic in the snow. When you got home, rosy-cheeked but feeling warmth in your heart, you got a group FaceTime from your sister, Alexis, with your brother, Anders, to inform you of some big news: She was pregnant with a baby girl.

Of course, you and Brock were over the moon for your sister and her husband, knowing that they were both looking to start their family, and you were already excited about the idea of being a cool aunt. Anders promised to outfit her in Islanders gear, to which Brock jokingly said he’d be battling to make her a Canucks fan instead.

After some happy tears and many congratulations, you finally hung up the call. Brock smiled, beaming at you. “I’m really excited for them. I’m gonna be an uncle!”

“That you are, baby,” you smiled.

He grinned, hand moving to poke you in the stomach. “I can’t wait til we start a family and have little Boeser babies of our own.”

You laughed, lighthearted as you said, “We’ve got plenty of time before that, Brock.”

His face fell. “What do you mean ‘plenty of time’?”

The smile on your face faded too, and you realized the serious turn this conversation was about to take, unable to brace yourself. “I just… I’m not ready for kids yet, Brock.”

“Well, yeah, we’re gonna move to Minnesota first, buy a house, settle down. And then we get married, and then the babies come,” he said matter-of-factly.

You hesitated, and Brock noticed. You saw the hurt in his eyes as he watched you search for the right words.

“Yeah, B, eventually,” you said, emphasizing the ‘eventually’. “But not right now.”

“But — I thought we talked about this. We’re ready.”

“No, Brock, you are ready.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. The frustration in his voice was evident, rising steadily along with yours.

“It’s not that I don’t love you or don’t want to commit to you, I’m just not there quite yet,” you explained.

“Well, it sure sounds like you don’t want to commit to me,” Brock snapped, your words hurting his heart. “How am I supposed to plan a future with someone who won’t even move with me? It’s not like it’s a big deal. You are literally from Minnesota, too.”

“Because it’s not that simple, Brock! That’s a huge ask — for me to pack up and leave my friends and my job and my entire life here, regardless of who’s waiting for me in Minnesota. Why don’t you understand that?” you tried to explain, pleading with him to step into your shoes.

“I would do it for you,” he said coldly.

You scoffed. “We’ve hardly spent any time in New York since we started dating.”

“We could!”

“No, Brock, we go where your career leads us, when it leads us. Which is fine with me, because you’re doing what you love, and I know what I signed up for by being with you – obviously, I know what it’s like to have a professional athlete in the family. All I’m saying is it’d be nice if we could do some things for me when it’s not all hockey, hockey, hockey,” you said.

“Are you fucking serious?” Brock’s eyes were blazing now. “Do you see this? All of this? I do all of it for you, Y/N!”

“Sure, that’s why we spend so much time in New York,” you retorted, your tone scathing.

Brock scoffed, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks were tinged pink, heated from the argument, as he laughed darkly to himself. “How could I be so stupid thinking you’re the one?”

At his words, you swore you could feel your blood boil. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Brock?”

Brock’s eyes were dark, but not in the way you were used to, in the way that meant he’d have you moaning his name shortly; instead, they were hurt, angry, and betrayed. He looked at you, and you barely noticed the moment of hesitation in his eyes before he spat, “I’m just not sure if you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with anymore.”

He closed his mouth immediately, regretting the words as soon as they tumbled out. Your eyebrows raised, in shock at his words, feeling the deep slash in your heart as they settled in. Staring at him for a moment, you gave him the opportunity to follow up, to say something else to soften the blow, but he didn’t take it, instead glaring back at you angrily, an angry flush in his cheeks.

Turning on your heel, you left him standing in his own silence, moving to the bedroom to pack a bag. Instead of stopping you like you expected, he just watched you walk out the front door, not glancing back once.

The next morning Brock groaned as he stretched himself awake, rolling over to press a kiss to your temple, but was met with the snoozing bodies of Milo and Coolie instead. Blinking, Brock lifted his head to see the rest of the bed was empty, cold from the absence of your body.

It was in that moment that the memory of the day before came flooding back, and he closed his eyes, the regret sinking deeply into his soul as he remembered the things he said. He had taken the evening to cool off, thinking that you two just needed some time apart before you’d come back and talk things through.

His heart hurt at the notion that you still hadn’t come home, and he had to admit he said some nasty things, but what worried him the most was the validity of them. Was there truth behind the statement he made? Did he not want to spend his life with you? You had been right; you two were at such different parts of your life, so it only made sense you were looking for different things. Was it really unfair to ask you to change that?

Brock checked his phone, hoping to see a message or missed call from you, but was met with nothing, other than a text from Elias letting him know you were with him and safe. Sighing, he glanced at the clock, realizing he needed to head to the rink soon for practice; he’d deal with what he was going to say to you later.

After a grueling practice, Brock caught up with Elias to hear what had happened after you left. Understandably, Elias was pissed.

“Dude, I can’t believe you fucking said that to her,” the Swede shook his head angrily as he packed up his bag.

“I know, man, I just…” Brock trailed off, absentmindedly fiddling with the label on his Gatorade bottle.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?”

“What you said. That you don’t want a future with her,” Elias said, watching him intently.

Brock sighed. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I love her so much, I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything. But she’s right. We’re at different points in our lives, and we both want different things. I’m ready to settle down, start a family.”

“How’s that gonna go when you don’t have someone to settle down with? That takes time, you know, and apparently you’re running out of that.” Elias raised an eyebrow. Fuck, he had a point.

“Well, how am I supposed to feel, knowing that she’s not willing to commit to me?” Brock’s defenses were up, not yet ready to admit that he was wrong.

“Dude, she packed up her entire life and moved with you to Vancouver,” Elias pointed out dryly.

“Well, true, but —”

“All she wants is to spend a little more time closer to home when you have the time. It’s not that much to ask, bro. She’s given you everything.”

Well, shit. Elias was right again. “Fuck, man. I fucked up.”

“Ya sure did, Boes. She’s still at my house. You should swing by and talk to her,” Elias suggested, and Brock agreed, getting into his own car to follow him to his house.

When he pulled in the driveway, your car was gone. He and Elias both took to calling out for you, but to no avail. Figuring you must have gone home, Brock turned around and headed back to the apartment you shared together.

It was when your car wasn’t in that driveway either that he started to worry. Heart rate speeding up, he fumbled with his key and pushed through the door, frantically hoping and desperately wishing that at this point your car had been stolen, because at least it’d be better than the alternative —

Tearing through the house, Brock called for you. Milo padded out, confused as to why his dad was acting so funny, and it was when he looked down at Milo that he realized something was missing.

Coolie.

Brock’s heart sank. It couldn’t be — you couldn’t have —

He flew up the stairs to the bedroom, furiously tugging open the dresser drawers to find them empty. Throwing open the closet door, he found your half empty, the hangers hanging neatly on the rack. Barely a single trace of you left in the home you’d made together, gone like you’d never been there at all.

“Fuck,” Brock cursed. He was sure his heart was about to explode, hardly refusing to believe that it — you — were gone.

In that same instance, Brock realized that he had a phone that could contact you. Hands shaking, he clicked on your contact, his favorite photo of you on the beach from a vacation to Mexico a few years ago. His heart nearly thumped out of his chest as he waited to hear your voice on the line, hardly able to handle the anticipation as he listened to ring after ring after ring. When he heard the automated message, he hung up and chucked his phone on the bed, slamming his fist against the wall.

Eyes closed, Brock rested his head against his hand, trying to regain his breath before he figured out what to do. When he opened them, he realized he had put a hole through the wall. Fuck.

He tried calling once, twice, three more times, before he realized you were probably purposely ignoring him, and he sat on the edge of the bed as the realization sank in that you were actually gone. Suddenly, it was like he could see how much of you was in him, in this house, in the life that you had built together. How could he ever see a future without you?

Brock was distraught, beside himself, without any idea where to turn or where you even went. How was he supposed to get you back? As he contemplated his options, a worse thought entered his brain: What if he couldn’t? How was he supposed to live without you?

A week had gone by, and Brock still had received no word from you, only a single post on your Instagram story of the Empire State building, letting him know that you had gone to New York, presumably to stay with your brother. Since you left, he’d also been having one of his worst stretches of his career, consistently missing chances and giving away pucks, letting his opponent’s rookie deke him in a glaringly obvious move that almost had him benched for the rest of the game. Not only was he hurting at home, but now it was affecting his work, too.

He tried texting, tried calling, even messaging on Instagram, with no response. Not even a ‘read’ notification to prove that you were giving him the cold shoulder (though he knew you were). He wasn’t going to even attempt calling Anders – he wasn’t that stupid – but he did call Alexis, desperately begging her to have you call him. She said she’d pass along his message, but she didn’t think it’d do any good. She was right.

Brock knew he had fucked up, but what hurt the most is that he didn’t even have the opportunity to apologize or explain himself, and now you were in this limbo where he didn’t really know what to call you. Was it over for good? All signs pointed to yes, considering every trace of you was gone from the house, but he couldn’t help but hope — hope that you’d give him the chance to talk it out and at least end it to his face. He just had to figure out how to get to you.

It was a Friday night, and after practice, he was off for the night. He wandered around the house listlessly, with the home feeling empty and cold and nothing like a home without you in it.

He had finally found you, the girl of his dreams, but he just couldn’t get things right. How could he have fucked up so royally, letting his emotions get the best of him in the heat of the moment? With just a few simple words, Brock was sure he’d ruined his life. Kicking at a tuft in the carpet, he went into his dresser drawer, ignoring the empty drawers next to his, and pulled out the ring box that he’d been hiding and saving for the right time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the box and looked at the ring, the diamond glinting in the light, imagining how pretty it would look on your finger. He had an entire folder on his phone dedicated to the comments you’d make here and there about other girls’ rings, taking note of what you liked and didn’t like, until he pulled the trigger and bought one that was perfect for you. With a sigh, he carefully returned the ring box to its hiding spot, and moved to break out his guitar, strumming lightly.

He had a whole proposal planned, was going to sweep you off your feet before asking you to make him the happiest man in the world and be his forever. He knew how much your music meant to you, and had made an entire playlist of all your favorite songs to listen to whenever he missed you — needless to say, it had been playing on repeat since you left, only making the ache in his heart swell harder.

Brock’s fingers found their place on the strings, playing the familiar tune he had been practicing for months. He strummed the chords of “10,” envisioning the look on your face when he’d surprise you, playing your favorite song, before getting down on one knee.

As the song played, he could have actually kicked himself. In another world, he’d laugh at the irony of the song — your song — and how it painfully juxtaposed the situation he was in now.

I never had it so easy She taught me how to be She’s a keeper And I ain’t goin’ nowhere

She’s fire, a messiah She ain’t a ten, she’s higher And I don’t wanna waste no time She’s flawless, I’m in awe She ain’t a ten, she’s more My eyes never wander, there’s no need to explore She’s everything that I’ve Been looking for

She’s the one I’ve waited for

Brock swallowed the lump in his throat, bitterness resting on his tongue. He’d never forgive himself if he lost you forever because of a few stupid words — words he didn’t even mean. He looked at his phone one last time, hoping for a text he knew wasn’t there, and then he made up his mind.

He stood up, grabbing his duffel bag that he usually brought on road trips — a gift from you for Christmas one year, embroidered with his initials — and shoved some clothes in, not really paying much attention to what he was packing. He sent a quick text to Elias, giving Milo a scratch behind the ears, and then he was in his car on his way to the airport.

He had to see you, to try one last time.

When you left, you knew you may have been a bit melodramatic, but leaving was the only option that felt right; you didn’t feel comfortable in your own home anymore, not after the words that Brock had cut your heart with. So, you called Anders, who, of course, welcomed you with open arms.

