#jon balke

[musicollage]

Mathias Eick‎ – The Door. 2008 : ECM 2059.

[tejedac]

Jon Balke & Amina Alaoui

Siwan, 2009 · https://spoti.fi/30Qp1ol

Jon Balke (Keyboards), Amina Alaoui (vocals), Jon Hassell (trumpet), Kheir Eddine M'Kachiche (violin).

Barokksolistene & Bjarte Eike (violin, conductor).

ECM 2042 * Lp info: https://bit.ly/30O1HI1

[cdragons]

hiii i see you lurking :3 miss u love u muah muah muah!!!!

I don't know what you're talking about, my love O//W//O, but please enjoy this little drabble dedicated to another one of our brainchild. Happy 1K followers, my love! It's been so wonderful to see how much your blog has grown and it brings me so much joy to know that others see what an incredible writer you are.

"It's not fair!" Sansa insisted to her parents, stomping one foot on the stone floor, emphasizing her anger and ire. "Birdy is MY friend, not Robb's! He can't keep trying to steal her!"

"She's not an actual bird, sister," Robb quipped back, annoyed that his younger sister was making such a pointless fuss. "And I wasn't stealing. We were simply talking."

Lord Eddard Stark was exhausted after a long day of acting as the high lords of his ancestral home. The last thing he had expected was his solar to be barged in by his eldest daughter, demanding that his eldest son and her older trueborn brother be barred from speaking from her favorite handmaiden. However, it seemed that dealing with Robb was going to be as much as a dread, if not more than Sansa, if his tense shoulders and scowl were anything to go by.

It wasn't that Ned Stark wasn't grateful for your presence, however strange the circumstances of your arrival were. It was highly unusual for a bastard of a noble to come to be the handmaid of a highborn lord's daughter such as Sansa, even more so when your sire was none other than Roose Bolton himself. Truly, he was shocked when Sansa begged him and his wife to promote you to such a high rank. But he couldn't deny how happy you've made his daughter.

"Look, Father!" she was beaming the other morning when she came down to the Great Hall to break fast with the family. "Do you notice anything different today?" Now, Ned loved all his children, but he was the first to admit that he was as ill-informed as any other man regarding matters of women and young girls. However, looking up from his plate, he was surprised to indeed have noticed something different about his daughter's appearance today. "You've done something with your hair," he replied, inwardly delighted with himself from how Sansa smiled wider. "It looks lovely, dear." "Isn't it beautiful? Birdy brushed and braided it for me!" Sansa went to her seat. "She found wild blue roses the other day and thought of braiding them into my hair today!" "It looks wonderful, Sansa," Catelyn Stark nodded. Despite her distaste for her husband's decision to take in Roose Bolton's bastard, she couldn't deny that the girl was good at her work. "Birdy said she could go to the market at Winter Town tomorrow. But she said that she'd wait until after my lessons with Septa Mordane if I wanted to come with her," Sansa looked at her parents with pleading eyes. "May I please go?" Catelyn nodded, "Robb, would you mind escorting your sister and Lady Snow to the marketplace later after your lessons with Rodrick?" Sansa spoke for her brother. "There's no need for Robb to join us. Birdy already asked Jon to do it." "I'll go," Robb interjected, ecstatic with glee at the idea of walking around town with you. He looked back to see your reaction. As usual, you weren't paying attention to anyone and lost in your little world. You seemed to be talking to a new bird today, the little creature cheerily twittering into your ear. Robb spent the rest of the meal lost in his daytime dreams of you, utterly oblivious to the growing irritation of his younger sister.

Sansa pouted and crossed her arms, "You already have Jon, and Theon follows you everywhere! Why do you need to talk to Birdy for anything anyway? She doesn't like to talk about swords or hunting..." She turned to their father. "He even went so far as to pull her into a corner after we broke fast!"

"WHA-!" Robb balked, and the tips of his ears went red. "I did NOT--!"

"Robb," their father, Ned Stark, turned to his son with stern eyes. While Ned was confident that Robb knew better than to act so dishonorably, he wasn't blind to how quickly his eldest son and heir had taken to Sansa's new handmaiden. "Is what your sister speaks true?"

Robb rubbed his eyes and loudly sighed out his frustration. He loved his sister as much as anyone else in his family, but gods above, she could be so much. Really, how can you ever manage to keep your patience with such a tiresome girl he'll never understand?

"No," he firmly replied. "I was merely informing her that I would be joining Jon in escorting her and Sansa to the market."

"I already told you that you don't have to come!" Sansa growled. "Every time Birdy and I talk, you have to come in and interrupt!"

"You spend so much time together. Have you ever considered that perhaps I'm rescuing her from you?" Robb muttered, just low enough for his sister to hear but not his father.

"I heard that, Robb," their father grumbled. Ned looked like he had aged ten years since his children came in and interrupted his peace. "Sansa, you know better than to falsely accuse your brother like that. Robb, please refrain from any impulsive actions. As the next Lord of Winterfell, you need to remember your differing stations."

"Yes, Father," the siblings grumbled in unison. But anyone could tell that this issue was far from over.

"Honestly...! Robb can be so annoying!" Sansa and you have just returned from the market stand with your favorite spinner. What should have been a relaxing walk turned out to be a tiresome activity with the addition of not one but both of her older brothers. "He always has to put his nose into everything!" She waited for you to agree, but you were silent. Turning to look at you, her frustration grew when she realized you weren't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?"

You finally looked up from your knitting and impassively blinked. "Not really...why? Was it important?"

Sansa sighed before sitting beside you. You and her were sitting underneath the Weirwood Tree, your favorite spot in the Godswood. "As your lady, everything I say to you is important. You're my handmaid; you should know this..."

You dispassionately shrugged. "I'm still not very familiar with the ways of highborn nobles."

Sansa indignantly huffed before pouting. You gave a small smile before going back to your knitting.

“Who do you like better, me or Robb?”

You look at her lady in surprise and confusion. “Your brother? Lord Stark’s firstborn?”

Sansa nods. “Yes, now tell me, do you like me or him better?”

You cocks your head to the side. “Why would that matter, my lady?”

“Because it does!” Sansa rolls her eyes. "He's always interrupting us and trying to flirt with you!"

You carefully think about it. You hadn’t really spent much time with Lord Robb. You're more likely to play with the little ones or Jon, which is common ground for both of you being bastards. In the beginning, Robb tended to avoid you whenever he could. But now he tends to single you out whenever he sees you and his sister talking. “Your brother has been very kind to me. He is certainly very nice. But I haven’t spent much time with him to know. When he does try to talk to me, I find it sometimes difficult to talk with him.”

Sansa’s eyes widen. “He hasn’t been rude to you like Theon, has he?” She shook her head.

“No, just…hard to talk. Not much to say from me to him I suppose.”

“Is that how it is with me?”

You turn to Sansa. “No, I find it very easy to talk to you, my lady. You are very different from me, but I like our discussions very much.”

