#this is me vomiting some interpretation on Blade

[kurim-chis]

For Destiny — HSR Blade

Blade is aggressive and violent - but not in the way you think he’d be. His aggression is cold and razor-focused like the blade he wields. His gaze is frigidly empty, there’s often no emotion you can glean from his eyes.

When he kills a monster, when he cuts down a human, when he’s facing down a Stellaron, when he’s sustaining what would be fatal wounds to another person - there’s no difference for Blade, who has sworn loyalty to Elio and sees himself as a weapon for their cause. Few things can provoke Blade and if someone has the misfortune of managing so and provoking his unrestrained hostility, the last thing they’d see are the wild eyes of a beast staring at them as their head falls off. But most of the time, Blade doesn’t concern himself with those he fights, he doesn’t care.

Death is unattainable and violence is the only thing left for Blade. There had been a time where he had been consumed in misery and agony over his state, but he’s long since stopped caring about it. There are moments of humanity in Blade, such as when he quietly goes along with whatever Kafka plans or has to suffer through babysitting Silver Wolf or the rare antagonistic quirk of his lips when he meets others. The sneer when he meets past acquaintances like Jing Yuan and the surfacing mockery in his gaze as he looks upon his old comrade, taunting him as ordered by Elio and seeing a twisted macabre tune to all of this.

Living for the determined prophecy gives him a purpose, it’s a debt he has to pay with his blood and pain, until the day Elio has promised him arrives (his death).

Hunting after that man is a grievance left unfinished, the hatred and rage towards him is another source of purpose that fills the void in Blade. (we are different types of immortals and i loathe you with all of my being are you going to die first or will i? which of our destinies will come to pass first? let me put you out of your misery before you truly understand eternity i loatheyoudespiseyouhateyouenvyyou—)

But hunting after that man quickly leaves Blade feeling absolutely miserable in the aftermath. Silver Wolf and sometimes Kafka come and dig his mangled body (more because of the environment than that man's fault) out of the pit of a star and they complain and tease Blade, but he ignores them at this point in time. Trying to put an end to that man's pitiful existence is exhilarating but failing to always do puts a bitter reminder in Blade's mouth. The emptiness that returns is worse, somehow more apparent and aching after tasting violent emotions like hatred, rage and bloodlust. It left Blade miserable, like one of the dolls Kafka has unwittingly bewitched, and he loathes it as much as sickelingly craves it -- it's both an unhealthy mechanism to ground himself and part of the orders Elio had given him, after all.

"Corner him until he has no place to go, only then will he go to the place he's meant to be," Elio had said. And thus he obediently, unwittingly herds the pitiful, infuriating man into the destiny chosen by Elio. Blade doesn't know any further information about that man, his location, or his use - probably to prevent his manic episodes from destroying that important location. The person Elio confides in the most is Kafka, but that is because the beautiful woman is a key player in the chosen destiny, holding a different role than Blade's, who is more than content to be a mere attack dog despite Elio asking him about his opinions.

He does know, however, that it has to do with the receptacle kept in hiding by Silver Wolf. That unmoving figure that Kafka often hovers over and asks about. The reason why Kafka would step up for the task if Blade could not and herd that man to the chosen destiny, by force if necessary (Blade thinks it will be a worse experience for the man if Kafka gets her impatient claws on him). The receptacle is the reason why Kafka won't allow mishaps to happen on the path for the "best future". There is little that would deter the longest-standing Stellaron Hunter from her duty, and one of the few things that can make her pause - as Blade notices through the years - is the mention of the receptacle.

“She’s my destiny,” Kafka once tells him, under the camouflage of the night as they travel the stars. She’s very similar to him, that woman — her gaze is vacant, distant, detached in her faux-friendliness and ominous to anyone who dares look deeper into that alluring sea of magenta. There's an abyss inside this woman. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for “her destiny”.

In her eyes, he sees she’d even murder for the sake of it and think nothing of it (he knows she has done so already). She had crushed broken civilizations and snuffed out the cancer of worlds in her obsession. Perhaps, like him once, she had been a beautiful young woman living normally on a distant star, who smiled and cried and laughed, alluring and enchanting to men and women alike. But all Blade can see now is madness and obsession compacted into one dainty, playful, vacant-eyed creature.

Kafka is an empty, ravenous doll, hungry for something in the distant future and greedy enough to fell kingdoms and stars for it.

Blade doesn’t understand Kafka’s little obsession with the receptacle, he’s never had the misfortune of coming in contact with her, but at the same time he does understand Kafka — and perhaps this is what had attracted him to her, to Elio, to the Stellaron Hunters on that fateful day.

If someone as empty and horrifyingly ravenous as Kafka could find a promised destiny, then Blade, as well, yearns for one.

He wishes to see a linchpin in his unending life, a meaning to his misery and violence and anger and hatred and immortality, something that can validate his existence.

Elio promises him a story. Elio promises him a purpose.

Just for that, Blade will become the sword that slaughters their enemies and snuffs the stars. He will murder, sabotage, slaughter, and carry all the wounds inflicted on him without another thought.

If it's for his purpose - his very own little "Destiny" - Blade will do anything.

.

[ceruark]

Welcome to my requests page!

Here are some general things to keep in mind when making a request:

All stories/headcanons will be written in second person POV. 

I will default to a gender-neutral reader, and use they/them pronouns if the reader is ever referred to in the third person. If you would like to make any specific requests regarding the reader’s gender and/or pronouns, please make them clear in your message.

I try to stay as close to canon as possible for most of these characters, but ultimately, my writing reflects my interpretation of the character. Please be understanding.

I will write yandere content. Yandere content includes elements of stalking, abduction, dub-con, etc. If this makes you uncomfortable, you may mute the “#yandere x reader” tag, or the “#ceru.yan” if you still wish to see my other content. However, if you find it would better suit you to mute or block me, please feel free to.