He’d picked you up from the airport, listening with an expressionless face as you told him what happened. Naturally, playing the role of your protective older brother, he offered to murder Brock and hide the body, and you laughed as you declined, citing that it might make his job a little difficult to do in prison. Really, you weren’t sure what was next, only that you needed some time to think and to let your heart heal from Brock’s words.

In the same vein, Anders and his teammates were excited to have you in town, surrounding you with love and laughter from the minute you set foot on the Island. Though it didn’t fill the gap in your heart, the warmth was a soothing comfort that you desperately needed.

When Mat asked you to hang out, you accepted instantly. Did you know he had a crush on you? Yeah. And was there a mutual attraction there? Maybe. But he knew, and you knew, that even if you were spending time with him, maybe even flirting with him a little, that that was all it could be for now, both because of Anders and Brock. You weren’t sure what your relationship status was, but you didn’t think you were single — at least, not yet. Still, it was nice to feel wanted and appreciated, and it didn’t hurt that Mat was sweet and kind and caring. And maybe it felt a little bit satisfying to know that someone was interested in a future with you, even if you really only wanted a future with one person.

Brock’s nerves were out of control as he drove to Anders’ home, getting halfway there before he realized that hadn’t looked in a mirror all day and had no idea what he even looked like, so he made a pit stop at the nearest supermarket to freshen up.

As he was leaving the restroom, he fell upon a familiar face: Noah Dobson. Noah greeted him with a quick hug and a short smile, and in that moment Brock knew that he knew.

“Hey, man, it’s good to see you. What’re you doing here?” Noah asked, though Brock also suspected that he knew the answer to that, too.

“I just… I have to see Y/N,” Brock explained. “Do you… do you know where she is?”

Noah shifted on his feet, casting his eyes down. “Yeah, I think she’s… out tonight.”

“Out? Out where?”

Noah hesitated, and Brock nodded silently to let him know he was ready to hear whatever he was going to say next. “She’s out with Mat. I’m sorry, man.”

“Mat? Mat Barzal?”

“Yeah. She’s been spending a lot of time with him since… since she got here. She doesn’t seem good though, dude. Whatever happened between you two fucked her up.”

Brock cursed, running a hand over his face in frustration. It broke his heart to hear that you, too, were hurting, maybe just as bad as him, though he couldn’t decide what was worse: you being in pain, or you being over it already.

“Yeah, man, I know, I fucked up big time.”

“Yeah…” Noah trailed off awkwardly. “Well, good luck, dude.”

With a nod of thanks, Brock walked back out to his rental car. He could drive to Anders’, waiting awkwardly with your menacing big brother who probably wouldn’t hesitate to murder him, or he could wait it out. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make.

Brock drove around aimlessly, not sure where he was going. Part of him hoped he’d run into you and Mat, and the other part of him never wanted to see his face with yours ever. What were you even doing with Mat anyways? What did Noah mean by “spending time together”? Were you two fucking? Was it more — already? Would it be cheating if it was? Fuck, he just had to get to you.

Eventually, he decided to get out and walk around as a way to help relieve some of the pent up energy and kill some time before he thought you might be home. He wandered the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of Long Island.

Then, he heard your voice. Your laugh, actually. A rush of excitement flooded through him, oddly mixed with a deep fear that resided low in his gut. He looked up right as you were walking out of the restaurant, laughing at something Mat had said. He was laughing, too, and Brock’s blood started to boil when he noticed Mat’s hand resting on your lower back.

It also happened at that same moment that the coffee he had grabbed slipped out of his hand, spilling all over the sidewalk, and of course, attracting the attention of you and your date.

“B-Brock?” you called, as he hastily attempted to clean up the mess he had made, trying to act nonchalant.

He stood up, clearing his throat, attempting to act casual even though he knew how fucking crazy he looked flying all the way here to see you, unnanounced. “Hi. You, um, you look really nice.”

Brock could see the hesitation in your eyes, clearly having an inner battle with yourself about what to do next. You folded your arms, not wanting to accept his compliment. “What are you doing here?”

He sighed, the entire speech he had prepared flying out the window as his heart softened seeing you in front of him. “I had to come see you, baby. I need you to know I’m so sorry for what I said. I know I fucked up, and you have every right to hate me, but please just hear me out.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s left to say? You made your feelings pretty clear, Brock.”

“No, baby, please —“

“I’m sorry you came all this way, but I think you should leave.”

“Y/N, please, I love you,” he begged, desperately searching for the words that would convey how he felt. “Please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Brock,” you said, your tone final, though he could’ve sworn he heard a waver in your voice. “Please leave. Go home.”

With that, you turned on your heel, walking the other direction with Mat. Brock stood, dumbfounded, numb, frozen to his spot, as he watched you walk away from him forever.

Brock took a breath to calm his nerves — it was more than just the usual pregame jitters; this time, he knew you’d be in the stands watching him. Or, watching Mat. Or maybe both? He didn’t know.

Once he had left New York, at your request, he was completely distraught. He returned to Vancouver hopeless, depressed, and a complete shell of himself, certain he had lost you forever. Elias came to check up on him the next day, discovering him asleep on the bathroom floor at 2pm, surrounded by empty bottles of Tanqueray.

Elias had heaved Brock up, forcing him into the shower and getting him some food and a Gatorade to replenish his system. He winced upon hearing Brock retching in the shower, and knew in that moment this was so much worse than he feared.

“Come on, buddy, I got you,” Elias grunted, helping Brock out of the shower, into some sweatpants, and onto the couch. “What happened, man?”

Brock recanted the whole horrible story, feeling his heart shattering all over again as he replayed the image of you turning away from him. He was sure he’d be haunted by that vision for the rest of his life, never able to forgive himself.

“We’re gonna get through this, okay, brother?”

As Brock skated out onto the ice, he felt the familiar adrenaline rush through him, though this time for a different reason than normal. He swore he could feel your eyes on him, and as he skated through warmups, his eyes darted around to find the familiar warmth of yours. It wasn’t until he was about to skate off to head back into the locker room that he finally spotted you, eyes gazing at him. He offered a soft smile, which you returned.

After the incident, Elias had helped Brock to get back on his feet, bringing him to practice and, between him and several other guys, checking up on him regularly. What Brock didn’t know, though, was that Elias had (somehow) recruited Anders, and the two were working overtime trying to convince you to talk to Brock when the Canucks visited New York two weeks later.

Somehow, by some miracle, it worked, though Elias never knew that it was actually Mat who talked you into seeing Brock. You begrudgingly agreed to talk, less because you were ready to see him, and more because you knew that you owed it to him to hear him out. The arrangement was that you’d meet with him after the game was over, because you didn’t want to distract him from playing with his full focus. Joke was on you, though, because he could do nothing but play out every possible scenario in his head, completely distracting him from the game itself.

Still, the game was underway, and Brock was able to get himself out of his head enough to focus each shift, sort of. Right from the get go, it was a chippy game — or at least, it was for Brock. It seemed every Islander on the ice had it out for him, checking him and slamming him into the boards whenever they had the chance. He couldn’t help but notice that he was being attacked more than anyone else, and he had to admit, he admired their tenacity.

At the start of the second period, the Canucks were up by one, until the Isles scored to tie up the game, equalized by none other than Mat fucking Barzal. Brock grimaced watching the celebration, his eyes immediately darting to you, his heart sinking as he watched you cheering with elation.

You continued to watch the game, torn between watching Mat, and the rest of your Isles, and Brock. As the Canucks entered the Isles’ zone, you watched Elias set up a play, winding up to take a shot, when all of a sudden your eyes were directed to a commotion on the opposite side of the goal. Gloves were flying, and there was a tangle of blue and green as you realized what was happening; Tito – Tito! – had dropped his gloves in favor of landing a solid punch to Brock’s face, delivering a beat down, keeping the advantage from the get go. The two men wrestled their way to the ground, punches flying.

Eventually, the two were broken up, and the adoration in your heart you felt for Tito was quickly shrouded by fear and worry as you watched the trainers run over to Brock, blood dripping freely onto the ice. He was escorted off, leaving for the rest of the game — which, at that point only had 5 minutes left anyways.

Somehow, someway, the Isles ended up winning the game, 3-2, but you could hardly be bothered as you raced down to the locker room, flashing your visitor’s badge from Anders. You waited impatiently, anxious, for the guys to wrap up their post-game scrum before you were allowed in, seeing Brock with a butterfly bandage on his cheek and a tissue sticking out of his nose to stop the bleeding.

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at the sight, relieved that he was awake and seemed to be doing fine, and then he caught sight of you, his heart leaping through his chest.

“Hi,” you offered shyly.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice normal.

“How’re you doing?” you asked.

“Oh, I’m good, Beau got me pretty good but I’ll survive,” Brock responded, smiling a little and wincing slightly at the movement. “Have to say, those guys sure love you. Was a little nervous your brother was going to take off his skate and slit my throat.”

With a dry chuckle, you hummed, your heart fluttering at their display of loyalty throughout the game. You made a mental note to thank Tito, the unlikeliest of fighters.

“How are you?” his question pulled you out of your musings, and when you looked at him he was glancing at you anxiously.

You weren’t sure your voice would speak at this point, but you tried anyway, croaking out a quiet, “I’m good.”

He cleared his throat, attempting to swallow his nerves as the room cleared out. “You want to talk?”

You nodded. “I think I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for shutting you out like that when you came here to talk; I was just surprised to see you and didn’t know how to react. I know me leaving like that was… maybe a little dramatic. I just needed some time… time to think.”

“Oh, no,” Brock shook his head. “I shouldn’t have surprised you unannounced like that in the first place. It’s my fault.”

You bit your lip, falling silent, not sure what else to say.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, for everything. I said some really stupid shit that I didn’t mean, and I know that doesn’t change the fact that I said it, but I just need you to know that I love you more than anything in this world, and this time away from you has only made me positive that you’re the one I want to spend my life with,” Brock said, all in one breath. “I’d wait fifteen years for you if that’s what you needed.”

You looked up at him, suddenly shy at his outpouring of emotion. It was redeeming and wonderful and sweet, all at once.

He took another breath, saying slowly, “But I understand that I fucked it up, and I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for you.”

“Brock,” you spoke finally, your voice small. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his eyes cast down as he gestured behind you. “You’ve found the one. You should go be with him. I’m happy for you, Y/N. I really am. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, was for you to be happy, even if it wasn’t by me.”

“Mat? Brock, he’s not the one,” you said, resisting the urge to giggle at his dramatic speech.

“He- he’s not?”

“No, Brock, he never was. We’re just friends,” you explained. .”Do you really think my brother would let me date Mat Barzal?”

Brock shrugged, realizing that maybe he’d made a few assumptions along the way. Then, taking a deep breath, you added, “It’s always been you.”

The silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity as Brock stared at you. Were you really saying what he thought you were saying?

“Brock, what you said really hurt me, because you’re the only person I want a future with, so hearing that you didn’t want that was… tough,” you continued. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

“Oh, baby, I love you too,” Brock sighed, relief flooding through him at hearing those words from your lips. He stood up quickly to pull you into his arms, wrapping themselves tightly around you. As you returned his embrace, you could feel him shaking slightly, and you realized he was crying.

“B, why are you —”

“I just love you so fucking much, baby.”

“You are an idiot, but I love you for it,” you grinned, and the next thing you knew, he was kissing you like he’d never kissed you before. His lips pressed firmly against yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he had for you into the kiss, holding you close to him.

Brock’s hands slid from their place on your back, one trailing up to cup your face, the other taking hold of your hip, as he softly ran his tongue along your lip before slipping it into your mouth. You sighed against him, the mood instantly changed.