Each word you spoke was true. Many would consider your Lady Sansa, a silly little girl who believed in too many stories about pretty princes and great heroes. But you knew true evil - you were born from it and was raised with it looming over your shoulder for your entire life. Snasa may have been naive, but she was a kind girl who still saw the beauty in her world. A beauty you couldn't see, but could appreciate.

You and her were very different, but you enjoyed spending time with her. It was apparent she was very proud of her noble birth, but you never felt uncomfortable. In fact, you felt as relaxed with her as you do with Maester Luwin, going so far as to speak informally with her without any other company.

Sansa smiles and hugs you. “I think so, too. So you do like me more than Robb.”

You think and nod. “Yes, I am very confident to say that is the case.”

Jon loved Robb - really, he did. But gods above, his brother could be a brat. "Future lords aren't supposed to sulk."

Robb growled, "I am not sulking."

"Pouting, then..." Jon muttered, going back to aim his arrow at the target. But the arrow flew over the wall when a stray snowball hit his head. Jon turned to his brother, annoyed. "If you want to get to know her so bad, why don't you talk to her without Sansa? You might stand a better chance than just pining after her all day."

"I am not - oh, fuck off," Robb went back to hacking the straw dummy before him. He didn't want to admit it, but Jon was right. It didn't take a genius to guess that his terrible mood had little to do with training and more to do with the fact he failed in his chance to get you alone...again. "Why does she have to be around Birdy all the time, anyway?"

"...Because she's her lady...?"

Robb wanted to scream, "Yeah, but - y'know...doesn't ever annoy you?"

Jon shook his head. Truthfully, it wasn't long ago that his relationship with his half-sister was very different. Before you arrived at Winterfell, the way Sansa treated him was barely better than Lady Stark. She neither acknowledged his presence nor ever referred to him as her brother. But ever since your arrival, the icy wall that separated began to slowly thaw. After befriending you, Sansa gained a whole different perspective on bastardy and was more thoughtful and considerate of how she treated Jon. She even gave him a handkerchief with an embroidered direwolf for his name-day gift.

Jon doubted he and Sansa would ever be as close as he and Ayra, but they were making progress.

Robb wiped the sweat pooling on his forehead. "What would I even talk about with her?"

Jon had the nerve to act oblivious. "Why're you asking me?"

Robb's curse nearly spewed out, "You know why. You're the only one she likes talking to... what the hell do the two of you even talk about for so long?"

"I dunno," Jon shrugged. He knew he wasn't being particularly helpful, but he really didn't have an answer. "Look, just talk to her about anything. Better than what you do now..."

"What are you two talking about?"

Robb and Jon turned around in a panic. There you were, standing in the courtyard with your infamous impassive stare. It was painful to see how effortlessly beautiful you were. You stood like a true beacon of Northern beauty, so much so that all the animals inside the keep craved your company. Robb couldn't recall the number of times he found you cheerily conversing with rats from the kitchen or the crows in the rook.

What he would give to have you speak with him with such eagerness...

"Nothing of importance, my lady," he tried to act as normal as possible. "Why? Do you need assistance with anything?"

You shook your head. "I just wanted to drop something off, " you said, digging into your pouch. You pulled out a package wrapped in a burlap sack and twine. "I mended your gloves. They were looking a bit frayed, so I stitched them. They should last a bit longer now."

Robb didn't respond. He just stood and stared like an idiot who had forgotten his own name. It wasn't until Jon jabbed into his side with his elbow that he thanked you for your help.

"Thank you, my lady," He cleared his throat before taking the package from your hands. He opened the package and wasn't surprised in the least at how his old gloves looked better than when he first got them. You always had that magic touch. "They smell different."

You nodded, "Yes, Ayra mentioned that you were upset last week because I didn't give you my favor since I promised to give it to Jon. She also said you stink after training, so I should ensure the gloves mask the odor." When he didn't react, you decided to provide further clarification. "She said it would help you."

"I'm going to kill Arya," Robb thought to himself. He could see Jon's shoulder shake with laughter from the corner of his eye.

You bowed to take your leave. "Now, excuse me, my lords. I must attend to Edwina."

"A fellow maid?"

"No, the duck in the stable. She's pregnant, and I knitted a scarf for her."

Happy 1K, my love!

[annabelle--cane]

im listening to mag again and damn do the archival crew HATE jon. listen i get it supposedly your lives would be normal if he hadn't brought you here... but he didn't? (minus og archive crew, jon requesting them and all) if anything he was just kinda there when you made decisions, bro wasn't EVEN THERE when melanie got hired like??? like how r u gonna wish him pain rn, he's ltrly sopping wet and on the verge of dying💀

like another anon I got a month or so ago, this is one of my sleeper agent trigger phrases, so this might be another marina monologue moment.

as I'm also in the middle of a (for my standards) incredibly slow relisten, I've been thinking about this topic, too, but I've been coming at it from a slightly different angle than I normally do. in tim's case, we don't get an actual look at the circumstances under which he transferred to the archives, it is theoretically possible that jon laid it on a bit thick in asking him to come with him to the department and tim wouldn't have even thought of it otherwise, but with melanie we have several scenes of her hiring and onboarding where jon is not present and she continually rebuffs people who tell her she's making a mistake, so the text very clearly sets up that her blaming jon for being trapped there doesn't make sense. and, even with tim having been requested by jon, he still had to make the ultimate decision to switch departments himself, so, yknow, what gives?

most people, I think, and myself in the past, have come at this question from a very jon-centric pov because he's the main character and it's a jon-centric show, but I think putting it down to "they lash out at him because he happens to be there and stops defending himself after a while" misses something, as does "they lash out at him because elias sets everyone up to think they have an adversarial relationship to jon." more than that, I think it's about the rejection of agency.

tma is a show that's very much About agency and choices, so it's important to keep track of where characters suddenly balk and try to offload their choices onto other agents. martin, despite being very proactive and efficient when he sets his mind to it, has a consistent habit of thinking of himself as fundamentally unimportant and unable to affect real change. jon, someone who is usually culpability_acceptor_4000, really tries to convince himself that the web made him pull statements out of strangers. and melanie and tim, on realizing that they've gotten themselves stuck in the archives, have similar reactions of trying to retroactively make those decisions jon's.

they hate being stuck there and they can't bear the idea that it might be their fault, and they don't know how to reconcile the choices they did make with the greater forces outside of their control that shape their lives. tim swings right from seeing jon as fully responsible to seeing everything as the result of cosmically inevitable bad luck, and this hits him so hard that it leads directly to his suicide. post-bullet melanie gets a better handle on it; accepting that she chose to fall further into the slaughter opens her up to accepting that she made other choices, like joining the archives, as well as accepting future choices, like quitting the archives.

and yes, in the moments where tim and melanie are most vulnerable and just starting to realize how deeply screwed they are, jon (at least from their pov) does something to make it worse. when jon tells tim that jane presntiss wasn't his fault, tim says "well you sure made me feel worse afterwards! and then everyone had to pay attention to how you were feeling to get you to stop stalking us!" when melanie goes in for a second assassination attempt on elias, elias makes jon talk her down instead of doing it himself, presumably to try and get the slaughter mark done with. neither of these are the inciting incidents for tim and melanie's situations, but they stand out. and because jon is culpability_acceptor_4000, a man who feels like the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders and is even right some of the time, the accusations stick. tim and melanie don't want anything to be their fault, jon thinks everything is his fault, and it's a bit of a vicious self-fulfilling cycle.