Disclaimer: Of course, I do not condone any of the actions or themes portrayed in these stories/headcanons in real life.

Do NOT interact with this blog if you are younger than 16. Do NOT interact with or request any NSFW content if you are younger than 18. If I find out you are violating either or both of these rules, I will block you.

You may request a scenario or headcanons for any character listed below:

Honkai: Star Rail: Acheron, Argenti, Aventurine, Black Swan, Blade, Boothill, Bronya, Dan Heng, Dr. Ratio, Gepard, Himeko, Jing Yuan, Jingliu, Kafka, Luocha, March 7th, Robin, Ruan Mei, Sampo, Seele, Serval, Sunday, Topaz

If you want a character to be portrayed as yandere, please make sure to indicate that in your request. Bolded characters are more likely to be accepted.

More fandoms may be added later, but currently, this is where my brain rot is.

I’m open to writing a lot of things, but here are list of things I will not write, under any circumstances:

Hard-NOs

P*dophilia, Inc*st, and Pseudo-Inc*st

N*crophilia, Z*ophilia

Hardcore kinks, or anything involving vomit, piss, or excrement

Non-Con (Dub-Con OK)

Please note that just because you submit a request, it does not mean I will fulfill it. My drive for writing entirely depends on how inspired I am by the idea, so there is no guarantee on when or if I’ll get a request done. Additionally, I’m still exploring what I am and am not comfortable writing outside of the things not on the ‘Hard-NOs’ list, so please be patient with me. I will not write something if I find it makes me uncomfortable, even if it is not on the list.

Thanks for making it this far! I look forward to seeing what you have for me :D

[chafelis]

RULES┊BFYI & DNI┊CHARACTER LIST

disclaimer ; as a writer i am not obligated to respond to asks if i don't want to answer them ! please do not act entitled in my inbox i will block you !

RULES ;

please have your age somewhere on your blog before interacting with me! it can be in your title or pinned post, i will block you if you don't! if you don't feel comfortable sharing your age publicly feel free to shoot me an anon ask with your age and username so that doesn't happen

after consideration i've decided this blog can be 17+ however i don't feel comfortable with minors engaging with my nsfw content ! i can't really regulate who actually consumes my content or know who lies about their age on the internet so this is my way of accepting that. i will however block minors that engage with any nsfw posts!

i write noncon, dubcon, & stepcest; these are all very triggering & i am doing it to get over my own trauma. i understand these are very triggering topics for many people & i hope you proceed carefully as you consume my content. you curate your internet experience and i set clear disclaimers on all my works.

as such i need you to understand i am not romanticizing abuse & rape and that you as a reader have to differentiate what i am writing from reality. don't come into my inbox acting as morality police you will be blocked!

DNI ;

basic dni criteria, hoyoverse dick riders ( don't get me started on sumeru defenders please block me if you think hoyo being blatantly colorist and racist is okay )

i write gender-neutral readers with occasional afab inserts in some nsfw posts. try your best not to send in highly gendered asks unless i have expressed interest in such as it makes me feel dysphoric.

i highly appreciate feedback!! i won't sugarcoat one of the reasons i abandoned @/99-nct because i wasn't getting feedback on my posts which sounds silly but it really isn't. i put out content for free and to have the likes and no reblogs is disheartening. the number of followers is insignificant to me unless people engage with my work. i want to know if you enjoyed my writing, if you didn't like it, and how can i do better ? i'm not an unfeeling robot and enjoy chatting so don't feel afraid to send in asks. i also enjoy helping people out with genshin so feel no shame in asking for advice!

CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR ;

GENSHIN

i won't write for characters like klee, diona, qiqi, sayu, nahida, or yaoyao!! i also see fischl as a minor and as such won't really write anything for her. i see the rest of the genshin cast as young adults, we may have different headcanons so don't bring age discourse on this blog. genshin purposefully keeps ages ambiguous to cater to a large audience and we all have our own interpretations of characters, and it's important to note that i see the travelers as adults and will write nsfw content of them.

current favorites ; kazuha, wanderer / scaramouche, xiao, ayato, lumine, yae miko, raiden shogun / ei, alhaitham, wriothesley, arlecchino

HONKAI STAR RAIL

i obviously will not write for characters like bailu clara and hook! i see yanqing, qingque, and lynx as teens and they don't tug my neurons so sorry, unless they act as an enabler to another relationship i won't write anything! i'm confused on pela's age ... mihoyo isn't good at keeping track of their timeline so she is off the table for now ( sorry pela enjoyers ) and i have no thoughts on arla & asta ... they are cute but i'm not interested in writing for them

current favorites ; blade, jingyuan, kafka, astral express crew, luocha, jingliu, topaz, any of the aeons ( i haven't figured out how to fuck a concept but trust when i say i will find a way ) yukong, phantylia, sampo

DON'T SEND ME ASKS WITH ;

i won't touch ddlg & age play, scat, watersports, vore, race play, beastiality, vomit, mommy / daddy, yandere! reader, or explicit pedophilia, and some others things that aren't coming to mind right now. i will probably add to this list because i occasionally get asks that make me feel uncomfortable.

[mishkakagehishka]

Les Artistes Maudits

A big thank you to @meowyoi, whether you like it or not, this wouldn't have existed without you and your enabling motivating and exchanging ideas with me <3

Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Pairing: I didn't write with any in mind, but one can definitely interpret it as Shumika;;;; Word count: 988 Summary: The "concept" for a Valkyrie serial killers AU - just what it says on the tin. Though still working as the idol unit Valkyrie under Cosmic Production, Shu and Mika recently discovered they share a... hobby. And Shu decides to show him the artistic value in killing, you know, as a bonding activity.

Warnings: unrealistic and gratuitous violence, body horror (of the "stuff that should be inside is outside" flavour), descriptions of vomiting and gore, blood, death. Let me know if I missed anything.