“Back to the hotel?” you asked against his lips, and he chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Unfortunately I don’t think I’m allowed to fuck you in the visitor’s locker room.”

#brock boeser fic #brock boeser fanfic #brock boeser blurb #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser x y/n #hockey fic #hockey blurb #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #vancouver canucks fic

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durgas · 4 years

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sigils, soulmates & the strangeness of fate

Summary: AU. Sansa Stark had grown up with the romantic tales of soulmarks. However, they did not guarantee happiness despite their power to match soulmates together yet Sansa still craved for one to appear on her skin and free her from her struggles. One did not appear, however, until she was riding to Castle Black to reunite with Jon. Eventual Jon/Sansa.

A soulmark was a rare thing in Westeros.

They might appear once or twice per generation and sometimes they did not appear at all. They might be from birth or might just appear, there was no logic behind their appearance simply magic as per Old Nan’s stories. They might not be reciprocated, appearing on one person alone meaning that person might know their soulmate and yet might not be destined to be together.

A mark would appear over time starting with the sigil and ending with the name if you were fortunate enough to get one, at least in Sansa’s opinion. They were a sign of true love, she had longed for one to appear since Old Nan first told them of the possibility. The last known one had been on Rhaegar Targaryen after his marriage to Elia Martell when a direwolf began developing.

The rest was history because then Rhaegar chose her aunt Lyanna, choosing to set aside poor Elia Martell. He crowned her aunt as his queen, something that Sansa thought deeply romantic at the time. Soulmates were destined to be with each other.

She had been too young to understand that soulmarks could be dangerous things which could tear a world apart.

Elia Martell and her children had been cruelly slaughtered because Rhaegar pursued his soulmate. Factions had risen and Westeros had been torn between sweet Queen Elia and fierce Lyanna Stark. A king had been killed whilst the Starks themselves had suffered terrible losses.

But, Sansa had been a girl of six or seven when she had first heard the stories. She was not yet wise enough to see the deadly consequences that followed Rhaegar’s actions, to see the war that erupted in Westeros which had cost the lives of her grandfather, uncle and aunt.

Her father, not willing to burden her with the terrible truth, had kept his silence of the true story of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

“When you’re older, sweet Sansa, I shall tell you the story in full” Her father said as often as she asked which was most weeks if not every.

However, as she grew older she began to learn bits and pieces of the whole truth. Her aunt Lyanna had been carried off by Rhaegar against her will which had been a sobering thought for Sansa. Soulmarks were meant to be beautiful things to unite two people who were destined to be together. She reasoned it away that it was not the fault of the mark but the method in which Rhaegar had chosen to make himself known to his soulmate.

And, so she still believed that soulmarks were a wondrous fortune but they must be dealt with carefully. If she ever had that luck, she would need to tread cautiously to unite with her soulmate.

When King Robert came with the Prince Joffrey, she had hoped with all her heart that she would see a stag develop upon her body.

No soulmark had developed yet her marriage to Joffrey was proposed and she was happy to marry the tender, loving prince she saw. Perhaps, it was for the best that she did not have a mark after all. She would still have the opportunity to marry a prince who would one day be king. Soulmarks were no guarantee of happiness anyway, she had thought to herself.

“My sweet lady, I am eager for you to become my wife” Joffrey had told her after the whole butcher’s boy debacle.

Yet, when her prince bade his men to dishonour her in front of the whole Court her mind again returned to soulmarks.

She pleaded with all the Gods she could think of for a mark to appear, for a reason to break her alliance with Joffrey even if it was with a lesser lord. She prayed for her soulmate to appear one day brandishing a sword dressed as a fine knight to save her. Maybe, the rose of the Tyrells would grow if she was lucky enough and she could be with Sir Loras. He was so handsome and a true prince, she had never seen him dishonour a woman.

A soulmate did not come but instead she was told she must marry Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf who did not even act like a proper lord. His appearance was frightening. He stank of wine. He was not a true prince.

“I will not hurt you, Sansa, Rest assured.” Tyrion, then her lord husband, said drunkenly.

Still, she had dreamed of a mark appearing despite being a married woman. If only to save her from being trapped in a marriage that not even her husband had wanted. How unlucky she had been!

Ser Dontos had come to save her and she had consoled herself thinking even he would be an acceptable soulmate and yet still she was unmarked. Frustration grew, she had dreamt of a mark all her life and now when she needed a soulmate there was nothing. She knew they were rare but it was the only hope she had when she had arrived at the Vale with Lord Baelish.

“Pretend to be my daughter, it will allow me to look after you” Lord Baelish had told her in his whispery voice.

She was grateful to him for taking her away from King’s Landing but her mind held suspicion that could not be easily quelled. Suspicion that turned out to be justified when they married her off to Ramsay Bolton under the guise that it would be beneficial to her so that she may get justice for her family.

If only that had been the case. Instead, again she was mistreated although this time was far worse than Joffrey had ever dared. Ramsay had no limits. She saw what a poor state he made of Theon, once so arrogant and proud, now reduced to a pitiful shell of his former self.

No longer would she waste her thoughts on soulmarks or soulmates.

“You are my wife now and Winterfell is mine” Ramsay had said as he abused her.

She was alone. No one was coming to save her, all her fine dreams of a handsome soulmate were destroyed. She had already suffered her share of men, she would not dream of a soulmate who might save her only to abuse her. She was no-one of importance now. No-one would come to save Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

So, she saved herself. She convinced Theon to help her though she sees the reluctance and fear in his once proud eyes. They run fast and far without a plan. She knows not what to do or who to go to, yet she knew that anywhere was better than staying with Ramsay until he finally tired of her.

On her way to Castle Black with Brienne, she felt an itching on her left shoulder blade. It was mild yet repetitive and she wondered what could be the cause. Perhaps her fur had irritated her skin. Brienne looked at her curiously when the normally ladylike Sansa itched it repeatedly without a care about who might see her. Matters came to a head when Sansa asked Brienne to check her shoulder blade.

“My lady, there appears to be a soulmark forming.” Brienne’s voice had been one of shock.

A soulmark showed Sansa that the Gods clearly had a twisted sense of humour.

She had prayed for years to be blessed with a soulmark and now when she had freed herself one chose to appear. She asked Brienne to look at it day by day so she could be updated with the progress of its appearance. It was three days after Brienne had first looked that she became certain of the shape, however she had some reluctance in telling Sansa because she could think of no suitable candidates.

A white direwolf on a black field had appeared on her left shoulder.

She wondered what that could mean for her. The direwolf was a symbol of the Starks and there were no Starks left as far as she knew save Arya who Brienne had seen. Bran and Rickon were possibilities but surely her soulmate could not be one of her baby brothers? They were Starks not Targaryens.

The thought had hit her faster than her mind thought to process.

Her bastard half brother, Jon, was a Stark by blood even if not by name. Regardless, they still shared the same father so he could not be her soulmate, it could not be possible. Before speaking, she would wait to see the name that formed.

“Sansa” Jon said in a voice that was familiar yet laced with an unknown tenderness.

She had tried not to think how Jon had grown into his features, far more handsome than when he had left to go to the Wall. She tried not to think of the battle hardened body she had felt when they hugged. And most importantly, she tried hard not to notice how he smelt of fresh clean snow mixed with a muskiness she could not place.

The soulmark grew and her fear had been confirmed. The name Jon Stark had appeared on her shoulder blade and she was struck with a mixture of pleasure and worry. After all these years, she had received a soulmark.

She wondered if Jon had one with her name somewhere on his body. Unconsciously, she licked her lips and thought what it would be like to see Jon without his shirt.

If Jon did have her name, he said not a single word although he noted he was far more protective of her than she had remembered. Perhaps, that might be because they were now far closer than they had ever been as they shared each other’s company throughout the day and night reminiscing about Winterfell in its prime. But, it would not do for her to dwell upon someone who was so closely related to her.

The battle for their home was won but the cost was sweet Rickon, a mere child when she left and now a boy she did not recognise. Jon had held her that night in his tender arms as she screamed and cursed and cried for all the family they had lost over the years but most for little Rickon whose future had been cut away from him. Sansa had been too lost in her grief to notice the tears leaking from Jon’s eyes and the expression set upon his face.

“Sansa” Jon said in that husky voice of his as the morning sun rose. “Is that a soulmark?”

Her dress had slipped slightly, the edge of her mark peeping as they moved away from each other. Unconsciously, her hand crept to touch it as she thought of what she could say when she noticed what appeared to be a tiny ‘S’ showing on his wrist.

“Is that an S?” Her voice seemed louder in her head.

He did not answer and the room fell quiet. She approached him, heart pumping faster and faster. His dark eyes looked at her but did not protest. She felt a strange heat burning in her face as they stood toe to toe, the closest they had ever been. Her nerves mounting, she watched as he rolled up his sleeve.

Sansa Stark.

Her name was written as if she might write it herself accompanied by a miniature of Lady neatly drawn on a snow white field. She felt as if her heart might stop at any moment. It was true then, her half brother was her soulmate. Her legs felt unsteady and her mind was racing.

Jon held her upright, his eyes not leaving hers. She steadied herself but did not move, did not push his hands away. Instead, she tilted her head and pulled down her gown so that her mark was fully visible.

Jon Snow.

She heard his heavy breath before she felt his calloused fingers brush her soulmark with a tenderness she had never expected. They stood unmoving for what felt like it could be eternity, neither of them willing to disrupt the moment. His hand moved upwards towards her face when she felt her feet step back.

“We are siblings, we cannot.” She had said with a warm flush in her cheeks as she turned around and left with haste.

He did not chase after her although she swore she heard him let out a noise of frustration. She had always wanted a soulmate and here one stood. His mere presence caused a heat in her body, a desire she did not know she had and yet she had to reject him for they were Starks not Targaryens. They were both children of their father, a fact that echoed around her mind again and again throughout the day.

She tried to rationalise it in her mind. She was deeply upset and he had comforted her, he felt protective because she was his sister but she knew the truth. He had reciprocated, he desired her just as she did him which was strangely pleasing.

They busied themselves, avoided each other wherever possible and did not speak unless it was necessary. He was proclaimed King in the North, and she supported him every inch of the way as a dutiful sister should do for her brother but it was not the same. Beneath their painted smiles, there lay feelings that had not been voiced and issues not yet resolved for they did not mention that moment.

“I have been called to Dragonstone and I must leave.” His eyes did not meet hers as he spoke. “You will be my Regent.”

She did not move. His words washed over her and it was not until he left that she allowed herself to feel. Why did she have to be cursed so? To have a soulmate that she desired and not to be able to be with him. It would have been better if the mark never formed. It was a constant reminder of all she could not have, of Jon’s love that would never be hers. She bit her lip until it bled, unwilling to allow herself to cry when she had rejected him.

He was gone.

In his absence, she acted every inch the Lady of Winterfell. She did not let anyone learn of the heartache that plagued her, did not weaken in public and she most certainly did not fail him.

It did not matter that most nights she would be seized by furious tears despite her attempts to pretend she was unaffected.

Things improved when Bran and Arya returned home. They took her mind off missing Jon although sometimes the sight of Arya fighting in the courtyard stung her in ways she could not explain. Perhaps, it was their similar features. The only two Starks to have inherited the dark hair and grey eyes of their father meant that sometimes if Sansa squinted Arya could be the female Jon although definitely shorter.

Her soulmark itched from time to time in his absence.

She wondered whether it meant he was in danger or whether it was something else. It was random enough that she put it down to chance at least until he returned home with the Dragon Queen. She saw the looks that passed between them and felt her mark grow hot as if it was outraged at Jon’s actions.

“Daenerys is our Queen” Jon had said to the whole of the North.