[suzukiblu]

For WIP Wednesday, either weird kryptonian bonding or the wet nurse omegaverse

“Superman,” Lois says, eyeing him warily as she accepts the sandwich. “You still haven’t explained why you’re calling . . . Superboy your kid.” 

“Because he’s my kid,” Clark repeats, puzzled again. 

“. . . think this is an alien thing?” Jimmy asks thoughtfully, glancing sidelong at Lois, who for some reason looks increasingly concerned. “Like, a ‘like recognizes like’ or maybe some sort of weird psychic bond or genetic instinct?” 

“Oh god, Clark has a kid,” Lois says, putting her hands on her face sandwich and all and looking less and less concerned and more and more panicked. “Clark has a baby! A kid who’s a baby! And also a teenager! I can’t be a dad, my dad is the worst, what kind of dad would I be?!” 

“The ‘mom’ kind?” Jimmy suggests, but Lois clearly isn’t listening. 

“I’m a terrible dad!” she says despairingly, gesturing frantically at Superboy with her sandwich and nearly dropping it. Clark just keeps an eye out and figures he’ll just catch it if she does. “I don’t know how to dad! And how am I gonna afford to send you to college?! I should’ve had eighteen years to get you a college fund!” 

Clark really does love her, he reflects contentedly. 

“You wanna be my dad too?” Superboy asks, tilting his head and blinking at her, and Lois balks.

---

“Er,” Travers says. “I’m . . . sure, yes. Ah . . . if you could just sign here, please, Omega Lane. And initial here.” 

She pulls out a pen; points to a few different places for Clark to sign. Clark glances over at Lor and Jon both melted into functional liquids on top of Carl while he purrs at and pets them, and then lets out a quiet exhalation. A flicker of something painful crosses his face as he does. 

Bruce is an alpha, obviously, and therefore can’t imagine what it feels like to be an omega who can’t nurse their own pups no matter how desperately they need it. Can’t imagine what it feels like when one of those pups is young enough to need milk enough that they’re starving without it, but he can't provide it for them. Can't give them what they're asking him for. 

What Lor's been calling and pleading for.

[apomaro-mellow]

Part 7

Eddie pawed at the door experimentally before laying his forehead against it. This was hell. He was in hell right now.

“Why did they stick us in the closet?”, Steve asked, pulling the string to turn on the light. 

Jonathan scratched at his head while looking down at the floor. Steve was able to clock the guilty look on his face. But he was focused on Eddie, who was now banging his head on the door.

“Stop doing that”, Steve said, turning him away from the door.

Eddie wished he didn’t. In the cramped space in the closet Steve and Jonathan were already chest to chest. Now Eddie was in the mix, sharing the same breathing space. He met Jonathan’s gaze but for a second before looking away, but Steve caught it.

“What was that look for?”

“Nothing”, Jonathan said at the same time Eddie said “What look?”

Steve crossed his arms and waited for one of them to break. “That night you two were together. What happened?”

Eddie stared at Jonathan. “You actually didn’t tell him?”

“It wasn’t my business to tell”, Jonathan said. “And I…” He let out a bone deep sigh. “This has gotten way more complicated than I thought.”

“What’s complicated?”, Steve asked. When neither answered, he felt like he was losing his mind. “Well?!”

“I like you”, Eddie blurted out, wringing his hands. “And when I saw you guys kissing, I lost it and when Jonathan found me I told him about it and he seemed remarkably chill considering I have the hots for his boyfriend but-”

“We’re not actually dating”, Jonathan cut him off.

“Jonathan!”, Steve hissed.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, Eddie’s eyes darted between them.

“Steve-”

“Jonathan. Just-shut up and let me think! Just let me think!” Steve urged them both and put his hands to his head. Because just when he was getting used to pushing down the feelings for Jonathan, feelings for Eddie started to reach the surface.

And now he was trapped in a closet with them.

What were the odds of them just sitting in silence until the other three finally let them out? Robin and Argyle might break but Nancy wouldn’t balk at keeping them there until Groundhog Day.

“Jon and I aren’t really dating”, Steve finally confessed.

Eddie was frozen while Jonathan’s eyes continued to shift. Steve continued to explain the whole situation, seeing as he wasn’t being interrupted. When he finished, he resisted the urge to melt into the coats.

“This all seems pretty elaborate just to trick Dustin”, Eddie said.

“It was only really a two step plan”, Steve admitted.

Eddie turned to Jonathan. “And what he’d do to get you in cahoots with him?”

Jonathan shrugged and gestured to Steve. “He looked like that. Could you say no to him?”

“Never”, Eddie breathed out. “So you and him aren’t actually…I mean you don’t feel…?”

“Not. Not exactly”, Steve said. “Jonathan, I really like kissing you. And that sounds weird to say out loud. But not because of why you might think. God this is hard. I just-that night, when we first kissed, I felt weird when Eddie saw us and it’s because, because I-” Steve pushed his hair out of his face.

“I think I know why Steve”, Jonathan said. 

“Really? And you’re okay with it?”

“When Eddie and I talked, I realized a couple things about myself.”

Steve raised a brow. “Really?”

“Really.”

Eddie felt like he was watching a ping pong match but only able to follow half of it. But then both players were looking at him like a ball boy that couldn’t keep up.

“I’m thinking about doing something really stupid”, Steve said.

“We won’t know how stupid until you do it”, Jonathan egged him on. 

Steeling his nerves, Steve stepped even more into Jonathan’s space and kissed him. Eddie swallowed. When Steve had said…well he had hoped…God the space in this closet just got a whole lot smaller. He could feel the sting of rejection turning into a burn when Steve parted from the kiss, looked to Eddie, then grabbed him by the face and pulled him in.

He was kissing Steve.

HE was kissing Steve.

He was KISSING Steve.

Everything else melted away as the kiss got deeper. The closet, the party, Steve’s boyfriend-

Eddie pulled back with a gasp. “Your boyfriend!”

“Fake boyfriend”, Steve reminded him.

“Right. Right, the fake boyfriend. Who is still okay with this?”, Eddie said, trying to convince himself while looking at Jonathan.

“More okay with this than you may think”, Jonathan said. 

It felt like an eternity passed between the two of them but Eddie was still aware of Steve’s hands on him. Eddie didn’t even realize he was reaching for Jonathan until the closet door opened.

“Oh my god! Is Steve making out with the freak and the weirdo?!”

“Yeah and we’d like some privacy”, Steve said before slamming the door shut once more.

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

Dustin looked ready to explode. Or maybe he looked ready to implode, Jonathan really couldn’t tell.

“This is bullshit!”

“Language”, Steve and Eddie said in unison.