"Unruly. Careless, disorganised, devoid of any artistic intent or value. How could you even hope to stand by my side as an equal with this... atrocious work?" "Ngah... I'm really tryin' my best, though..." "Well, your best is not good enough. After all this, you are still naught but a failure. Give me the knife." The disgusting squelching of a blade cutting skin, tearing flesh, sliding through wet tissue seemed louder than it actually was in the deep silence of the night. "Of course a useless whelp like you wouldn't even know how to wield a knife properly." "'M sorry, o-" "Be quiet! In the first place, it is your fault that we were seen. We could have had the police called on us, then what would have happened?! Now you just continue blabbering, on and on, do you want the neighbours to become suspicious, too?"

"Watch," he continued, "watch how little blood I’ve gotten on me. And now look at yourself - as if a pig exploded here. Sloppy. Messy. Inexperienced." True to his words, though the victim's neck was now sliced open, blood coating his throat, chest and clothes, the only filthy part of his own body were the tips of his fingers. His clothes pristine, yet his knife dripping. By contrast, his companion was covered in blood head to toe - literally. A result of the victim fighting back, coupled with the darkness in which he was as blind as a bat, the blood was a mix of the victim's as much as his own. Apologetic as he was, he made no sound. He knew that his Teacher was right. Compared to the clean cut over the larynx that rendered this person into the corpse it was at that moment, the brutish gashes that covered the victim’s arms and face were a result of swinging the knife blindly in the darkness. "You are in no way talented in this field, but... I suppose if I could have taught you the art of music, I can teach you this more undervalued art form, as well."

And he watched. Sitting on his knees, quiet as a bug, he watched his Teacher sliding the knife through the corpse's chest - starting between the clavicles and finishing by his pelvis. He cut him open, still careful not to get any more blood on himself than necessary, but when he set the knife down, some of that vigilance was set down alongside it. Rolling up his sleeves, he tore open the gash, spreading the skin apart until the organs were in sight. His companion squirmed for a moment, the stench nearly making him gag, but he stayed quiet. Obedient. The sound of snapping, the ribs were broken, spread apart. "Come here." The Teacher held his bloodied hand out, and the protégé took it eagerly. "Take the intestines out." "Are ya sure? Wha' if I mess up..?" "You won't. I'll guide your hands." "I dunno 'bout this," he stuttered out as his Teacher, true to his words, guided his hands into the corpse's guts, "'M not use'ta... this close to..."

A bout of sudden dizziness, he lost his sight momentarily, as well as his lunch. The stench accompanied with the sounds, the textures, the feeling of his hands digging through a person's guts, slimy, wet, rough. Truly, he wasn't used to it. It all resulted in retching, spitting remnants of vomit on the floor besides the corpse, his entire body convulsing and hands instinctively tightening around the guts, breaking them in places. His Teacher's hands still calmly covering his, he was waiting for his fit to end. Once the sputtering turned to dry heaving, he continued, "You'll get used to it. Take the knife, take the intestines out, and-" "Can't-" He shook his head, tears in his eyes and still trying to catch his breath. "You can. I will help you. This is barely any different from what you've been doing until now, it is only slightly more... hands-on. Be quick now. We shall create art together, and we'll force all the world to behold it."

They worked together, stripping the body of its organs, piece by piece, and elaborately, intricately drawing patterns on the floor with the innards and blood. It was artistic in a sick, perverse way. From the positioning of the organs to the carefully planned splatters, the soul of an artist was present in every detail. Circles, symbols, broken bones and dripping blood, the corpse positioned as a doll, silent, beautiful, glassy eyes and a forever-locked-in youth. The victim’s own heart carefully positioned in his arms, as if cradling a child. Perhaps symbolic of something only known to the two accursed artists. It was only when the Teacher was satisfied, blood now coating his forearms up to his elbows, that they deemed it right to leave.

"You did well tonight. You still have a lot to learn, and you're most ungraceful in your ways, but you have improved somewhat from the drab methods I first saw you use. For that, you deserve a modicum of praise, I suppose. However, your stomach is far too weak for this artform. We must work on that." “Y're right. ’M sorry I ain’t nowhere near yer level, but I’ll get better, I promise!”

But their conversation was soon interrupted. Sirens. Cars were pulling up nearby. Looks like they weren’t as quiet as they had thought. With one shared look and a nod of understanding, they began preparing for an escape. “Put your hood and mask back up,” the Teacher commanded, fixing his own disguise. “Un. Let’s go through the back; we can hide in them woods ‘n take the long way home.” “Not a bad idea. Come, Kagehira, it is time for us to take our leave. We still have more blessings to bestow on this world, it would be a shame should our work be cut short here.” “Yes, Oshi-san.”

[twsty-lav]

@Yuus I heard rumors that the Leech family is probably involved in some sort of mermaid mafia stuff because of the twins’ birthday stories. Relatives and family friends giving them gifts to get on their family’s good side and signing contracts with their dad to say that giving them gifts do not have any hidden agenda??? Suspicious

Floyd’s cute though ngl even though he acts like a very clingy and moody cat. Also the nickname giving is kind of cute. Still an a**hole though. Jade??? He’s “nice” I guess. His mushroom hobby is adorable. Not as cute as Floyd though. Also an a**hole.

Also does Floyd all call you guys Shrimpy??? I was expecting more variety especially with promised twst! Yuu. Shrimpy sounds a bit TOO casual you know what I’m saying?

“The Leech twins? Again? Urgh.”

“Aw, c’mon... At least we get to talk, right?”

“Yeah, yeah! I can’t wait! It’s gonna be so cool!”

“... Yustine, can you be a little bit quieter...? My eardrums...”

“Please be a little quieter.”

“Now, now. We’re about to start. Line up, everyone.” 