Sansa knew she could never agree but she abided by his decision. What choice did she have? They needed Daenerys to win the war even if it meant losing North according to Jon. Her temper had reared its head then, she would not lose her home to an outsider who had already taken her soulmate.

She was not cruel to Daenerys but she did not seek her friendship either for Sansa knew that neither of them cared enough for the other.

The alliance holds long enough to defeat the Night King. She questioned Jon’s decision again to bend the knee especially as it was Arya who killed the greatest threat to Westeros not Daenerys or her dragons. She had never been prouder of Arya than that moment when she and Tyrion left the crypt to see Arya being hailed as the ‘Hero of Winterfell’. The Starks did not need foreigners to protect them.

“I’m a Targaryen.” Jon had said in his gruff voice to her and Arya.

They had been stunned into silence for several moments.

Sansa could not decide whether this revelation was more shocking or that he was her soulmate. Her mind raced ahead, they were only cousins. They could be together. He was Daenerys’s nephew and surely that was not acceptable. Would he still accept her though after being rejected?

She strolled away, hiding her emotions. It did not matter anyway, he had made his choice choosing the dainty looking blonde Queen with her dragons over the North. Over her. She would just have to resign herself to the fact that they were not meant to be happy together.

Soulmarks did not equal happiness, a lesson she should have learnt many times over by now.

She watched as Jon left her again.

Her heart could not stop rattling with fear that he might die even knowing that he would never be hers. The battle was going to be fierce, she had no doubt of that and she knew Daenerys would let Jon die to become Queen. She had sacrificed a husband and a child already along with millions of innocents to become Queen of Westeros, she would not hesitate to use Jon.

Then, she receives a raven telling her that Daenerys is dead and that it was Jon who killed her.

She makes the journey to King’s Landing despite every part of her body protesting because she had hoped never to return. But, the thought of Jon was enough to keep her moving. The hope of happiness spurred her on even if she was unsure of Jon’s feelings. He might be in mourning for Daenerys, he did love her. She had seen it for herself. But, she could be patient.

She does not see him until the vote to elect Bran the King of Westeros when he is dragged from prison to stand trial for his crime.

His hair was longer, messier and his eyes spoke volumes of his sorrow.

She was determined to ensure he would be pardoned. He would not suffer for protecting Westeros, she would use every bit of her influence to see him freed. A fleeting thought shot through her mind that perhaps Jaime had been right to kill the king. He had reason enough and yet still he had shouldered the burden of being the ‘Kingslayer’ for all these years. She never thought she might find some sympathy for him.

“He’ll be going back to the Night’s Watch. They won’t release him.” Arya said as she kicked over a chair in anger.

That night, the two of them sat discussing every possibility to free Jon. Sansa was not sure if Arya knew the truth about her feelings but they were united in their cause. Father had been right, they were sisters and now they were close at last. They awoke in the morning, bodies slumped next to each other on the floor and Sansa surmised they must have fallen out of their chairs since she had a new bruise spanning the left side of her body.

They cornered Bran alone. It was useless as he would not do anything to aid their cause and Sansa sometimes wondered if he was their Bran. The Bran she remembered loved Jon and idolised him, this one did not seem too bothered about his plight. Arya raged and she reasoned but Bran did not even move on his stance.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered in her ear as they hugged for the final time.

His curly hair brushed her face and she saw the resigned expression set upon his face. She offered all the comfort she could muster before forcing herself to stand back and bid him goodbye. She felt a stinging in her eyes and quickly schooled her face back to that of a noble lady.

Sansa had lost Jon for good. No one was able to escape the Night’s Watch, it was a life sentence and she would not wish desertion upon him. That would only mean he would be executed just as her father did to deserters when they were children.

Her fate was sealed. She would never be able to experience the heady happiness of love that she had once dreamed about. The desire that flooded through her body at his mere touch would never develop into anything more, she would be cursed to live her life alone and unloved.

They would never be able to be happy.

Seven years later

She awoke with a strange burning where her soulmark resided on her left shoulder.

It was merely uncomfortable to begin with, however throughout the day she noticed the intensity increased and it began to itch painfully. She touched it gently, wondering if perhaps she had a rash or allergy that had caused her soulmark to sting so badly but she could feel no marks or spots. It did, however, feel hot to the touch so she summoned a maid with cool water and fresh cloths to bathe it which helped to ease the pain.

Her soulmark had been nothing but a burden for all these years.

Yet, now it was troubling her physically. She decided upon a soft silk dress, more reminiscent of her time in the South than the warmer woolen dresses she tended to choose, to allow her soulmark to breathe in the cool air.

The cold stung against her shoulder as she heard her name muttered at the doors of Winterfell in a voice she had not heard in years.

“Sansa.” Jon said as he swayed on his feet. He was paler than she had ever seen and propped up by Tormund who for once looked so serious. Her eyes followed Jon’s arm and saw the blood that was spilling out of his chest.

She shouted for Maester Martyn whilst she ran towards Jon commanding all those around her to make haste and prepare Jon’s room. The room that she had left untouched for all of these years out of hope that one day Jon would return to her although she had never wanted this to be the reason.

“I am here, Jon.” She steadied her emotions and took his hand as Tormund lay him upon the bed. “I am here.”

Jon groaned as the Maester arrived and began prodding at his room. “Aye, I can die a happy man now.” His voice was slurred and his eyes were emptying of all the emotions she was accustomed to seeing. He felt a tiredness sink upon him.

“You will not die, Jon Snow. You will not.” Sansa punctuated every word as her heartbeat pounded against her chest.

His eyes closed and Sansa heard Maester Martyn assuring her he would do his best but there were no guarantees with a wound this deep. Her vision blurred for a moment. She was dimly aware of Tormund pushing her into the chair next to Jon as the maester continued his work.

She had not waited all these years for Jon to die.

They were soulmates, he could not die now. And, she would fight tooth and nail for him if he survived. She should never have allowed him to go back to the Wall. He was hers and she was his. Slowly, she felt his hand grow cold and it began to fall away so she held it tighter as if that would stop him dying.

“I have dressed the wound to the best of my knowledge, Your Grace.” Maester Martyn said. He was a small man and shaking now under the pressure, nervously looking at Sansa. “If he survives the night, his chances are good. I will remain with him as you may want to take rest.”

“I am staying here.” Sansa said in a tone most unlike her laced with anger and frustration and sadness mingled together. “I will not leave.” Her soulmark was still burning with a fury but it was not important.

The maester did not protest any further nor did Tormund leave either so they sat as three around Jon’s bed. She felt Ghost nestle in next to her with a mournful whine. Jon’s chest rose and fell with fitful coughs throughout the night, however his hand grew warmer and warmer. She did not let go all night.

He did not regain consciousness for a few days. After the first day, Sansa had to be persuaded to eat and leave Jon’s side so she could conduct her queenly duties. She did them but was sharp tempered with all, rushing through her tasks so she could return to Jon’s side. She had lost enough. She would not lose Jon as well.

Sat in the middle of a council meeting, she felt the burn of her soulmark stop abruptly. Fearing the worst, she hurried to Jon’s room making the necessary apologies to all the Lords of the North who had gathered for this meeting. She prayed he was still alive as her every step pounded the cold, hard floors of the castle whilst her heart threatened to jump out of her skin with every beat. Turning the corner, she entered his room.

“Jon.” Sansa said with relief. He was sat up in his bed, pale but alive with those dark eyes lifted to meet her own. She threw herself at him, hugging his body with all her strength almost as if to will him to survive.

Jon held her tightly, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. “I’m alive, Sansa.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead patiently waiting for her to release him.

“I’m sor-” Sansa began but Jon cut her off with a kiss. His lips were softer than she had ever imagined and it sent a frisson of delight down her body. She responded instinctively with kisses of her own as she felt Jon cradle her face. They pulled apart for a moment and she stared with wonder at how beautiful he was with his lovely curly hair that she itched to touch so she did. She wound her fingers through his hair marvelling at his softness as she leant forward to kiss him again.

Hearing a cough, they quickly parted. Sansa could feel the flush in her cheeks and tried to put on the noble lady mask that she employed often. Smoothing down her hair, she tried to compose herself as she stepped away from Jon. Now, her soulmark felt so delightfully cool as if she had finally managed to please it.

“Why is it that someone with such a small pecker gets such a beautiful woman?” Tormund’s eyes glinted with mirth as he looked at the scene in front of him. Sansa was usually cold like ice yet she was blushing and Jon Snow was smiling, a welcome change from the serious boy he remembered. “Good you’re alive, Snow”

Jon laughed wryly. “Good to see you, Tormund.” Though he and Sansa were apart, he still felt her small, warm hand in his own.

“You make a bad habit of dying, boy” Tormund said brashly with a smirk. “Lucky your lady was here to save you.” His words did not betray the fear he had felt when he had brought Jon back to Winterfell, in all essence nothing but a corpse.

Sansa laughed, a lovely sound after so long. “It seems fate had a strange way of reuniting us after I believed all hope was lost.” After I rejected you, she added on silently. She would not lose the chance to be with her soulmate again.

“If only I could remain here.” Jon had never felt such happiness, was loath to give it up and yet knew he would have to return to the Night’s Watch. The vow was one for life after all. “As soon as I’m recovered, I’ll have to return”

Tormund could have shook him. “You died twice over for them, your time is done.”

“You were as good as dead when Tormund brought you, Jon.” Her tone was stubborn. She would not let him return.

Jon knew Sansa would protest but he could not break his vow. “But, I was not dead. I’m still alive, my love.” The word escaped him and he saw Sansa’s eyes widen. He looked at her, so beautiful with that vibrant red hair and determined Tully eyes, and drank her in. This would be all they could ever be.

“Jon Snow died for the Night’s Watch. You’re not him anymore.” Sansa had been ruthlessly efficient whilst he was unconscious despite wanting to spend every moment with him. “I had Bran legitimise you as a Stark.”

Tormund quietly slipped away, a feat that was quite impressive for a man of his stature. He did not want to be present for this conversation. Although, it would be rather interesting to watch Jon Snow squirm for he had no doubt that Sansa would get her way in the end. She was a fearsome woman.

Jon could not believe what Sansa said. All his life, he had wanted to be Stark and now Sansa had done so without his permission. He had sworn to the Night’s Watch. Anger bubbled up, she had taken away his choice. “I had made my peace with being the Lord Commander”

“I rejected you once and I should never have done so. This is our chance, Jon. Our chance given to us by fate.” Sansa knew she had been selfish but she would have done it a thousand times over to have Jon. “I could not watch you give yourself back to them just to die again.” Her voice was raised.

Despite being angry, he felt strangely attracted to this Sansa. To see her lose her composure and stand there with crossed arms and unflinching eyes, it only increased his desire. “That would have been my choice, Sansa.” He stepped towards her.

“Be angry with me, I don’t care.” Sansa felt electric shoot through her veins at the sight of him standing so close to her. “At least, you’re safe and you’ll be safe here.” With me, she wanted to add on. But, she could not make him love her.

Jon felt the frustration build. She was so gorgeously persistent and he wanted nothing more to kiss her, their argument be damned. She was biting the edge of her lip, something that sparked his next action. He gave in to his feelings and kissed her which definitely took her by surprise judging from the way her eyes grew bigger. He moved closer again, their bodies pressed against each other as his hands snaked around her waist. He felt a pain shoot through his chest but he was too busy to care.

She could feel his muscles push against her skin and his fingers delicately stroke the skin of her side whilst his kisses moved downwards towards her chest. She arched her neck to the side as he planted kiss after kiss whilst her hands explored his chest. She brushed her fingertips against his nipple, careful to avoid his wound, and was gratified by his groan. She had never been with a man like this who was tender and fierce in the same instant. His lips were now kissing the tops of her breasts and she could not help the noises that escaped her mouth as the pleasure intensified.