“Do you know I made a list!? I made a list of all the eligible guys in Hawkins”, Dustin opened up his book bag and pulled out a notebook.

“Lemme see that”, Eddie snatch it from him and flipped through the pages. “I’m number six?!”, he squawked.

“Am I on the list?”, Jonathan asked.

“Who’s number one?”, Steve leaned onto Eddie to see.

“How am I under Argyle? Steve just met the guy”, Eddie lamented.

“You know”, Dustin gestured to his head. “The hair.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, that explains it all.”

Steve kissed Eddie’s temple, then grabbed Jonathan’s hand. “Don’t worry about Dustin’s dumb list. You’re both my number ones.”

“So we’re both your piss?”, Eddie grinned.

“Better than being his number twos”, Jonathan pointed out.

“Dustin, lemme see that list again. I might need to keep my options open.”

END

Thank you for joining me on this one! See you at the next fic!

Tag Team

@freddykicksasses @itsfreakingbats @thatrandombatgurl @loguine-linguine @cecinestpasunblog @aliea82 @lololol-1234 @dynamic-power

[arielchelby]

Hocus Pocus : A Jonerys AU

This is my final submission for the Jonerys Falling for You event hosted by @iceandfirejonerysdiscord. The prompt is from Day 5: Trick or Treat.

Obviously @moondancer71 has been hosting these events for years now but this was my first time and it was so much fun! And now I get to read all the wonderful submissions ❤️

Thank you again to @moondancer71 for the awesome MB! She made me 4 just for this week 💕And for beta reading yet again!

Summary: A virgin has lit the Black Flame Candle and now the Lannister Sisters are back and out to claim the souls of the children of Lannisport. 

A great candle caught Jon’s eye. It was sickly yellow and carved in more strange markings. “What’s that?”  “Oh,” Dany curled a hand around her mouth and said with a teasing whisper, “that’s the Black Flame Candle.” Jon inspected it. “The Black Flame Candle,” he read the plaque out loud. The shy smile Dany gave him made his pulse jump and he continued. “Legend says that on a full moon it will raise the spirits of the dead when lit by a virgin on a Halloween night.” Arya dropped what she was doing. “We should light it!” “No way,” Jon balked. “It’s like an artifact.” Dany flashed him a grin. “You’re not afraid, are you, Jon Snow?”

Read complete fic on A03

Ice and Fire Jonerys Discord Server

[jackoshadows]

The reason for why Jon's actions with respect to Arya in ADwD is compared or paralleled to Rhaegar/Lyanna is because of the underlying themes involved

"I've always agreed with William Faulkner—he said that the human heart in conflict with itself is the only thing worth writing about. I've always taken that as my guiding principle, and the rest is just set dressing." - George RR Martin.

and the wider consequences of their actions (i.e) the downfall of the Night's Watch as an institution that stays out of the wars of the realm and Robert's Rebellion (RR).

For Jon Snow that means breaking sworn oaths of neutrality that has held for some 8000 years when the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch decides to attack the Warden of the North with an army of Wildlings - also enemies of the North. This leads to his assassination, mutiny and possibly civil war at the Watch between the Freefolk, Crows, Queens men and Kings just as an existential, apocalyptic threat is almost at their doorstep.

This comparison between Jon Snow and Rhaegar Targaryen is often highlighted in response to theories on how Jon is going to be ashamed, angry or hate his biological father for possibly choosing his love for Lyanna over his duty to the realm, leading to war, death and destruction.

Putting aside the fact that Jon himself was born out of that love, hating Rhaegar for this would make him a hypocrite considering he put his own selfish self interest above the defense of the realm and the greater good because as Maester Aemon put it:

What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”

Is there a theme of 'The human heart in conflict with itself' where Brandon and Lyanna are concerned? We could even say Brandon was doing his duty by defending Lyanna's honor. Where is the conflict? Where is the angst?

In fact, if there is prophecy involved wrt Rhaegar's actions, then Jon Snow was more selfish than his biological father. If Rhaegar did what he did because prophecy deemed it necessary to save the realm while Jon Snow mucked up the neutrality of an institution - the first line of defense against an apocalyptic threat - for his own personal reasons, that makes Jon even more selfish in his actions than his biological father.

And if we are talking about the far reaching consequences of their actions, then for any parallels between Brandon/Lyanna and Jon/Arya, the blame for the start of Robert's Rebellion should be assigned to Brandon and not Rhaegar...

Which, I am certain, the same folks insisting Jon would be angry and hate Rhaegar would balk at assigning any blame to Brandon Stark considering Rhaegar is the scapegoat for all things RR, getting even more hate than the Mountain and Tywin for what happened to Elia and her children.

Ned shares more similarities with Jon here, in the sacrifice of his honor when he brought up Lyanna's son as his bastard...

What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words.

And yet the consequences of that was limited to his wife and children. No one else was affected by this, there was no war, there was no breaking of oaths, no desertion.

And even just comparing Ned and Brandon as brothers to Lyanna Stark, Jon Snow's love and understanding of Arya has no parallel.

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it"

And what did Lyanna's son do when Arya's parents did not allow her a sword? He secretly got her one and told her how to train with it that's what! Yes, Ned relents and gets her a sword master because of his guilt/grief where Lyanna is concerned, but he did no such thing for Lyanna herself.

And despite knowing of Robert's womanizing ways and that Lyanna did not want that marriage, both Ned and Brandon seemed to have done nothing to change Rickard's mind or try and understand what it is that Lyanna wanted before everything went to hell. I simply can't imagine Jon Snow being the same where Arya and marriage are concerned.

So yes, Jon's love for Arya stands out compared to Ned/Brandon's love for Lyanna and the comparison between Jon and Rhaegar wrt to their actions regarding Arya and Lyanna comes about because of the underlying themes of duty vs love and the wider consequences of their actions.

[riveracheron]

on lena, jon, and free will.

okay. okay okay okay.

ive been mulling this over for a while because lena kelley is my number 1 blorbo and seeing her being compared to elias confuses me? because i think, from what we know - she's more of a foil to season 4 jon. a jon, who elias successfully turned into *his* archivist. where jon has kept his free will and humanity and rebelled against elias, lena has not. lena is fully subservient.

i think her job, as a middle manager - is more comperable to the archivist position, first of all. she seems to have people above her; and we are seeing her from the perspective of her assistants. alice, gwen and sam are not the jon looking at elias, they're more of the tim/sasha/martin, looking at jon.

there's a definite shift in what we hear from younger lena in the video and who she is now - she's much more terse, stalwart and well. boring; we har so much more genuine emotion from her even in the few snippets of the video we have. Something must have changed between them; she barely even blinks with Gwen's blackmail where she was on the verge of tears on the video. almost as if something happened to shut her down between the events. she seems to shrug off any mention of her “masters” as if they are common knowledge; yet backs off and balks when her position is threatened. i’m guessing it’s safe to say that she’s okay with her position under whoever it is; even desperate to protect it.

contrast this with jon; who was in a similar position as the younger Lena on the video; terrified and angry of what Elias had in store for him, yet feeling his influence all of the same. elias could call for him and he would answer; unwillingly, yes- but he would.

however, in the end, jon chooses to rebel. chooses to break away from the Institute and kill his old boss, whereas lena balks. completely submits herself, mind, body and soul to the corporation that made her.

we don’t know if lena is an avatar or anything, but i think she’s more comparable to an archivist who was successfully molded into Elias’ little loyal eye sentry, than Elias himself.

time will tell if she has a s5 jon moment or not, though.