1. Quinn Yu (LB! Yuu)

“What? Seriously? I couldn’t tell what was going on at all! Is that what he said, for real? You’re not pulling my leg, right?” Quinn says, face scrunching up in confusion. It appears as if they don’t really know how to feel about it in the slightest. “... I mean, even if it’s real, maybe they’re just careful... Or something. Besides, doesn’t Azul do the contract thing too? Well, as long as they don’t try and do something with me, I don’t really care... I think. Probably. I’ll just be careful around their parents, if I ever meet them.” They nod to themselves reassuringly.

“I mean, I like them! They’re not that bad. Floyd is fun to hang out with, although that might be because I just go along with whatever he’s doing. Jade... Is kind of scary, but I don’t think I’ve gotten on his bad side just yet. Also, I don’t know anything about shrimp, but Floyd always calls me ‘koebi-chan’... Rude. At least use ‘san’ at the end instead...” Quinn huffs in indignation. “I’m not short!”

(”... Should we tell them that ‘shrimp’ and ‘koebi’ mean the same thing?”

“Nah, nah, it’s funny.”)

.

2. Yustine Gibson (Protag!Yuu)

Yustine shakes their head, frowning. “Whaaat? Really? No way, he never said anything about mafia! I’m sure their dad’s just paranoid! Or maybe they just wanna be real clear about it!” They insist in earnest, practically jumping up and down. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors like that, you know! It’s no good to speak bad about people behind their backs! ‘Sides, Jade’s pretty nice, so I’m sure their parents are good folk, too.”

(In the distance, Jade... feels oddly guilty about something. Haha, just kidding.)

“See? You agree with me! Jade’s nice! And if he’s nice, he can’t be a meanie, right...?” A pause. “Wait--Um, I don’t get what you’re saying anymore...” Yustine blinks at you in confusion, looking somewhat like a lost, forlorn little puppy. 

How could you do this to them. 

... You tell them not to think on it too hard. “Oh, okay!” They perk back up happily. “Does Floyd call me shrimp? Nop-e! He usually calls me flying-fishie, or something like that. He says it’s ‘cause I jump around alot! Which is true! Cause it’s fun!” Yustine laughs brightly. “Hmm... Maybe I should give him a nickname, too?”

(”Please don’t.”

“... Like Yuuya said, it’s probably better if you don’t.”)

.

3. Yuuya (NoRES!Yuu)

“Remind me to never go underwater. Not that I was planning to, but... Double remind me to never go underwater.” Yuuya sighs. “I’m not risking my skin any more than I have to already... Well, even if they are doing something weird, I’ll just keep my nose out of it. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine! Haha! Hahaha! Ha!” 

You give them a moment. 

Eventually, the (only slightly) hysterical laughter stops. “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. Cute? Nice? Ugh... I mean, they act nice... But I don’t like being near them any longer than I have to... Well, I guess there was that one time they had to throw me off the nearest bridge, cause of Jamil? So I’m grateful. I think.” Yuuya pulls a face, face twisting. “Anyways, whatever. As for nicknames? They just call me shrimpy. Yep.”

.

4. Yulia (Mama!Yuu)

“Oh, really? Fascinating. I might have to look into it. Thank you for the information.” Yulia smiles gratefully, dipping her head in a half-curtsy. “Oddly enough, I never heard of it before. But then again, perhaps the Leeches are more on guard with me than the others.” The ‘others’ being the Yuus, that is. “Well, as long as they’re not in power aboveground.” Or dealing with human flesh. 

Then they might have problems.

Yulia seems a little surprised at your description of Floyd. “Clingy? I suppose his squeezing could be interpreted that way. He is rather moody, though. Is that something that is considered ‘catlike’? I’ve only met one cat in my life--And Grim doesn’t seem like the typical feline.” She admits. “Leech Junior... I like dealing with him more, but I like him less as a character. Adorable is not exactly the word I’d use for him.” 

“The nicknames? Oh, I’ve heard him refer to me as a ‘sand tiger shark’... But not particularly to my face, actually. A shark... I can’t help but feel a little pleased.” Yulia giggles, eyes curving in humor.

You wonder if either of them know that sand tiger sharks are known for fraternal cannibalism.

... 

(You decide not to ask.)

.

5. Yuel (Yancheck!Yuu)

Yuel squints at a blade of grass by their feet, clearly disinterested. “Huh? Oh, that... I mean, I guess it’s sketchy, but they also break into my bedroom every other weekend... So it’s not exactly alarming. Or suspicious. At least, not in comparison.” They shrug lazily. “I don’t really have an opinion on them by themselves, either. Sometimes I mix them up... They don’t like it very much. They’re just... Kind of a set, aren’t they? Mushroom man and Squeezy.” Jazz hands.

“Oh, they just call me Angelfish... Cause y’know... Angel. Fish. Not really creative, if you ask me.” 

They... Seem a little disappointed. Hmm.

(Yuuya gags. “Oh, god, I think I’m gonna vomit.”

“It’s not that bad. I think it’s sweet. Um, without the kidnapping part! Kidnapping is illegal, kids!”)

.

6. Yukio (Magirl!Yuu)

“I remember that. I’m concerned, honestly.” Yukio grumbles, twirling a lock of pink hair between their fingers, “Their parents are mafia... Seriously, is everyone related to NRC doing something shady?” 

A pause. 

Yukio coughs. “Don’t answer that. Anyways, it’s totally suspicious! And it’s crazy that nobody else in this room is worried about it! I’m not being paranoid, right? Right?” They look pleadingly to you for support, now tugging at the strands curled around their hand. “They’re so scary... I don’t wanna be drowned under the sea... One time, when they got summoned instead of Azul? Jade gave me a look, and I swear... My life flashed before my eyes! Ah, I want to cry...” Yukio buries their face in their hands.

“Ah. I just remembered. Floyd calls me pygmy. Like the seahorse. Cause they’re pink. And small. Ah. Ah. I seriously gonna cry...” 