They moved against the wall in sync, his hands working deftly to untie her dress whilst she unlaced his shirt. Their hands freely roaming across each other’s bodies was all Sansa had ever wanted in a man. She felt him tug away her smalls and his fingers crept up her thigh, teasing it inch by inch. She let out a little moan.

“Sansa.” Jon’s voice was gruffer than normal as he said her name like a question. All he wanted was to take her against the wall but he knew of her abuse and would not take her for granted.

Sansa took him in her hands and drew spirals around his tip in response. “Jon.” Her voice was playful and she inclined her head. “I need this”

That was the only response he needed as his fingers carefully crept inside her. She was slick with wetness. He found her inner spot and massaged it slowly at first then harder and harder as her moans grew breathier and louder. She was panting, her body shaking and then he knelt to finish her with his tongue. He lapped up her juice, swirling his tongue around until he could delight in the taste of her sweet cum. Her body was like that of a goddess, perfectly formed and yet so imperfect too with freckles and moles like those across her stomach. She shuddered and he heard the loudest moan yet.

He stood up and hoisted her back to the wall as their mouths met again and again to kiss, each more desperate than the previous one. He looked at her face, flushed with a slight sheen of sweat, as she pulled him closer resting her weight in his very capable hands. He pulled her down onto him, entering her for the first time at a leisurely pace. They had waited so long for this moment, he wanted it to last as long as possible.

She heard his grunt as his seed released into her and she looked into his eyes normally so sombre and now lit up with passion. His hair was stuck to his face, she could feel the sweat run off him and yet she had never been happier. She reached up to brush away a stray curl as he set her on the floor and sat down himself. They leant against each other in silence for several moments, content to let the cool of the floor seep into their bodies.

“Sansa.” She liked the way he said her name. “Thank you.” His face was earnest as he met her ocean blue eyes. “For making me a Stark.” He quickly tagged on as he watched a smile appear on her face.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Bran did that, not me. I just saved your life.” A smile played across her lips as she spoke in that teasing tone.

They stayed in that position for the rest of the night, talking of everything and anything until sleepiness took them both. It was not the most comfortable especially with the rough bricks pressing into their backs and the cramped position of their legs but it felt like home to Sansa. She had finally been lucky enough to claim her soulmate.

Epilogue

Bliss had settled itself upon Winterfell. It was evident to all those who visited, to all those who lived that Queen Sansa and King Jon were a well suited couple if prone to fiery arguments in front of the court.

Sometimes, Sansa felt as if she was dreaming. That she was still trapped in King’s Landing waiting for a soulmate to save her or stuck with Ramsey and his terrible abuse until she died. Then, she remembered that she had saved herself. And, it was only then that she had been so lucky to receive a soulmark although at the time it had caused problem after problem. She was living her youthful romantic dreams with Jon even if they were both hardened from all the years that they were just surviving.

They had married in the godswood in front of the whole of the North, had sworn their vows and then kissed for everyone to see. They were Jon and Sansa Stark of Winterfell, King and Queen of the North. Arya had returned from her travels specifically to see their marriage, Bran had sent his blessing and gifts with Brienne and they took their blessings in the crypt from their father and his mother.

Two children followed in quick succession, a blessing that Sansa and Jon were so grateful to receive from the gods. Little Lyarra and sweet Eddara were born less than a year apart and yet they were so very different. Eddara was a lady much like Sansa had been although far more vocal in her displeasure whilst Lyarra was very much like Arya if slightly more solemn in her manner. A third was on its way and Jon was certain it would be another girl although Sansa hoped for a boy this time. It would be nice to honour Robb this time, he had paved the way for the North to be its own kingdom.

Truly, soulmarks could be so dangerous yet for Sansa it had led to her every dream being fulfilled.

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#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #got fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #sansa stark #jon snow #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #usertejal #myfic

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dracharenae · 5 years

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❝ thє kíngѕlαчєr ... thє fαlѕє kníght whσ prσfαnєd híѕ вlαdє wíth thє вlσσd σf thє kíng hє hαd ѕwσrn tσ dєfєnd. ❞ — barriston selmly to cersei lannister

JAIME LANNISTER HAD SULLIED HIS FINE WHITE cloak with the blood of the king he had sworn to protect. a sword plunged through his back, leaving the king to lie there to bleed to death, whilst the knight sat upon the iron throne awaiting the arrival of higher lords. the deed had been done. a kingsguard had slain his king, leaving it visible for all to see, as pompously as a lion grooms its bloodied paws after a fine kill. praised as a hero by some, dubbed with indifference by others, and regarded as a traitor by the rest. the title of kingslayer is placed upon his brow like a golden laurel, akin to the fine golden hair atop his head. cold eyes regard him snidely even as he continues to strut through halls, murmurs of his deed lingering. forgiven for his ‘ betrayal, ’ most certainly, for no son of tywin would meet the sword, much less when his own daughter wed the new king, the usurper of a dragon throne. scales are traded for antler. and the lion remains in halls dimly lit by crimson. for, after all, the targaryens are dead.

HOW VERY SILLY ARE THE IGNORANT HEART of king’s landing. the targaryens are not dead. two reside across the narrow sea, whilst one resides in the desert, waiting in calm for the proper moment. indeed, rhaenys targaryen did not meet a bitter and bloody downfall in king’s landing, though rather a poor darkly skinned and haired girl to serve as her reflection. the glass would shatter and rhaenys would escape into the nothingness. but within the nothingness she often has moments to contemplate. and in her contemplation, she often finds herself thinking of the man who murdered her grandfather. a traitor to the targaryen family. by all right, when the throne is hers, rhaenys should feel a heavy desire to see him executed for such betrayals and crimes. but, rhaenys feels a strange sense of gratitude towards jaime lannister for his deed. for unlike the rose colored eyes of that of viserys and daenerys, rhaenys saw the true monster aerys was, not just as a grandfather but as a king.

WHAT MEMORIES THERE ARE OF JAIME LANNISTER are nonexistent. a knight who shrouded her grandfather is hardly a knight to pay much heed to, even if his features were younger and more vibrant than the stern-faced others. besides, elia kept her children so shrouded from the claws of aerys’ influence, as well as his presence, in dragonstone or otherwise. rhaenys saw scarcely little of jaime lannister to begin with. but what memories do reside are small and, in truth, rhaenys questions if she formulated them herself to fill in the gaps of what little there is left. but she recalls him sparing her glances here or there, an indifferent gleam of a lion regarding a mere sheep. condescending, she recalls. but are all lannisters not condescending ? ? ? nevertheless, he had never seemed to quite fit in with the other kingsguard. so young, rather than older and seasoned. but rhaenys had never truly thought much of it, then. but it does seem quite fitting now that one so young and so swift would be so quick to plunge his blade into an older man’s back. the older man was a king, yes, but rhaenys knows far better.

HE WAS CALLED THE MAD KING FOR a reason, after all. the title did not simply apply for its catchy nature. and, undoubtedly, jaime lannister would have seen this, too. cocky and condescending, yes, but loyal, too. would loyalty have truly shattered so finely out of sheer ambition ? ? ? there ought to have been another reason behind the actions of the young lion as he slayed an old and insane dragon. rhaenys often wonders. perhaps if she is gifted with the opportunity to meet with or interrogate jaime lannister she will ask him herself, for these questions have chided at her mind since she had come to terms with the events of king’s landing’s sacking.

RHAENYS OUGHT TO HATE HIM, REALLY. HE betrayed the targaryens in one fell swoop, by all other definition. he slayed the head of a mighty house. but aerys was no true dragon. he was a madman deluded into fantasies. knuckles clenched firmly at his sides, pale and veiny, as he spat terrible words to any who dared to oppose him. rhaenys recalls too well, hauntingly so, his wrath. it had not burned her, for even as a little girl she knew fire could not truly burn a viper. she would hiss venom back, with consequences, but, oh, how they were worth it. in fact, even upon reflection, rhaenys finds herself envying jaime lannister of the right he stole. to kill aerys targaryen, who spoke so cruelly to elia martell, who sought to torment her, and use her as a glorified hostage in the midst of robert’s rebellion, is a pleasure she wishes she had known. but it is jaime’s. and rhaenys cannot necessarily resent him for it, as he truly broke the hums of madness echoing in what was left of aersy’ body.

BY NO MEANS WOULD RHAENYS KNIGHT JAIME for his deeds, for he is still a traitor in name and in actions. but she would find herself being inclined to thank him for the service he did upon that day, by eradicating the insane dragon from the surface of the world. he is blamed, dubbed terrible things for it. but rhaenys looks upon his title fondly. he killed a monster. countless lives would have suffered tenfold beneath aersy’ prolonged rule. perhaps dorne would have faced his so-called fire in some shape or form if he had continued forward. perhaps elia and her children would have perished by his hands, as they were forsaken by rhaegar. whatever the case may be, jaime would know of rhaenys’ thanks for the murder of a wretched king. but this would not invoke a pardon for his other crimes. whether he will perish by venom, a blade to the neck, or, perhaps a bit fittingly, pushed from a high tower, she has yet to decide.

#thєч wíll wrítє stσríєs σf hєr ( headcanons )#ѕєnd α rαvєn ínѕtєαd ( queue )

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gameofthronestldr · 6 years

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Lyanna Stark

"His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me." - Lyanna Stark

Born: 266 AC at Winterfell

Death: 283 AC at the Tower of Joy

Hair: Brown

Eye Color: Grey

Features: Beautiful, Slim frame, Long face

Culture: Northhmen

Father: Rickard Stark

Mother: Lyarra Stark

Titles:

Princess Consort

Queen of Love and Beauty (tournament title; to Rhaegar Targaryen)

Siblings:

Brandon Stark

Eddard Stark

Benjen Stark

Spouse: Rhaegar Targaryen

Children: Jon Snow (Aegon Targaryen)

Aliases:

The She-wolf

The Wolf Maid

Lya

Wolf girl

Allegiance:

House Stark

House Targaryen (by marriage)

Religion: Old Gods of the Forest

History

Lyanna Stark was the only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark, head of House Stark and Lord Paramount of the North. The North is one of the constituent regions of the Seven Kingdoms and House Stark is one of the Great Houses of the realm. House Stark rule the region from their seat of Winterfell and Rickard also held the title Lord of Winterfell.

Lyanna had three brothers, Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen Stark. Her father arranged a betrothal between her and Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

Some time after the betrothal, Lord Walter Whent organized a great tourney at Harrenhal, in which Lyanna saved Howland Reed from a group of squires who were tormenting him. Later, she took him to their tent, where she introduced him to her three brothers. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne, was the victor. Afterward, the Prince rode past his wife, Princess Elia Martell, and placed a crown of winter roses, the crown of the Queen of Love and Beauty, on Lyanna's lap. This action was considered an outrage by many because not only was Rhaegar married but Lyanna was already betrothed to another man.

At some point after these events, Lyanna was supposedly abducted by Rhaegar, who took her south and hid her away in Dorne. In reality, Lyanna had willingly eloped with Rhaegar and married him in a secret ceremony. Brandon, who had been on his way to Riverrun to wed Catelyn Tully, went to King's Landing instead to demand Rhaegar's arrest and punishment. Unaware of Rhaegar's new marriage, King Aerys II Targaryen had Brandon and all his companions charged with treason. He demanded all their fathers, including Lord Rickard Stark, come to King's Landing and promised they would receive a fair trial. Instead, the King had them all burned alive, except for Brandon, who strangled himself trying to save his father.