[thewindsofwolves]

Jon Snow & Sansa Stark Book Parallels & Mentions 16/∞ : They both became hostages, so they needed to do and say everything to remain in their captors good graces

His grin turned into something softer as he studied her face. "Is it grief for your lord father that makes you so sad?" "My father was a traitor," Sansa said at once. "And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well." That reflex she had learned quickly. "I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey." "No doubt. As loyal as a deer surrounded by wolves." A Clash Of Kings, Sansa I

"Then hear me. If we are taken, you will go over to them, as the wildling girl you captured once urged you. They may demand that you cut your cloak to ribbons, that you swear them an oath on your father's grave, that you curse your brothers and your Lord Commander. You must not balk, whatever is asked of you. Do as they bid you . . . but in your heart, remember who and what you are. Ride with them, eat with them, fight with them, for as long as it takes. And watch."  A Clash Of Kings, Jon VIII

[thevindicativevordan]

You have expresed your opinion on the Superman robots, but what about one robot in particular: Kelex? Little has been donw with him. Do you think he is just a foot note or he could be more?

I actually did talk about Kelex in my Fortress post!

Kelex is Superman’s equivalent to Alfred, but he needs more of a personality. My take on Kelex is that whereas Alfred is Bruce’s prim and proper British butler that grounds Batman, Kelex should be Kal’s snooty and uptight French butler that elevates Superman. Kelex speaks with a “Kryptonopolis” accent which is basically an upper class Parisian accent. He looks down on Earth and humanity, encouraging Kal to take more pride in his Kryptonian side, but does support Kal’s actions as Superman, viewing Kal as being more active in defending the planet whereas Jor was too passive. Rather than restraining him to a single robot body, Kelex should be the AI that runs everything in the Fortress, the “soul” of the fortress so to speak. You could say he is the Fortress of Solitude, the robots and mechanical appendages scattered throughout the Fortress we see, merely being his metaphorical hands with which to interact with the physical world. Kelex and Kara get along wonderfully, Kelex loathes Conner and Kenan for being troublemakers, respects Steel for being similar to Jor-El, and sees Jon as the heir and a chance to correct the misfortune of Kal not knowing much about Krypton until he was an adult. Kelex and Lois frequently are at odds since she wants to know all of the Fortress’ secrets, and Kelex has orders from Kal to keep some information private even from Lois.

Still like this take. Should add that his snootiness is expressed via his belief that humanity is doomed to destroy themselves because obviously they're inferior to Krypton in every way, yet are seemingly set to share Krypton's fate of destroying their planet. Our technology is primitive, our society is backwards (we haven't even progressed past nation-states!), and it has taken the Last Son of Krypton to bail us out multiple times. But hey, if Kal wants to make saving humanity his science project, so be it. Kelex knows better than to try to argue with the famous House El stubbornness and thus supports his master in Superman's endeavors.

Only thing I'd add is that where Alfred tries to reign Batman in, checking Bruce's arrogance and poking holes in his ego via humor, Kelex is Superman's cheerleader. Kelex tells Kal how great Kal is, how he's the heir to the glorious House El, how he shouldn't let those level 3 primitives give him grief when he does something they don't like. Superman obviously finds this a bit disconcerting, but he views Kelex as a sentient being and balks at "reprogramming" him to be less of a flatterer. One thing Kelex and Alfred have in common: their masters may have qualms about lethal force, but they don't. You show up in the Fortress of Solitude uninvited making Kelex deem you a threat, you better hope Superman is around to save your ass because Kelex has no problem vaporizing you, and asking for forgiveness later.

[qyburn-in-the-black-cells]

So here’s the thing with bastards in Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon/ASOIAF -

1 - While it’s clearly established why legitimising them into cadet branches (see A Storm of Swords) in universe has the potential to set up generational cold wars and animosity (see Blackfyres and Kar/Greystarks), GRRM uses almost every illegitimate character to deconstruct bastard prejudice (conniving, lustful, inherently untrustworthy, unbaptised original sin that would make an evangelical balk)

ex. Jon Snow. Just everything about Jon Snow.

ex. Addam Velaryon recruiting an army, flying to his death to protect his men and the Queen who’s tried to arrest (torture) him etc. ex. Jacaerys Targaryen is the only Targaryen adult in the room after the Battle of Rook’s Rest. From his management of feudal relationships to military strategy to the Sowing of the Seeds, Fire & Blood makes it abundantly clear that he is better suited to be a wartime king (and probably a king in general) than either Rhaenyra or Aegon or Prince Regent Aemond.

[jedimaesteryoda]

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

As a boy Jon looked up to Daeron I the Young Dragon. Yet, as Benjen points out, Daeron’s biggest achievement didn’t last and his conquest of Dorne ultimately collapsed with tens of thousands of his men dying in the effort including himself. Objectively, Daeron proved to be an unsuccessful king.

Another attempt to bring Dorne into the realm was made under Daeron II. It’s not a coincidence that he shares the same name as the young dragon and as kings couldn’t be more different. Daeron I was a handsome, charismatic youth and the image of a warrior-king who was eager for war and glory. Daeron II by contrast at the point he wore the crown was a man grown and according to Martin “Not a warrior by any means; round-shouldered, with thin legs and a small pot belly. His face has a certain quiet strength, though, and his eyes are clear and full of resolve.” He shared no interest in war but was a scholar. 

Daeron II would end up succeeding where Daeron I failed by using diplomacy rather than war to bring Dorne under the Iron Throne. 

By ADwD, Jon resembles Daeron II, marking the maturation and growth of his character. The boy who once balked at being made a steward instead of a ranger buries himself in books and takes counsel from the bookish Sam and Aemon. Daeron II was influenced by his Dornish princess wife Myriah while Jon was by his wilding lover Ygritte  and later “wildling princess” Val. The king brought former enemies the Dornish into the realm by diplomacy and negotiation just as Jon does with Tormund and the wildlings. Both those acts also result in backlash among their subordinates culminating in rebellion with the Blackfyre Rebellion for Daeron II and Ides of Marsh for Jon. The aforementioned former enemies end up becoming their biggest allies, and help crush those rebellions. 

They also both end up having to deal with bastard pretenders with pretender Lord of the North Ramsay Bolton coming to the Wall as royal pretender Daemon I Blackfyre moved towards King’s Landing to depose Daeron II. 

The two Daerons essentially serve as markers of Jon’s growth from the warrior-obsessed fourteen year-old boy to the older, wiser seventeen year-old who knows that some things can’t be solved with swords. 