[mad-mage]

TW: attempted suicide, violence, allusion to gore and minor character death

My name is Bruce Morgan, I’m 24 and throughout most of my life I’ve felt little to no emotion. This doesn’t impact life much, in my opinion. It just makes it so that none of my decisions can be negatively affected by emotions, which can be incredibly misfortunate as I interpret. So you could imagine my… what was it called? Surprise? Right, “surprise”. You could imagine my surprise when yesterday, after waking up, I felt something… light, fluffy, followed by my mind being flooded with absolutely revolting images that I don’t wish to describe here. You’ll have to imagine them yourself, just know that they should only induce feelings of fear and absolute disgust. Yet, as I knelt before my toilet, waiting for the inevitable stream of vomit to come spewing forth, I felt my mouth contort into the form of those smiles people wore when “happy” as I thought back upon those cursed images of a twisted cor-

…

You know what, I’m not going to erase that. We’ve too much to get onto. Now, once I was done with my stay in the bathroom, I decided that I should probably go to the local bakery and pick up some cupcakes. Red velvet, if you’re wondering. They’re my favorite. And perhaps by fate, or maybe complete chance, I met the girl I saw that morning. Sarah was apparently her name, and she was rather polite and was also there picking up cupcakes, red velvet as well. It was odd for sure, seeing this polite woman with similar taste in sweets that I saw in disturbing images earlier that morning and I almost asked for her number to keep in contact with this peculiar stranger. Maybe in another life I might have dated her, but that’s not important. What is important is that when I got home I felt something truly strange, a heavy, oppressive emotion and a sharp pain along my wrists accompanied with the sensation of a warm liquid dripping down my arm. I immediately assumed that I had somehow cut myself and checked my wrist. To my surprise, there was nothing there, no cuts, no marks, and no blood. But then, for only a moment, my surroundings changed, taking the appearance of a dank prison cell, with me gazing at the bloodstained sleeve of a prison uniform holding a razor blade. And then, my standard home and ordinary outfit returned and the pain and that strange feeling vanished, leaving behind only a slight curiosity. The rest of the day went uneventfully and I decided that I would go to sleep.

When I woke, I was once again greeted with disturbing images, a new person being the subject of these ones, and that feeling of “joy”, but that would be the least of my concerns for the morning, as shortly after I was done vomiting I was walking back to my bedroom and collapsed. It felt like my ankle was somehow broken despite the fact that it looked perfectly fine, so I texted my boss telling him I couldn’t make it in today because “I’m feeling incredibly sick” and turned off my phone. Moments later, my vision warped back to that of the cell from last night, but my wrists were bandaged and I wasn’t alone this time. This time there were two other men, tall, muscular, and looking like your stereotypical thugs, and here I was on the floor with a broken fucking ankle. The next couple minutes were filled with me getting the shit beaten out of me, a few words escaped my lips that weren’t mine. I didn’t hear them, but whatever they were only made my attackers angrier before they decided that I had been beaten thoroughly enough. A few moments after they left, I was returned to my home with no more pain and no more… whatever else I felt during those moments. That was a couple hours ago, and I’m wondering…

Has anyone else experienced something like this?

[ladymacbethsspot]

Humanity’s Strongest

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Happy SNK Veteran’s Secret Santa, @tonya-the-chicken !!! I hope you enjoy this Mike + Levi gen fic (it’s kind of an enemies to friends <3).

Either read under the cut here, or also on AO3- Humanity’s Strongest (6k words, so, yeah... haha)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mike Zacharias was a stooge. A clod. A big man with a big nose and a big yell and not much else. He did what Erwin told him, always, sniffing in that awful way of his, like he couldn’t even breathe without permission. He’d shoved Levi’s face in the filth one too many times, and Levi had met far too many men like him before.

They all thought they were so strong.

They all thought they were so big.

They all thought they could throw their weight around without consequence and rely on their friends in high places to get them out of anything.

That’s what Levi thought.

He thought it when they first met. With mud seeping down the front of his shirt, with foul-tasting grit between his teeth, with the smells of waste and rot making his stomach flip and the bile rise- He couldn’t think anything else. He hated that hand, the one that held him down. He hated the strength pinning him to the ground. He hated the man forcing him to kneel to the falsest of prophets.

The hate was sharp, urgent, and bright. But its light dimmed when his friends died for it. And when he’d decided to follow Erwin Smith into the Scouts, the flame of hate guttered and went dark.

~

Life with the Scouts was unfamiliar, but some things hadn’t changed. Levi still couldn’t sleep. He still carried a blade. He still ignored everyone and they ignored him. He kept his head down, spoke little, and did only what he was ordered to do. He trained, he worked, and he sat through the beginners’ lectures with a bored half-attention.

It wasn’t long before it became routine. It was either that, the simple passage of time, or the fact that Levi had faced nearly everyone on the training field hand to hand. He’d always been good at fighting, good at hurting. Levi found it much more effective than talking. It worked wonders above-ground just as it did in the Underground. The glares of his fellow soldiers were less frequent. The whispers and rumors lost their more fantastic elements. He didn’t confuse them anymore now that he was one of them. They’d seen his tricks, and they weren’t tricks at all. There was no magic, no mystery, only force.

But he still scared them, that much he would never be able to beat out of them. It didn’t work like that, and Levi was at a loss. The way the other soldiers fell quiet, or turned away, like birds moving as a flock to avoid a hawk, had grown to be part of Levi’s routine. He accepted it. It suited him. He didn’t have to hold anyone at arm’s length; they held themselves there.

Except for three people: Erwin, Mike, and Hanji. Hanji had been the first to pester him. They’d come over and sat themselves right down, inviting themselves to eat with him even when Levi had thought it was clear they weren’t welcome. They’d had some decency though, saying they were sorry for the friends he’d lost, and Levi hadn’t bothered to chase them away. His lack of hostility apparently interpreted as an invitation, Hanji had made a habit after that of introducing terrified-looking people to Levi, of dragging him into awkward conversations, and of catching him sneaking out of the mess hall with his bread and insisting he sit with them.