This incident sparked the uprising known as Robert's Rebellion. Jon Arryn was commanded to arrest and turn over his wards Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, but he refused. The three of them rose in rebellion along with Hoster Tully of Riverrun after Eddard and Jon Arryn married his daughters, Catelyn and Lysa, respectively. The war saw House Targaryen almost completely destroyed and Robert installed as king after he personally slew Rhaegar at the Battle of the Trident. During the war, Lyanna died of then-unknown causes in Eddard's arms after her rescue. As per her request, she was buried next to her brother Brandon in the crypts at Winterfell. Robert continued to mourn her despite becoming king and marrying Cersei Lannister. Though Eddard was furious with Robert for refusing to hold Tywin Lannister and his army accountable for the Sack of King's Landing and for condoning the murders of Rheagar's children with Elia Martell, their friendship was rekindled over their mutual grief over Lyanna's death.

Lyanna's death, in reality, was from complications after giving birth to her son with Rhaegar. Her death was witnessed by Ned, two handmaidens and possibly Howland Reed. Before her death, Lyanna reveals her son's name is Aegon and begs Ned that he'll promise to keep her son safe from Robert, who would have had the child killed if he found out Rhaegar was his father. Remembering how the Lannisters had already brutally murdered Rhaegar's two children with Elia Martell, Ned protects his sister's son. He brings Lyanna's child with him to Winterfell and claims his nephew as his bastard son to keep him safe, renaming him Jon Snow. Ned raises Jon as his own alongside his trueborn children and Jon grows up with the maternal side of the family, unaware of his origins. Few knew the truth of Jon's parentage, with Ned, Howland and the two handmaidens being the only individuals bearing the knowledge.

Personality

At first glance, Lyanna is shown to be fiercely independent, tomboyish, and willful, much like her niece Arya. As a young girl, Lyanna was extremely spirited and self-confident, as evidenced by how great a rider she was. In addition, she was uncommonly kind to those of lower birth than her, shown prominently by her friendly treatment of Wylis, a mere stableboy in contrast to her being a great lady from a powerful family. Lyanna also showed herself to be quite practical, stating that with Ned leaving to the Eyrie someone would have to train their little brother Benjen.

She is later revealed to have also been rather rash when her nephew Bran discovers that she flouted her betrothal to Robert Baratheon without making a clean break with him, and secretly wed Rhaegar Targaryen instead. It can be argued that she did not love Robert as she did the dragon prince, but it is rather surprising that someone like Lyanna wasn't swayed by the fact that their marriage could bring about the deaths of her whole family, or that it would haunt her house for years to come. Although Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell before marrying Lyanna, their discretion inadvertently led to the deaths of Lyanna's father and eldest brother, which in turn sparked a war that caused the deaths of tens of thousands, including that of her beloved Prince Rhaegar.

Despite all of this, Lyanna was fiercely protective of her son in the brief time that she had with him, and begged her brother Eddard to protect him, knowing that Robert would surely kill him if ever found out the truth. She deeply loved and, more importantly, trusted her brother - she showed true gratitude that it was him who found her; furthermore, Lyanna freely admitted to him that, despite wanting to be brave so desperately, she was afraid to die. That being said, in her final moments, Lyanna pleaded with Ned to protect her beloved son, as opposed to lamenting about the fact that she was going to die. She held more value on the life of her child Aegon, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Relationships

Rhaegar Targaryen was born as the eldest son and heir to the Mad King Aerys Targaryen and his sister-wife Rhaella Targaryen. Lyanna Stark was born as the only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark.

To cement the relationship between the Iron Throne and Dorne, Rhaegar was wed to Elia Martell, sister of Doran and Oberyn Martell. With Elia, Rhaegar had two childern, a daughter, Rhaenys and a son, Aegon. However, Rhaegar never found true happiness with Elia.

Lyanna lived at Winterfell, and she was eventually engaged to Robert Baratheon. It is likely that Lyanna was not happy having Robert as her betrothed, because it was arranged.

Rhaegar's and Lyanna's relationship began at the Tourney of Harrenhall, about one year before Robert's Rebellion. Rhaegar was one of the combatants in the tournament, and eventually he made it to the final round, where he faced off against his friend and personal bodyguard, Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. Rhaegar won the round and was awarded with the crown of Winter roses. He was then supposed to give it to the most beautiful maiden in the crowd. What Rhaegar did with it shocked everyone. He silenced the entire audience by giving the crown to Lyanna Stark, rather than his own wife Elia. And the fact that Lyanna was engaged to Robert Baratheon, the act was most disrespectful to him. It's not fully known whether Rhaegar and Lyanna had been planning to elope together before or after the tournament.

About a year later, Lyanna ran off with Rhaegar to Dorne. Before this, Rhaegar had secretly annulled his marriage Elia, without her knowing. After the annulment, Rhaegar and Lyanna wed in secret in a Faith of the Seven ceremony before a Heart Tree, in the presence of the Seven and the Old Gods. After the wedding they settled in the Tower of Joy, where they lived happily. At this point both Rhaegar and Lyanna had abandoned their arranged marriages and defied everyone who wanted to use their names to secure their own houses.

However, Rhaegar's and Lyanna's actions had very severe consequences to their respective houses, as well as the entire realm. Lyanna's eldest brother Brandon Stark, accused Rhaegar of kidnapping her and he traveled to King's Landing to demand Rhaegar's father, Aerys, to surrender Rhaegar for judgement and return Lyanna. Instead of handing over his son, Aerys had Brandon imprisoned for treason. Alerted by this, Lyanna's father Rickard Stark went to King's Landing himself to demand his son's release, as well as Lyanna's. This time, however, Aerys burned Rickard with wildfire and executed Brandon as well. Aerys then demanded that Lyanna's second brother Eddard and Robert to be handed to him as well. This act crossed the line and Jon Arryn raised the banners against Aerys, with Eddard and Robert joining him, beginning Robert's Rebellion.

At the beginning of Robert's Rebellion, Rhaegar and Lyanna first remained at the Tower of Joy. But as the tide was turning against the Targaryens, Rhaegar eventually marched to war with his loyal followers, leaving Lyanna to the Tower under the guard of Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne.

Rhaegar fought in the Battle of the Trident where he was killed personally by Robert Baratheon, as the latter wanted revenge for Rhaegar for kidnapping and raping Lyanna, which never really happened. With the loss of Rhaegar, the end result was nearly certain. Afterwards, House Lannister proceeded to sack King's Landing, resulting in the deaths of Rhaegar's first wife Elia and their two children, Rhaella and Aegon as well as Aerys, who was stabbed in the back by Jaime Lannister. After the war was over, Eddard Stark continued his searching for Lyanna, eventually finding her in the Tower of Joy. He killed Rhaegar's remaining loyalists and rushed to the tower, where he found Lyanna dying of childbirth, having just given birth to Rhaegar's son. In her last moments, Lyanna whispered the name of her newborn son to Eddard: Aegon Targaryen. She also wanted Eddard to promise her that he will protect him, as Robert would surely kill him, if it came to be known that he is Rhaegar's son. Eddard promised to protect him and passed of the baby as his own bastard son, Jon Snow, keeping his true identity secret from everyone, even Jon himself.

#lyanna stark #rhaegar targaryen #house stark #winter is coming #game of thrones #got #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow #aegon targaryen

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whatfilmwasthat · 4 years

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Cidade de Deus (2002)

Cidade de Deus, located in the West Zone of Rio de Janeiro (Close to where I grew up), began to be built and occupied in the course of the 1960s. Decades later, amid the debates generated around the exhibition of the film of the same name, Mauro Magalhães, leader of the Carlos Lacerda government in the Legislative Assembly at the time of the then State of Guanabara, stated that the housing complex, left by Lacerda in the final stage of construction, it was not intended to house the favela population. This would have been contemplated with the Kennedy, Aliança, Esperança and other villages, being the City of God built to shelter the civil servants of the old city-state. According to Magalhães, in the beginning of 1966, during the Negrão de Lima government, a great flood occurred in the city, and the buildings, still unfinished, were invaded by the flagellates, who took up residence there.

In its original composition, Cidade de Deus was formed mainly by ex-residents from different parts of the city, who came from different favelas located in the South Zone. The consequence of this context for Cidade de Deus was the practically inevitable destination of the end of 1980 and 1990: the slum or the creation of what is now, according to some of its residents, a horizontal slum made of reinforced concrete. Over time, the situation of legality, that is, the public policies that led to its creation in the 1960s, gave way to a community that is increasingly entering into lawlessness, from the official point of view, as a way of survival. in the ingenuity of its residents, in the activities of the informal economy or the action of organized crime.

The toponymy in Cidade de Deus is a unique feature, referring to the address of the Divine, suggested by its name. It is not necessary to go far to recognize that this notion is reinforced in the biblical nomenclature existing in several of its places. Examples of such a sacred nominate are evidenced in the innumerable reverences to the prophets, as in the street Moses and the street Elias, in the references to the kings, in the streets David and Solomon, in the mentions to the Sacred Scriptures, in the Square of the Bible, in the street Genesis and the street of the Numbers. There is an allusion to the relevant points of religious convergence, such as the side street Jerusalem or to great biblical characters, such as on Avenida José de Arimateia. In the same direction, we observe reference to the elevation of the spirit, in Rua da Luz, and to the Promised Land, in the lane Canaã, in a mention to the so-called “land of milk and honey”.

Regarding its origin, the most current version states that the name of the neighborhood (as well as its streets) alludes to the book written by Saint Augustine, entitled "De Civitate Dei" (from Latin, The City of God). Over the years, however, there is a confrontation established between this deific notion contained in his name and the idea of a space for crime and fear acquired by the neighborhood, especially reinforced by the exhibition and the great success of the film " God's city". Anyway, the toponymy Cidade de Deus by itself is already endowed with a characteristic symbolic dimension, once loaded with positive and negative meanings, built over time and contrasting with the reality of the neighborhood that, even with a biblical name, can still be seen as a synonym of a needy and violent area, but, at the same time, creative and pulsating in Rio de Janeiro.

The film, directed by Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund and nominated in the categories of direction, adapted script, edition and photography for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (informally known as Oscar), was inspired by the homonymous novel by Paulo Lins, whose script addressed the place from the perspective of organized crime. In this sense, the plot and the drama of the acclaimed production made many believe that it was a faithful picture about the neighborhood, disregarding that it was a fictional work. This perspective inspired a negative judgment about the locality, its residents and, by extension, the daily life of Rio. Thus, the film of international repercussion has become a symbol often repudiated by an expressive portion of the inhabitants of the neighborhood, considering that it has generalized banditry and assigned a name and address to organized crime: Cidade de Deus.

A curious fact is that the entire first part of the film, Cidade de Deus in the 1960s, was shot at the Nova Sepetiba housing estate, which, despite being partially occupied, had not been officially opened. The second phase, Cidade de Deus in the 1970s, was held in a complex built at the same time, Cidade Alta. However, the third phase, the neighborhood in the 1980s, was filmed in Cidade de Deus itself and also in the studio, with a view to safety and to facilitate its production.

The great exposure in the media made many looks to the neighborhood. In one of the attempts to stimulate the local economy, for example, a community bank was opened and the social currency CDD was introduced, whose banknotes are emblazoned with the faces of iconic community personalities. Also, Cidade de Deus, among many other locations, came to be chosen as one of the points of celebration for the anniversary of our city, with the presence of renowned Brazilian artists. It has also received the presence of the singer and presenter Xuxa, the Colombian singer Shakira, the actress and presenter Regina Casé, the four-time football champion Ronaldo Nazário, the heir princess of Denmark Mary Elizabeth, as well as the most powerful man on the planet, Barack Obama, president the United States, among others. However, in its recent history, the most illustrious resident of the neighborhood is the most illustrious resident, rapper MV Bill - a recurring presence in the editions of the Criança Esperança program and who even acted in the teen soap Malhação -, the funk singer Tati Quebra Barraco and Rafaela Silva, the first Brazilian woman to win a world judo champion.