[fissions-chips]

flinch

(day 5: flinching- bad karma AU pt. 2)

   When he opened the door, Butler wasn’t quite sure what he expected. 

   A sudden swing of an improvised weapon, perhaps some creative insults and foul curses- the broken glass, fallen from the bedside table, he had accounted for at least. The lights hadn’t yet been turned on- frown deepening, Butler reached beside him and flipped the switch, other hand clutched around the handle of a large, grey box, the side clearly marked by the classic red cross. Slowly, he stepped into the room, alert for the slightest shift in movement- when none came, however, he stepped around the bed, blinking down at the floor.

   “You’re awake.” 

   The man had somehow managed to worm his way between the bedside table and the wall- shoulders hunched forward to fit and with his legs tucked up to his chest, Jon Spiro looked, somehow, smaller than he already had. Eyes wide and bloodshot, the fallen CEO stared back at him, perfectly still. His gaze traveled from Butler’s own to the box held in his hand, the gun tucked into his belt- the bodyguard watched as the other slowly inched further back, head dipping further beneath the edge of the table. 

   When Butler stepped closer, he flinched.

   The bodyguard sighed. “I’m surprised you’re alive right now, frankly. I thought your heart would give out before I made it back here.” Carefully, he crouched down, setting the box on the floor- Jon’s eyes darted to it, to the hand that had placed it there. 

   He couldn’t press himself any further back. Instead, his fingers tightened into fists, bound together wrist-to-wrist. 

   Butler wasn’t taking any chances. 

   “Whatever you were on was… some pretty strong stuff. I can’t tell by looking at you- are you lucid now?” 

   He tried to keep his voice light- a losing battle, it seemed, as Jon’s brow furrowed. When the other man didn’t answer, Butler bit back a sigh, rubbing at the space between his eyes with one hand. Like this isn’t already difficult enough, he thought, cursing himself. That damned party- now look at what you’ve done. Bringing an enemy onto the grounds, willingly, for the sake of your own goddamn conscience.

   “Spiro, I need you to answer me- are you lucid or not?” 

   “…It’s you.” 

   Jon’s voice creaked as he said it, hard to make out even in the silence of the room. Head tilting slightly, the smaller man blinked back at Butler, a brief look of recognition flickering over his features as he peered at the bodyguard, squinting. He sniffed- the blood beneath his nose, long dried, cracked, and he slowly moved to scrub at it with the back of his hand. His eyes didn’t leave Butler’s. 

   He remembers me. After a moment, Butler let out a breath. That’s gonna have to be ‘yes’ for right now. 

   “Okay,” he continued. “I’m taking that as a yes-“ 

   “Where… am I?“ 

   This time, Jon’s voice had the faintest note of panic- Butler looked to find that the smaller man had started to shake, huddling back as far as he could go. His hands were tucked protectively to his chest, eyes widening- they had a hollow cast to him, the man clearly not yet fully lucid as Butler had hoped. “W-where am I?” He repeated, pupils darting around the room as he took in the small space. “Why am I here?”

   Before Butler could answer, Jon let out a strangled sound, one hand dragging the other with it to tangle into his hair. “Y-you’re supposed to be dead!” He barked. “You’re… I’m supposed to… ow. Ow.” His expression twisted into one of pain as he curled in on himself, nails digging further into his scalp, sticky with wine. He whined, the sound quiet and strangled. 

   “Hey-“ Butler’s voice had taken on a note of concern, despite himself. When the smaller man flinched, shoulders shivering, Butler reached out. “Hold on a moment-“

   Jon balked away from him, head crashing into the wall- immediately, the man groaned, slumping back against the side of the table. Eyes widening at the sight of Butler’s hand drawing closer, Jon froze, a violent shudder running down his body. 

   “Don’t-“

   In the moment, Butler was sure it was meant to be a shout- Jon’s voice cracked sharply almost as soon as he opened his mouth, the man cutting himself off. The resulting sound became more of a whine, a plea for… something. To be left alone. Jon’s eyes were locked on the offered hand like it was a weapon, and Butler found himself pulling away slightly, the other man following its slow retreat back to Butler’s side without glancing away. It took him several moments to look Butler in the face again. 

   He was still shaking. 

   “Don’t… don’t touch me.” He spat, and for just a moment Butler saw a flash of bared teeth, a flicker of the anger he had expected to be met with when he had first walked in. Dull eyes narrowed to slits, bound hands clenched so sharply into fists that his nails cut into his palms- then, it vanished, Jon’s face falling once more as he shrank back into himself. 

   Butler stared back, bewildered- he thought back to the night before, stepping between the people he didn’t know, partygoers laughing and screaming and slumping against him, stinking of liquor. He had heard some kind of commotion, shouting and jeering, but the view from the edge of the room had offered him little in the way of explanation. When his enemy, the only man yet who had managed to kill him (however indirectly) had crashed into him, bleeding and alcohol-soaked, completely incoherent, Butler hadn’t had any time for questioning or decision-making. Any sense of rational thought had left him completely when the other had blinked up at him, staggered, and slurred out: 

   “I know you.”

   It was pity. It had to be. 

   The same feeling rising in the back of his throat now. Damn it. 

   Jon looked like a scared, stray animal. Huddling in a corner, shaking, still bloodied and sickened and fighting off the last of whatever hellish high he had been on- it wasn’t what Butler had expected at all. People being frightened of him, he was more than used to, whether deserved in the moment or not- it was just a fact of the life he lived. Those people usually had the option to flee the room or fight back, and they took it without hesitation. 

   Jon stared at his hands, and trembled. 

   Butler closed his eyes for a moment, thinking- after a moment more, he heaved a sigh and sat down on the carpet, resting his head in his hands. When he didn’t draw closer, even after several seconds, some of the tension seemed to slip from Jon’s frame. His hands slowly lowered from his chest to drop into his lap, knees pulling away slightly. His head tilted to rest against the side of the table, eyes falling half-lidded as he watched the other man, wary for any sudden movement. 

   “…Okay. Let’s try this again.” 

   When the bodyguard spoke again, Jon stiffened- he didn’t move, however. Whatever little energy he had managed to summon up from before was gone now, and a note of resignation had begun to creep over his face.

   Lifting his head, Butler raised both hands in a disarming gesture. “Look. I’m sure you’re very confused- I don’t blame you. I’m confused, about whatever the hell was happening at that… party. With you, and that other guy, and… I don’t know. What the fuck was going on back there?” 

   Jon stared back at him. “Why were you there?” He rasped, eyes falling shut for a moment. “S’… not your kinda scene.” 

   “I was invited under the name of one of my aliases in the field. Answer my question.” 

    Jon opened his eyes somewhat, glancing down at his own bound hands. Butler watched as he fidgeted with the end of the rope, twisting it between trembling thumb and forefinger as he swallowed thickly. 

   “I… don’t want to talk about it.” 

   “I need to know what-“ 

   The other man’s eyes closed once more. His fingers slowly began to pull at the knots themselves, picking away at the worn skin beneath. 

    “No. Don’t wanna talk about it.”