Hanji was loud. And a chatterbox. Curious, enthusiastic, and scatterbrained, it was almost more agonizing to listen to their latest experimental results than it was to go hungry. One night, already late on his way to dinner, Levi wondered if he should even go at all. The food probably wouldn’t be hot anymore anyway. He could skip a meal. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and he’d be starving in the morning, but he wasn’t sure how much speculation on the Titans’ digestive tract he could take that night. Levi paused, a few feet away from the mess hall entrance, wavering on the edge of the circle of lamp-lit glow and hum of voices emanating from within. He could go back to the barracks. He could head over to the stables. He could take a walk outside, in the night, in blissful silence, or-

“You coming?”

A deep voice from behind made Levi turn. He looked up, and up, briefly meeting a pair of light, cool eyes looking down a long nose at him.

Mike’s shaggy hair needed to be brushed. His uniform shirt was sweaty and coming untucked. As the big man sniffed, Levi frowned. His jaw set, lips pressing shut in a thin line. Before he could speak, Mike continued.

“Hey,” Mike said, “Let’s eat.”

The much larger man nodded towards the hall and took a step forward. As he passed Levi he leaned over, a quiet explanation sliding down his nose and catching Levi’s ear. “I have questions for Hanji. It’ll keep them occupied.” Mike didn’t have to wink. He didn’t have to nudge, or even break his stride as he headed into the mess for dinner. Levi felt the weight of his indecision lifted, the tension of his scowl smoothing to neutral relief. Wordlessly, he followed Mike. Not too close, but not too far, letting a few steps separate them and their cadence lag just beyond a match, he walked with Mike to dinner.

Potatoes. Peas. Bread. The water in his tin cup tasted flat, all flavor boiled from it, but Levi’s stomach growled loudly anyway as he put a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. If not hot it was at least decently warm, and Levi hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He trained a lot now, even more than he had as a criminal, and every bite of food was welcome. Levi dug in, alternating bites of bread and peas, efficiently cleaning his plate faster than he had in weeks. Mike had been true to his word. Hanji was occupied, and he was free to eat without interruption.

“Wait, what do they smell like, though?” Hanji repeated, prodding Mike in the ribs. Levi thanked the gods silently that he wasn’t the one being interrogated for once.

“Bad. Stop poking me,” Mike grumbled.

“Bad? Bad?! That doesn’t mean anything. Do Titans smell ‘bad’ like dirty socks? ‘Bad’ like moldy bread? What kind of ‘bad’?” As Hanji ticked off the unappealing possibilities, Levi found his appetite waning. “Do they smell like dog shit? Or maybe like…” Levi chased the peas around his plate.

“Like…” Mike trailed off, his unshakeable calm enviable as he stared into the middle distance while Hanji practically vibrated in the seat next to them. “Well, a little like vomit,” he admitted.

Levi’s stomach twinged. A wave of nausea lapped at the back of his throat. He looked up from his food, shooting them both a glare across the table, immediately doubting his temporary peace with Mike. The man had been messing with him. He hadn’t meant to be friendly at all. He’d merely lulled Levi into a false sense of security. Then he’d lured him into this trap. “That’s disgusting. Could you not?” Levi accused.

“It’s not disgusting,” Hanji insisted, “it’s valuable information! Tell me more. I need to know more about the scent if I’m going to learn anything from it.” They leaned over, crowding Mike’s space as he shifted away on the bench.

“Bad meat. They smell like that.”

“Disgusting,” Levi muttered, trying to will himself to take another bite of peas, fighting the rising feelings of revulsion and betrayal.

“Spoiled? Rancid? Is it more of a sour smell or a musky one? I’m trying to capture the specifics of it. I know you’re the expert, Mike, so tell me, what does your nose know? Are we talking about a gamey scent, like some kind of animal that died and sat out in the sun until-”

This was too much. He would not be treated like this. Holding back a burp that threatened to be more, Levi slammed his spoon down on his plate. Metal banged together with a ringing clack, jumping against the wooden table, peas and bits of potato sent flying. “Shut up!” he roared, the outburst punctuated by a splat as a lump of flying potato landed squarely on Hanji’s goggles.

The silence that followed was nearly complete. Levi glared at Hanji. Hanji stared, open mouthed, right back. The rest of the hall’s dull chatter around them had run dry. And Mike- Mike-

Mike fucking snorted. He snorted, and gasped, and barked a laugh as his shoulders shook. Levi’s glare turned from Hanji to him. The quick burst was followed by hearty chuckling, the occasional nasal snort making Hanji join in as they whooped along. Wiping the potato from their goggles sent Hanji into a fresh fit of glee, and they slapped Mike on the back. Their laughter grew as Levi watched on, lips clamped shut, as the two continued in fits and spurts of uncontained mirth. They had fucking set him up. It was not funny. It was disgusting. His appetite and dinner both ruined, Levi stood from the bench and crossed his arms as he looked down at them.

“You think this is funny?” Levi hissed. Mike looked back at him through dirty-blonde bangs that shook between chuckles.

“Levi-” he started, but Levi cut him off.

“This is a fucking waste. People were eating,” he deadpanned, and picked up his dented plate, turning on his heel and marching toward the kitchen with the remains of his meal. He thought he heard Hanji’s voice, but he didn’t stop walking. Levi didn’t stop, and he didn’t look back. He went straight into the kitchen, where they returned their plates and spoons and cups, and frowned at the spoon imbedded in what remained of his potatoes.

The meal was ruined. But Levi couldn’t bear to scrape it into the bin with the garbage either. He’d been hungry before. Food was food. Reluctantly, Levi picked the spoon’s handle out of the mess and scraped what remained of his dinner off his plate, forcing himself to swallow it without thinking of any of the things Hanji or Mike had mentioned. He managed, barely, and didn’t care about the clatter as he threw his dishes in with the rest.