Due to its uniqueness, the neighborhood tends to be in the national and global spotlight. And with that, a new reality emerges in this context, due to social projects and government actions aimed at local development. Thus, the question arises: was the City of God finally doing justice to its Christian name?

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guardianofthegalaxyy · 7 years

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Two points I want to make because I’m so heated right now.

One, this whole situation with the Russe girls is messy as fuck because this should have been a opportunity to show a muslim girl standing up for herself and having her friends have her back for exposing a girl who was a phony racist and to show all muslim fans watching that hate towards them is not acceptable and they have a right to fight back and know people will support them, but instead what we got was a load of white feminist bullshit by trying to paint Sara as the victim and run away like a coward instead of having her face the consequences of her actions.

Sana has dealt with racist bullies her whole life and I’m pretty sure not one of her whites friends ever had her back and now when she stands up for herself this show has the nerve to demonize her and make her into the bully and will probably get ostracize and get no support while Sara weak ass still has friends and people feeling sorry for her even though she talked shit about them and told Isak they’re personal business. This is why Sana needs more none white friends like Jamilla cause these white characters are not shit.

Also I’m going to really need people to stop kissing Vilde’s ass and calling people misogynistic for not liking her as if she ain’t still trash. She sheds some crocodile tears and now ya’ll wanna act like she wasn’t talking shit about Sana like I hope she cries herself into a fucking coma. She owes Sana an apology.

My second point I want to make is that ugly ass conversation between Sana and Isak because he swerved way out of his fucking lane. Not only did he try to compare himself to her, he was being tone deaf and dared tried to school a muslim girl about her experience with racism and had the nerve to make it seem like she was just making that shit up in her head and the fact that he felt like it was Sana’s job to educate racist was infuriating. Isak is a white boy who will never know what it is like for Sana and his response is typical white tone deaf mess and it’s ugly people are acting like this scene was friendship goals or some shit. I feel so bad Iman had to act that shit out.

And to all the people defending him, where were you when Yousef was ripped apart by fandom? Now that the white guy fucked up, apparently it’s okay to be problematic but Yousef is hated simply for kissing another girl when he was single and never got the benefit of the doubt. Isak is a misogynist who called Sana a bitch for rightfully being angry about the racist shit she deals with and a fucking racist for punching Mikael out of jealousy which shows how fucking insecure and possessive he is cause if you go around punching your boyfriends exes for no reason that is a not a good sign in a relationship. All you Isak stans are fucking racist garbage and I wish Elias would have cracked his fucking head wide open.

I have said this once and I will say it again, white people can not and will not ever be able to write for poc because this whole season has been a fucking mess from undermining the lead in her own season to todays bullshit clip Julie can swallow of pack of toothpicks. And to all the people bitching about people calling out racism like please go cry somewhere else and realize media does not exist in a vacuum and criticizing a show is not complaining and if you can’t handle it then you are the fucking problem. The block feature and blacklist are for fucking free and I suggest you use it.

#skam #skam fandom is racist #honestly fuck every single one of you Isak stans #your white fav is a racist sexist piece of fucking garbage and I hope Even dumps his stupid ass

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back-and-totheleft · 5 years

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The most harrowing

Since the end of the Vietnam War in the early 1970s, numerous motion pictures have attempted, with varying degrees of success, to capture one or more aspects of the most contentious American conflict of the 20th century. From this crop, three stand out as defining films: Francis Ford Coppola's sometimes-brilliant, occasionally disjointed Apocalypse Now, Michael Cimino's blistering The Deer Hunter, and Oliver Stone's punishing, personal Platoon. Of this trio, Stone's is the most harrowing and, consequently, the most effective. If Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter are like slaps to the face, Platoon is a punch to the gut.

Platoon was the first of three high-profile films to arrive on the scene during a nine-month period. In the near wake of Stone's feature, which arrived in theaters in December 1986, were Stanley Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket (in June 1987) and John Irvin's Hamburger Hill (August 1987). Both were effective movies, but neither came close to capturing the essence of what Platoon achieved. Those who were in Vietnam have described this as a "flashback." Those who have never been there get a vivid, you-are-there depiction of those things that don't make it into the history books.

Platoon is semi-autobiographical. Stone, who served as an infantryman in Vietnam, has grafted many of his experiences into the film, and the primary characters are based on individuals Stone served with. The lead, Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen), represents the filmmaker. One could reasonably argue that the reason Platoon is so good is because it has such a deeply personal meaning for Stone. Consequently, his tendencies to over-direct and show off, which have marred some of his other efforts, are not in evidence here. There's no razzle-dazzle – just basic, powerful storytelling.

Platoon is not primarily a political film. The politics are all in the background. The movie isn't concerned about the rights or wrongs of being in Vietnam. Those things are abstract, and this is about the concrete: surviving to see another fight, counting down the days until a tour of duty is over, and living each moment with the Angel of Death hovering close. The Viet Cong are the enemy – not because they're Communists, but because they are shooting to kill. Platoon offers the point-of-view of the grunt, not of the officer or the strategist or the politician.

Platoon recounts the tour of duty of Chris Taylor, beginning when he arrives, fresh from basic training, and ending when he is helicoptered out after being seriously injured in a major battle. As a new face, Chris gets little respect from those who have been in the war longer than he has. When he reveals that he's an upper middle class college dropout who enlisted because he doesn't believe that only the poor should go to war, another soldier derisively calls him a "crusader." However, after surviving several ambushes and enduring a few times cleaning out the latrines, he develops bonds with his fellows. Chris' loyalty is torn between two of his sergeants: Barnes (Tom Berenger), a gruff, no-nonsense veteran who expects the same degree of homicidal brutality from his men that he himself evidences, and Elias (Willem Dafoe), a fierce fighter who has not lost sight of the fact that the men serving under him are still human beings. Early in the film, there is an undercurrent of tension between Barnes and Elias. After a frightening sequence in which Elias stops Barnes from executing a small Vietnamese child, that tension erupts into a struggle that divides the platoon in two.

Platoon illustrates, in unflinching detail, the dehumanizing power of war. Barnes is the ultimate killing machine. In his mind, atrocities are justified if they achieve and end and if the victims are collaborators with the enemy. Outside of Vietnam, he would have no existence. He would be a misfit who would make Rambo look happy and well-adjusted. Elias has retained some of his personality, but, when called upon by circumstances, he can act just as decisively as Barnes. Chris enters the story as a callow innocent, but, before the film has ended, he has lost control more than once and become just as efficient and mindless a killer as Barnes.

Platoon depicts several battles, including a massive one that takes place at night in which a frightening number of casualties are absorbed by the Americans, but the key scenes occur when Chris' platoon enters a Vietnamese village. It is here that the true nature of war becomes apparent. The men, having just found the mutilated body of one of their number, are thirsty for blood, and, when the villagers are found to be hiding weapons and food for the Viet Cong, revenge supplants justice. Several civilians are killed and the village is put to the torch. The only acts of humanity are when Elias saves the child and Chris stops a girl from being raped. [....]

Stone's approach to filming is a key to Platoon's success. The movie is not shot as a traditional war movie. Instead, Stone drops the camera into the action, capturing the chaos and confusion associated with battle. Watching Platoon, one can easily understand why up to 40% of American casualties during the war occurred as a result of "friendly fire." The night battles are lit using "natural lighting" – primarily flares – which gives the picture an authentic look and feel. Many of Stone's techniques were adopted by post-1986 war films. Saving Private Ryan, Black Hawk Down, and We Were Soldiers owe obvious debts to Platoon.

Before the movie began shooting, all of the actors had to undergo a two week "basic training" course under the supervision of military adviser Dale Dye. Stone's intention with this physically exhausting regimen was not only to give the actors a sense of what it was like to be a soldier, but to deprive them of sleep so that, when filming started, they would be burnt out and in character. Other films (most notably Saving Private Ryan) have used this "basic training" approach, but none were as ruthless in its implementation as Stone.

Following a three-month shoot on location in the Philippines, Stone had all the footage he needed. Once Platoon was in the can, the actors agreed on two things: they had just participated in a meaningful project and they hated Stone. Ultimately, that didn't stop most of them from working with him again. Sheen returned in Stone's follow-up to Platoon, Wall Street, and both Berenger and Dafoe appeared in Born on the Fourth of July.

Platoon is the first chapter in Stone's so-called "Vietnam Trilogy," which also includes Born on the Fourth of July and Heaven and Earth. The other two films, although compelling pieces of cinema, are a step down from the first. Platoon was honored by the Academy with four Oscars: Best Director, Best Editing, Best Sound, and Best Picture. (Berenger and Dafoe were nominated in the Supporting Actor category, but Michael Caine took home the statuette for Hannah and Her Sisters.) This is one of those rare occasions when the best movie of the year was honored as such at the Oscar ceremony. Platoon is one of those movies that, once seen, will never be forgotten, and, at least for those who were not in Vietnam, will forever alter the way in which the war is considered.

-James Berardinelli’s review of Platoon [x]

#james berardinelli #platoon #reviews #oliver stone

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recentanimenews · 7 years

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Stronger Apart: A Final Separation May Be the Best Ending for The Ancient Magus' Bride

While it’s had its dramatic moments, The Ancient Magus’ Bride is most easily considered as one of the slower and more contemplative series of the last two seasons, spending its time on the mundane rituals of everyday just as often on those of the magical variety. So the recent events have been quite a curveball, tearing asunder the central relationship that had been building over the course of the previous 20 episodes. In retrospect, it’s difficult not to see the groundwork that had been laid to drive us to that dramatic moment. Where things might go from here between Chise and Elias is anyone’s guess, but I’d like to argue that the themes of the series have been singularly pushing toward a crucial decision for Chise. To leave Elias so that they both can continue to grow.

Although Chise and Elias’s relationship is one of the central components of the story, and definitely one of the aspects of the anime that has attracted a number of fans, the primary narrative hasn't been one of romance as much as healing for Chise, overcoming her immense personal tragedies to find ultimately find a place and a purpose that will allow her to be happy. While her relationship Elias acted as a starting point for these positive changes that have ultimately lead to her deciding she wants to live and discovering her own agency, both can only be achieved as the result of a conscious decision rather than a preconstructed path. No matter how carefully Elias designs a course of development for Chise, it’s entirely up to her to decide what gives her a sense of meaning.

That decision has been made time and again when Chise discovers a new opportunity to help others. After so many years of being pushed out of other people's lives as a burden and source of fear, being able to touch the life of another and create a positive change is revelatory for Chise. Her warped perception is evident in her interpretation of taking action that ultimately hurts her to aid another as selfish for the way that it inconveniences Elias. Although she has certainly overcorrected and is too willing to take the cost of whatever aid she may offer from her own flesh, the concerns of not only Elias, but all of the friends she has collected as a result of her altruism, for her to consider how her self-harm might hurt them as individuals who care about her.

Chise’s compulsion to aid itself was an unexpected and unwelcome turn for Elias. A creature more familiar with bargaining for favors, Chise’s selfless giving is something that he has trouble comprehending and the manner in which it endangers her is unacceptable. Time and again she has had to persuade him to offer aid. It’s expected that he doesn’t want to see harm to come to her, but it also becomes evident he prefer they remain apart from such business entirely. While he logically understands the process that brings about the behavior, he seems to have no awareness or consideration of the positive effect that what she has managed to accomplish already has had upon her.