    Butler paused. Brow furrowing, he leaned forward. “I need to know what happened, Spiro- why I was invited, what was going on, how the hell you managed to crash into me, covered in alcohol-“ 

   “What’re you gonna do?” 

   Jon’s voice, for just a moment, steadied somewhat- he opened one eye and fixed Butler with a weary look. Only his hands were shaking now, letting go of the rope’s end to idly pick at the fabric of his pants leg. He nodded to the gun at Butler’s hip. “Shoot me?” He continued. “Somethin’ else- beat the shit outta me?” His expression darkened. 

   “Did you bring me here to laugh? To gloat?”

   He didn’t say it like it was meant to be a taunt, or an accusation. He said it quietly, with his head bowed- like it was the simple truth. Looking down at his wine-stained, blood-splattered suit, Jon’s brow furrowed, and Butler saw something break through the resignation for the briefest of moments. A look of dismay. Disgust. 

   “Go… go right ahead.” He muttered. “I won’t stop you.” 

   Butler’s frown deepened. “I’m not going to mock you,” he muttered, voice taking on a note of bewilderment. Jon glanced up, winced slightly at the sharpening of the other man’s tone. Noting that, Butler’s expression softened slightly, though his next words came out as a scoff nonetheless. “I’m a professional- I don’t mock anyone. That’s not my job.” 

   For a few moments, neither spoke- Jon reached up to scrub at the bloodied space beneath his nose once again, flecking his lips with blood. Beneath the smudging, his skin had paled considerably-  Butler’s instinct was to go ahead and drag him from his little crevice, forcefully checking him over. The wiser part of him knew that would only get him a bitten hand and a hysterical…

   Hostage? Prisoner? 

   …Houseguest?

   He could worry about that later. 

   Chewing on his lip, Jon mulled over his words. Then, his head fell back against the wall as he shut his eyes once more.

   “…Yeah.” He mumbled. “I guess you are.” 

   Butler nodded. “And as a professional,” he pressed. “You know that if I was going to shoot you, or otherwise kill you, I would have done it while you were unconscious and easier to manage.” 

   The other man didn’t lift his head- his fingers tangled together in his lap, picking at spaces that had once been circled by rings of gold. Taking a long look at him, Butler realized that all of the man’s jewelry was gone completely- it was strange to see him without it, the glittering and clattering of countless bracelets and necklaces an inseparable part of his memory of the man. 

   While Jon continued to remain silent, Butler continued his quick visual assessment, now that the other was not folded as far back into the corner as he could fit. Bruised face, bruised throat- his hair was tangled and clumped, blood smeared across the space beneath his nose and down his chin. His nose did not, however, appear to be broken. The perpetual shivering, though lessened, was still trembling down to the tips of his fingers, and the way Jon’s suit hung off of his shoulders was suspicious, like the javelin-thin criminal had somehow thinned even more. He had shaved recently. The space beneath his eyes was near-blackened by exhaustion.

   “… I wouldn’t blame you, if you did.” 

   Butler was shaken out of his thoughts by the quiet creak of the other man’s voice. Jon was staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes-half lidded- his nails had caught in the space between two fingers and, as the bodyguard watched, they dug in deep enough to bruise. “I did shoot you,” Jon continued. “Or… have you shot, I guess. Fair’s fair.” 

   “I’m not going to shoot you,” Butler repeated. “I brought first aid with me.” 

   “And the gun.” 

   “That gun goes with me everywhere, regardless of who I’m talking to. That’s part of being a professional.”

   “…Tch.”

   Jon clicked his teeth, reaching up to scratch at the side of his jaw. “Professional…” He muttered, turning the word over in his mouth. “…Professional, professional- what’s the professional want with me?” He heaved himself upright slightly, leaning forward- arms settling across his knees, he rested his head atop them. “Revenge? Interrogation?”

   “No-“ Exasperation broke through the last of Butler’s remaining stoicism, the bodyguard dragging a hand down his face as he let out an angry sigh. “No, I’m not- Do you see the first aid kit, right here?” He held it up, shaking the box slightly- the contents rattled. “If I had wanted revenge, it seems like the best course of action would have been to just… just leave you right where I found you! And I didn’t!”

   Maybe I should have, he scolded himself. He may have been invited to that party, for reasons he didn’t yet fully understand, but none of what had happened there was his business. It had been a serious lapse in his judgment in the first place, to bring the other man here, onto the Fowls’ grounds. By some miracle, the family wasn’t home, wouldn’t be for the rest of the week, but what was he going to tell them? What was he going to tell Artemis? 

   Happy to see you back, sir- by the way, Jon Spiro is in the guesthouse, and it’s all my fault. 

   Some of the fury ebbed out of him, replaced by frustration and bone-deep tiredness. He was no longer at an age where a lack of sleep could be shaken off in its entirety, and he hadn’t closed his eyes to rest since before he had left for Chicago, over a full day before. 

   “…For some fucking reason, I didn’t. I should have.” 

   He tossed the kit down, Jon flinching away as it clattered towards him, coming to rest near his foot. 

   “Just-“ Butler grit his teeth, jabbing a finger in the other man’s direction. “Just let me help you, so I can figure this shit out.” Throwing his hands up, he took in a deep breath, expression twisted into one of frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment to collect himself, he continued. 

   “If I was going to kill you- which I wasn’t planning to, by the way-“ He opened his eyes, glaring at Jon sharply. “Would you rather die with your injuries fixed? Clean and fed? Surely, that has to be better than all of this.” He tossed a hand in Jon’s general direction. 

   The smaller man blinked back at him, completely bewildered. For several seconds, he didn’t move at all- Butler could see the gears turning in his head. Slowly, he looked down at himself- his bound wrists, his stained suit and shaking fingers. The look of shock crumbled, slightly- Jon’s face fell completely, and the man sank backwards, staring down at the floor. His eyes glittered strangely for a moment, as if he was fighting back something- then, he hid his face in his hands, drawing his knees to his chest.

   Right back where they had started.

   Butler was seconds from vacating the room entirely and leaving to let the other man sort himself out- just as he began to rise to his feet, however, he heard a quiet sound. 

   A small, hiccuped sob. 

   Shit.

   “… My head hurts.” 

   Jon’s voice was muffled and thin, the man muttering between shaking fingers as he hunched himself smaller still. His voice cracked with pain as he spoke, words blurring together. “So bad. M’ sorry… sorry. Ow.” 

   For minutes, he remained like that, fingers digging into the line of his hair as he hid himself from view. Shaking wracked his thin shoulders, and he slumped against the wall beside him- Butler sat, waiting. After a few more moments, Jon spoke again.

   “…W-Why? Why d’you… wanna help me?”

   I don’t know.

   That was the honest answer. Right down to the core of it- Butler couldn’t name a reason. Pity played a part in it, yes, but the bodyguard had felt pity for his enemies before, and it hadn’t led to something like this. He did need information- the use of his alias was a genuine concern, especially by a criminal he wasn’t familiar with. He had only caught glimpses of the party’s host, a preening, sunglassed, sneering individual. Something instinctive warned Butler, however, that he was a dangerous foe.