~

Levi didn’t go to breakfast the next morning. Instead he waited, leaning against the cold stone in the hallway, until the sounds of forks and cups on plates and wooden tables grew quiet. He let the soldiers pass by him on their way out. They gave him a wide berth, moving around him once they saw him, their conversations dying on their lips as they shot him furtive glances. When Mike and Nanaba walked out, Levi was done waiting.

Stepping into the middle of the hall, he greeted them roughly.

“Oi, Zacharias.”

“Levi,” Mike nodded casually, his steps even as they approached. If he expected Levi to step aside, or move back, if he thought Levi would fall in step with them- he was wrong. Levi’s jaw set into a hard line. His eyes narrowed. As the distance between them closed, he crossed his arms. Until Mike and Nanaba were forced to stop. Levi frowned up at them. Nanaba’s raised brows lowered after a look between the two men.

“Huh,” Mike grunted, “What’s this about?”

“Spar with me,” Levi demanded.

“What?” Nanaba asked, momentarily confused.

“Today,” Levi clarified, his eyes trained on Mike’s face. Nanaba caught the meaning in his gaze, and opened her mouth, protests flowing out.

“Mike’s squad is doing horseback drills today. He doesn’t have time for that. Besides, you’re supposed to be doing something useful, too. You’re a soldier. Where’s your sense of duty?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Levi interjected. The look of indignation on Nanaba’s face lasted only a second before it turned dark.

“Yes, it does. It concerns everyone. We are a team,” she added, “I thought you understood that. Especially after Erwin-”

Mike’s hand on her shoulder stopped her from saying more. “It’s fine. I’ll spar with you, Levi. At lunchtime.” The pause that followed let them all digest the acceptance of the invitation. Nanaba’s shoulders dropped slightly, relaxing under Mike’s touch. She gave a quiet sigh.

“Good,” Levi nodded curtly. “Meet at the field on the far side of the pond. Hand to hand. No gear. No weapons.”

“No tricks?” Mike asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Honestly,” Nanaba rolled her eyes, her anger already faded to irritation “you two are acting like boys. I’ll have no part of it.” With that she shook her head, setting off down the hall and leaving the two men to finish their glaring contest alone.

~

No one stopped Levi when he left drills early. If they even noticed, they said nothing as he stalked back into the ready room where they kept their 3d maneuver equipment. No one interrupted him as he undid the buckles, shucking leather belts off with practiced efficiency. After one final check of the gears and pins, he stored his equipment away, leaving just before his comrades returned from the training yard. He crossed the grounds of headquarters quickly, making his way by the pastures and training fields, beyond the barn, through the path between the kitchen gardens, and to the pond near the edge of the complex. It was a long way to go, but Levi didn’t run. He didn’t jog or rush in any way. He walked calmly, assuredly, with only the faintest glimmer of excitement picking his steps a little higher than usual.

He could see Mike, already waiting for him in the small field. The man was so tall, he was impossible to miss. He cut a large figure, even from a distance, but the thought of facing him didn’t intimidate Levi. It excited him. That was unusual. He’d fought plenty of men before, women too. But fighting was usually something he did to survive. It wasn’t special. It wasn’t noble. He wasn’t trying to prove anything with his fists and his knife.

But this time he was. This time it was personal. He could almost smell the stench of mud, taste the foul mix of water and waste.

He owed Mike- for that if nothing else.

“You said no weapons, right?” Mike cracked his knuckles as Levi stopped in front of him. “Bet you’ve got at least one knife on you. Here’s mine,” he finished, reaching into the back of his belt and pulling out a pocketknife. He dropped it on the ground between them, looking to Levi.

“Huh. Sure,” Levi shrugged. He undid the visible leather sheath from the side of his belt. Rolling up his sleeve, he slid a second knife from a band around his upper arm, and before Mike could raise an eyebrow produced a third that had been concealed at his back. Tossing the assortment of blades onto the ground, he rolled his shoulders.

“That it? How about that little hooked bugger…”

Levi frowned, shooting Mike a look of spite when he saw the blond’s stoic expression turn smug. “Not like I’d need it anyway,” he muttered, but still he bent down, reaching into his boot and plucking the long, thin, wickedly hooked piece of sharpened steel from its hiding place. That too dropped into the grass as the men walked a few yards away and squared off. They faced each other, letting the space between them take shape. Levi shifted on the balls of his feet, never settling as he let out a long breath-

-and Mike ran-

couching down, he barreled toward Levi’s chest. The instant of surprise evaporated, Levi’s instincts taking over instead. He stepped wide to the left, turning slightly, raising his arm and letting Mike pass just by his side. Mike’s arms closed on nothing, the explosive start taking him a few steps to slow. He pivoted, foot driving hard into the ground to turn as he came at Levi with a fist.

But this time Levi wasn’t surprised.

He dodged the punch, ducking to throw one of his own. Aiming for Mike’s ribs, under his raised arm, his fist found flesh. Hard- solid- it was like hitting a wall. Levi’s teeth gritted. Mike hadn’t flinched. His eyes had closed for a second longer, but there was no crumple, no stutter. He kept moving, like the punch hadn’t landed at all. Pulling his other arm back, Levi tried again. Taking more time to aim, gauging where Mike’s ribs ended, he leaned back. Throwing the weight of his back and the momentum of the short turn into his blow, Levi lunged.

Mike’s shoulder hunched down defensively. His arms came up, forearms pressing together, creating a wall. A wall that Levi’s fist slammed into. This time he felt Mike’s muscles jump, watched him wince in pain, his arms forced back as they took the full brunt of the punch.

It was almost all Levi had. It was still barely enough.

There was no time to recover. They had both done this too many times before. Mike rocked forward, his foot swiping out at Levi’s legs at the same time. Trying to confuse his footing, tangle his steps and trip him, Mike fought dirtier than expected. But dirty was exactly how Levi had learned to fight. His weight light, barely resting on the balls of his feet, Levi deftly avoided the trap. The second lunge he would have avoided too if Mike hadn’t been so huge. But he only had time for one more step- and his shorter legs didn’t bring him far enough.