This conflict between the two has shown Chise’s growth appear not only in her emotional well-being but also in the dynamics of their relationship. Landmark changes for Chise are always accompanied by a shift in the paradigm between her and Elias and she grows confident enough to make demands of her own from him rather than accepting every wish he has for her. She’s requested that he speak of himself so she can learn more about him, drawn Elias away from his secluded lifestyle to interact with the magical community, and ultimately reframes their relationship not of master and slave or owner and puppy, but as two teachers exchanging wisdom and enjoying one another's company. Whenever Chise takes a step forward, it results in her gaining a greater sense of control over their relationship.

Or so Chise believes, while it appears she and Elias are growing closer to mutual understanding, we’re given clues that he may not be acting faithfully toward her. If Chise and Elias are indeed supposed to be a romantic couple, it’s difficult to ignore the intentional coding of Elias as an abusive and controlling partner. He recognizes that he values her but continues to think of her as an object he owns, which he jealously guards from others, destroying offers of admission from The College, spying on her with magic, and discouraging Renfred from involving himself in their relationship by plainly stating that Chise belongs to him. Elias broke Chise’s chains and assured her she had a choice in their future together while taking every available action to hold her to him and erase other avenues.

Whether due to misunderstanding because of his alien psychology or a disregard for Chise’s wishes in favor of his own. Elias knowingly takes action against what he knows Chise wants, isolating her from her newfound friends that he knows she values. This comes to a head with Stella, Chise’s first plainly stated friendship. He knows Chise values her and experiences jealousy at the prospect of having to share her or, perhaps, that they may share something together that he and Chise to not. When faced with the prospect of Chise’s death, he knows she wants them to work together to find a solution, he knows she would balk at the prospect of sacrificing another for her own survival, and he knows that, above all, harming Stella would wound Chise as well.

The Ancient Magus’ Bride is a story about Chise’s growth and, toward that end, Elias has grown into one of her greatest barriers. Starting blocks serve as a great launching point in a race but can only trip you up when you’re approaching your second lap. In addition to his direct actions against her wishes, Chise also needs to break free of framing her own development in the context of their relationship and to rid herself of her own dependency upon him. To know she can survive on her own two feet she has to try walking without the crutch that has been propping her up and experience her ability to live, laugh, and continue to help others under her own power and without asking anyone's permission. The conclusion of her arc with her mother perfectly matches this sentiment. Though she cannot forgive her, she won't forget her, and she'll move on without her.

Ironically, this may also be the greatest lesson Chise may have to offer Elias. Whether he planned to smooth things over after the ritual out of a fundamental misunderstanding of human emotion or a more nefarious plan to remove her memory of Stella entirely, Elias was prepared to commit the same unforgivable act that had turned a human being into a monster. In either case he displayed a lack of reverence for human emotion that represents an impenetrable barrier to achieving his goal of humanity. Experiencing the consequence of his betrayal and knowing first-hand that feelings can drive a permanent wedge between two people that no amount of transaction or bartering can overcome may allow him to finally recognize the gravity of what he has done and decide he needs to change.

Taking that lesson to heart, next time Elias encounters someone who is suffering, he may be less willing to demand compensation in exchange for his aid. Next time he has the opportunity to grow close to someone and become part of their life, he may be less willing to betray their trust, even if he perceives his own actions as the proper course. Next time he may be able to appreciate the gift he is given when someone can approach him without fear. Because of her tragic circumstances, Chise has given Elias an unrealistic amount of leeway in their relationship, allowing him to take what he wishes of her without giving back. Realizing that only pursuing your own interests is a poison between two people is the most important thing Chise can teach him and forgiving him may only be a lesson all it’s own. That no act of evil or dishonesty is too great that cannot be assuaged.

It’s an ending that’s far from storybook, but poetic in its own way. Many of the small betrayals and controlling behaviors that Elias exhibits are far too realistic to be anything but intentional. Building up an insidiously unhealthy relationship by also showing its positive aspects may be palatable but the evidence of Elias’s small betrayals was there all along. To drive us to this breaking point is immensely ambitious for a series that could have maintained its peaceful pace for years and carefully setting up a distinction between supportive and codependent relationships is an admirable direction. No matter where things go from here, this latest narrative turn will cement The Ancient Magus’ Bride in my memory forever, but I think the best path to take now is the one that diverges.

---

Peter Fobian is an Associate Features Editor for Crunchyroll, author of Monthly Mangaka Spotlight, writer for Anime Academy, and contributor at Anime Feminist. You can follow him on Twitter @PeterFobian.

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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alreadyfamiliar · 7 years

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Alexei had grown used to the empty feeling in his soul. He had survived centuries without a familiar; long enough that he actually didn't know how old he was anymore. He had written down his age years ago, but the note had been lost in his library.

Every witch eventually had a familiar. When the time was right, when the forces of magic decided a witch was ready, then the familiar was called to find their master. When the two were together, the holes in their souls were filled and solidified with a physical bond. It was rumored to be the most satisfying feeling in the world, and Alexei was so desperate to experience it for himself.

He was ready. He had been for centuries, but apparently the magic disagreed. Slowly, all the witches he knew were gaining familiars, but he was still painfully alone.

One of the worst parts were that it was strange for a witch as powerful as Alexei to not yet have found his familiar. Alexei was the high witch of the area. His territory was expansive and contained hundreds of witches and familiars, all of which worked under him and frequently reported news. Although Alexei did his best to be as friendly as he could, there was an air of intimidation around him that caused them to keep a safe distance. His magic was wild, overwhelming, and powerful and often scared off people.

It left him so lonely. Alexei had temporarily forged bonds with another witch's familiar. Konstantin was a familiar of of another witch in his territory, and Alexei had made short-lived bonds by having sex with the man. It wasn't close to filling the hole in him, but it made it far more bearable than this constant emptiness that he had felt as long as he could remember. It was taboo, almost unheard of in the community, but Alexei could do whatever he wanted. He was powerful enough that he didn't fear the consequences of his actions.

Although no one had said it to his face, he knew the witches were talking about how strange it was that Alexei's familiar hadn't found him yet. He was powerful enough, had a large territory, and was a master of magic, but it clearly wasn't enough.

He was almost ready to give up, but he couldn't neglect his duties as a high witch just because he felt this way.

Alexei strode into the seemingly abandoned warehouse that had been repurposed into a club for witches of his territory and their familiars. He had helped build the wards himself years ago, had helped the place become the palace that it was today.

He was dressed in a well fitting, coal black suit that fit him perfectly and left very little to the imagination. His fingers were covered with golden rings and precious gems that caught the light and seemed to emit their own glow. The tattoos that picked out from his sleeves and his neck moved in the light, seemed to disappear under his skin before reappearing once more.

Alexei's body was alive with magic and was a powerful enough force that the moment he entered, a silence fell amongst the guests in the building. They fell quiet and paid their respects with small nods that Alexei accepted with a bright smile.

"C'mon now," Alexei's voice boomed. "The party has just begun!"

As soon as he moved, the music started up again and people began talking and laughing. Alexei could already sense a small hesitation amongst them, but he had grown used to their wariness when he was around. His accomplishments weren't a secret. Alexei had killed to protect his own in the past and would do it again without hesitation if it was necessary.

Alexei looked around until he spotted Elias - his brother and fellow witch - relaxing at the bar. Like him, Elias still did not have a familiar. It was something that Alexei selfishly enjoyed since it meant that he wasn't alone in his pain. Elias was accomplished as well, but Alexei was older and had worked incredibly hard to gain the power that he had.

Alexei brushed past witches and familiars, greeted them all, and made his way to the back of the club. When he reached it, there was already a row of glasses waiting for him. He grinned when he grabbed the first glass and downed it.

Elias smirked when he turned to face Alexei. "It's been a while, brother." They embraced then Elias grabbed a shot meant for Alexei and drank it with a satisfied sigh.

"What's been with you lately? No one has seen you around here in a few weeks." Elias raised an eyebrow and eyed his brother. He was one of the few that didn't fear Alexei's wrath. In fact, Alexei embraced Elias' criticisms. He was one of few that would ever dare to do something like that.

"I've been busy." Alexei answered simply. To avoid speaking further, he downed another glass. But Elias was still silent and looking at him expectantly. "Ugh, fine. I wasn't in the mood-"

"This is your job-"

"I'm not neglecting my job." Alexei muttered under his breath. "It's just hard since..." He didn't need to finish his statement. Both of them understood exactly how empty it felt. Nothing could fill that hole. No matter how much Alexei progressed in his magic skills, no matter how much he tried to distract himself, it would never be enough until his familiar found him.

"I know. Well, let's not focus on that now. There's nothing that we can do about it." Elias quickly changed the subject, and after a few more drinks, both of the boys were grinning and laughing.

"No! I swear! That's exactly how it happened..."

Alexei glanced over at Elias as the man started to trail off. Elias was staring at something behind him, and the room had grown silent once more.

He looked over his shoulder and immediately froze at the sight. There was a panther standing behind him. The moment his eyes fell on the majestic form of the creature, Alexei's heart stopped. His magic began flickering, began roaring in his ears until Alexei could see nothing else but the beautiful familiar that was staring back at him.

This was it. This was his familiar. Alexei could feel it in his soul as he fully turned around. The moment he was turned, the panther bounced over to him and began rubbing itself against his leg. Alexei's hands immediately went to the panther's fur, and the contact left him breathless. He felt whole. For the first time in his life, Alexei felt whole.

His familiar stepped back and transformed, and Alexei held his breath. The man was absolutely stunning, and his heart swelled. He was tall, far taller than Alexei, with dark, twinkling eyes. His hair was long and loose, and fell over the man's forehead. Alexei's eyes traced the sharp lines of the man's jaw and cheekbones, over his severe and stunning features that left him absolutely breathless.

His voice was low and rough, similar to a growl, and Alexei's hair stood up on end. He was entranced by this man, by everything he saw and sensed from him.

"Hello." Alexei's voice was breathy, light as he stared back in shock. He had been waiting for centuries for this moment, and he couldn't believe that this was happening to him now.

Suddenly, Alexei moved forward and wrapped his arms around his familiar, in a hug. It was completely unlike him, and there was a quiet gasp of surprise from everyone watching, but Alexei didn't care.

"It's been- I've been- It's you." Alexei pulled away, but his hands didn't leave his familiar. Tears began to well up in his eyes and Alexei quickly wiped them away before any could fall.

Alexei smiled up at his familiar. "It took you long enough." He teased before chuckling. His voice was weak with surprise and was full of overwhelming emotion. His magic was wild, was celebrating the union of master and familiar.

The witches and familiars began to cheer when it was clear what had happened. Alexei didn't break his gaze away from the awe-inspiring man, but his grin grew wider.

"I'm Alexei Kallasov, high witch of this territory." It was just hitting him that he had never heard of a familiar this large before. Until this man, the largest familiar he had seen had been a large breed of dog to a fairly powerful witch. He assumed it meant that his familiar was proportional to his power. But that didn't matter now.

All that mattered was that his familiar had found him.

The chatter had begun to build, and Alexei could feel everyone staring at the two of them. He didn't want to have to get to know his familiar in front of everyone.

"Would you like to go outside?" Alexei asked. The moment once the man answered in the affirmative, Alexei took his hand and led him back outside.

Once they were through the doors and standing in the silent outdoors, Alexei snapped his fingers. "Fuck, my jacket!" With a wave of his ringed fingers, the jacket appeared out of thin air and fell into his free hand.

Alexei quickly got himself together and turned to face his familiar. He felt like a kid on Christmas. "Please, tell me about yourself. I want to get to know you. I want to know everything. What you felt when you just knew, where you came from-" Alexei realized what he was asking might have been too much to start with. "I'm sorry, forgive me. I'm just so happy. I've been waiting centuries for this day to come."

#2 #reply #alexei

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