   Neither option, however, seemed to fit completely, and so Butler only sighed, and gave the best approximation he could. 

   “…It’s my job.” 

   Hands dropping from his face, Jon sniffed. He lifted his head, hollow eyes meeting Butler’s own and searching for something there. Honesty, perhaps. After a few moments, the man seemed to find it- he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes once more and nodding slightly. He swallowed. 

   “Yeah… yeah, I suppose so.”

[thelustybraavosimaid]

Heed the Direwolves.

Bran looked around for the direwolves. Both had vanished into the wood. "Did you hear Summer howling last night?"

"Grey Wind was restless too," Robb said. His auburn hair had grown shaggy and unkempt, and a reddish stubble covered his jaw, making him look older than his fifteen years. "Sometimes I think they know things…sense things…" Robb sighed. "I never know how much to tell you, Bran. I wish you were older." (Bran V, AGoT)

--

"Any man Grey Wind mislikes is a man I do not want close to you. These wolves are more than wolves, Robb. You must know that. I think perhaps the gods sent them to us. Your father's gods, the old gods of the north. Five wolf pups, Robb, five for five Stark children." (Catelyn II, ASoS)

--

"Wolves and women wed for life," Haggon often said. "You take one, that's a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you're part of him. Both of you will change." (Prologue, ADwD)

Lady's Hatred:

"The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns," the queen was saying to the two knights who knelt before her, but Sansa could not take her eyes off the third man. He seemed to feel the weight of her gaze. Slowly he turned his head. Lady growled. A terror as overwhelming as anything Sansa Stark had ever felt filled her suddenly. She stepped backward and bumped into someone.

...

The tension of a few moments ago was gone, and Sansa was beginning to feel comfortable…until Ser Ilyn Payne shouldered two men aside, and stood before her, unsmiling. He did not say a word. Lady bared her teeth and began to growl, a low rumble full of menace, but this time Sansa silenced the wolf with a gentle hand to the head. "I am sorry if I offended you, Ser Ilyn," she said. (Sansa I, AGoT)

--

Ser Ilyn drew a two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. As he lifted the blade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor. Ice, she thought, he has Ice! Her tears streamed down her face, blinding her. (Arya V, AGoT)

Grey Wind's Warning:

There was more trouble at the gatehouse. Grey Wind balked in the middle of the drawbridge, shook the rain off, and howled at the portcullis. Robb whistled impatiently. "Grey Wind. What is it? Grey Wind, with me." But the direwolf only bared his teeth. He does not like this place, Catelyn thought. Robb had to squat and speak softly to the wolf before he would consent to pass beneath the portcullis. By then Lame Lothar and Walder Rivers had come up. "It's the sound of the water he fears," Rivers said. "Beasts know to avoid the river in flood." (Catelyn VI, ASoS)

--

The players in the gallery had finally gotten both king and queen down to their name-day suits. With scarcely a moment's respite, they began to play a very different sort of song. No one sang the words, but Catelyn knew "The Rains of Castamere" when she heard it. Edwyn was hurrying toward a door. She hurried faster, driven by the music. Six quick strides and she caught him. And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? She grabbed Edwyn by the arm to turn him and went cold all over when she felt the iron rings beneath his silken sleeve.

...

A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. "Jaime Lannister sends his regards." He thrust his longsword through her son's heart, and twisted. (Catelyn VII, ASoS)

Ghost's Irritability:

Outside the armory, Mully and the Flea stood shivering at guard. "Shouldn't you be inside, out of this wind?" Jon asked. "That'd be sweet, m'lord," said Fulk the Flea, "but your wolf's in no mood for company today." Mully agreed. "He tried to take a bite o' me, he did." "Ghost?" Jon was shocked. "Unless your lordship has some other white wolf, aye. I never seen him like this, m'lord. All wild-like, I mean."

He was not wrong, as Jon discovered for himself when he slipped inside the doors. The big white direwolf would not lie still. He paced from one end of the armory to the other, past the cold forge and back again. "Easy, Ghost," Jon called. "Down. Sit, Ghost. Down." Yet when he made to touch him, the wolf bristled and bared his teeth. It's that bloody boar. Even in here, Ghost can smell his stink. (Jon XIII, ADwD)

...

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold… (Jon XIII, ADwD)

[the-trinket-witch]

Hello! Long time no see, skele-pal! I need to know No. 17 for all-

ask meme here: (Also HOI HOI!!! You get to meet The Cook and Mr Khan too, now!)

What is the weirdest thing your oc regularly eats? (I'm changing it a little by adding 'the oddest thing your OC has ever eaten')

Albert:

Being from Altus, RQ, he's had exposure in trying things like Pie and Mash (which so happens to have eel in/accompanying it). It isn't often, but he does still enjoy the dish on occasion. As well, He's tried Chicharrón de pulpo. This was only on accident, though, as it was in the weeks following Azul's attempts to take the Dorm from them. Yuu had learned how to 'Passive aggressively' cook things like the aforementioned octo-chicharrón to pointedly bring to lunch. Needless to say: Yuu smugly shared some with the Twins, while said Tweels got a show in the grave face Al made on the realization.

Yuu:

This is probably the weirdest that others would probably balk at but: huitlacoche, corn smut or 'mexican truffle'. They loved how their grandma could make it a big deal because of how difficult it is to get a hold of fresh. 'Canned never tastes the same, mi hijo' She would say.

Tidus:

It might be easier to count on fingers things the dude hasn't tried yet. There were a few misses, but some like okonomiyaki were a knock outta the park. Similar to how Floyd likes making odd takoyaki concoctions, Tidus loves putting different things in okonomiyaki to see what works and doesnt.

Lázaro:

He has a pretty varied palate, but the one he just couldn't get into were fluffernutters (Peanut butter/marshmallow fluff sandwiches). Something others might think 'odd' he eats on the regular though, would be menudo, only because of the tripe.

The Janitor:

They motion that while they don't have a sense of taste, they do experience temperature differences and textures. Because of that, many a non-edible thing has been chewed on, with the one of the least preferred textures being non-neutonian fluid. AKA Gak/slime/putty. They describe it as squeaky, cold and sometimes grainy.

Aadesh:

He has had a chance to try a lot of things, being the closest underling to Mr. Khan. His consistent 'irregular' favorite is beef tar-tare. The strangest thing he's tried (and didn't like) was snake wine. He only choked it down at the insistence of Mr. Khan, one evening, having to feign an absence of utter disgust.

Jon Teach:

"Ahaha! Y'can eat most anything if ye fry it in enough butter and salt! The things ye can stomach, though, when the billfold's feeling a bit light and the fishin's been rough."

Mr. Khan:

Something he enjoys on a more regular basis is shark curry. He has tried sharkfin soup and birds nest soup, but prefers the greater substance in something like curry. The 'Strangest' thing he's ever consumed isn't something he'll put in his financial books. He has a taste for more 'exotic' meat. (Read: hard to obtain due to regulations or ethical concerns)