Mike’s hip banged into his side, the unstoppable force of the man’s weight making his teeth clack. The pain was dull. Pounding. It reverberated up and down his side, from hip to shoulder, sending him staggering back. Mike wasn’t about to take just take a punch- he could give as well as he got. That, and Levi knew he’d have to put all his strength into each strike or Mike wouldn’t budge. There was no point in hitting if he didn’t hit hard. Luckily Mike’s weight and size could help there. Levi could use those to his advantage, could turn them against his opponent. He just needed to find the right angles.

Levi was starting to enjoy this.

When the two men turned back to one another their fight had changed. Both of them were serious. Mike struck out with his left, and Levi dodged it, anticipating the punch that followed from the right and turning with it to grab ahold of Mike’s wrist. He followed the larger man’s momentum, adding his own and directing it towards the ground. Pulling Mike over his shoulder, he dragged the man forward. A smaller opponent would have gone face-first into the ground. Damn Mike’s height- his knee hit the earth, but he was back up in a second, coming at Levi with a powerful swing. Levi could only half-avoid it. Glancing off the outside of his thigh, his brows knit as he pushed the flare of pain from his thoughts.

Instead Levi focused on hitting back. And he did, coming up to Mike as close as quarters would allow. Taking advantage of his small size, getting right up into his face before Mike could react, Levi knocked a flurry of punches into his chest. They hit in rapid succession, the sound of his fist slamming against Mike’s body satisfying- almost addicting. Levi jumped back, and Mike followed him. Right on his heels, giving him little time to react, they traded steps and blows in the dirt. Neither giving much quarter; their fight was a contained one, fast-paced and fierce.

Levi’s blood sang in his veins. The thrill of sparring like this was rare. A worthy opponent was hard to find, and as they traded blows Levi began to appreciate Mike’s abilities. He took a bone-shaking hit to his hip, but let himself be pushed back with it, the force spreading and diffusing. The unexpected lack of resistance made Mike pause. As he did, Levi bounced back, landing a sharp kick in the middle of his shin. Mike swore pain and surprise obvious as his leg buckled and he stumbled.  Rearing back, he wound up for a hasty punch. His aim too wide, wavering wider as he tried to follow through on his injured leg, Levi used the opening. He grabbed Mike, getting enough grip to finally throw him down.

The victory was short-lived. Mike rolled as he fell and was back up before Levi could hit him again. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Levi’s heart beating in his ears, the air he pulled deep into his lungs, the striking clarity with which he felt every muscle in his body. Strike. Breathe. Dodge. Levi’s focus narrowed to a point.

The two men circled. Levi shook out his shoulder. He rolled his sleeves up and Mike did too. They were both breathing heavy.

“You’re not bad at this,” Levi offered.

“Humanity’s Strongest,” Mike just nodded, the confidence clear in his voice.

“Humanity’s what?” Levi repeated.

“Humanity’s Strongest. That’s what they call me.”

“Whatever,” Levi scoffed. “Hope you enjoyed it. Since now they’ll only be calling you Humanity’s Second Strongest.”

“Ha-” Mike barked a laugh, “We’ll see.”

The two men rushed at each other, feet pounding the ground between them to nothing. Their furious limbs met, trading and blocking each other’s moves. Sweat dripped on their brows. Their muscles bunched and flexed, pitting force against force as they clashed. Both men were strong. Both men were fast. Both men had experience.

But Levi had more.

When Mike swayed forward, following through too much on a punch, Levi’s arm wrapped around his thick neck in a chokehold. Levi grabbed his other wrist, trapping Mike’s neck between his elbow and shoulder. He squeezed tight. Mike’s arms flailed. Levi knew he had only a few seconds, and sure enough Mike’s arms his waist, wrapping around it. Mike’s grip was awkward, but strong. They both squeezed, trying to crush the other, Levi bearing down hard, knowing he could only keep the force on Mike’s neck as long as he could breathe himself. His ribs were being compressed, Mike’s big arms pushing the air from his lungs, even as his forearm cut deeper into Mike’s windpipe. They struggled for seconds that felt like minutes, straining against each other.

As Levi felt Mike’s grip beginning to fade he looked down into the man’s face.

“I can’t- fucking- believe- you set me up,” he hissed.

“Wh-wha?” Mike choked out. His strength was failing. The pressure on his ribs easing, Levi gulped down a deep breath.

“With that shit at dinner,” he explained, “Who the fuck cares what a Titan smells like? You think that’s funny? Wasting food like that?”

“No- didn’t- set you- up-” Mike gasped, his mouth opening and closing against Levi’s arm as the words rasped out. Levi’s grip failed, loosening for just long enough for Mike to slip free. He lurched away, putting much more space between them, his breaths wheezing as Levi also fell back.

Mike’s denial was frustrating. And confusing. Just like everything. Who did he think he was- messing with Levi like that and expecting it wouldn’t come back to him? Levi frowned, his hands balling into fists, nails digging into his palms. He wasn’t going to let this continue. He was going to settle this the way he knew best- with his own two hands. Levi looked up, staring down the shaggy-haired giant across the field from him. With a deep breath he squared his shoulders, crouching down low, bending his knees and rocking back before he exploded forward into a run. Just as he started to move, so did Mike. Rushing at him headlong, his posture just as serious as Levi’s.

They raised their arms, distance closing quickly.

They cried out, twin yells loud in challenge.

They threw every ounce of their focus, their aim, and their strength at each other until-

“STOP!” a man’s deep voice shouted. Levi’s head snapped to the side fast enough to see a flash of blond hair and the flutter of a brown uniform jacket.

But not fast enough to stop.

Shit, Levi thought as his fist slammed into Erwin’s chest, a second impact from behind Erwin jarring them both and sending him crashing into the man as a shrill scream cut the air. They fell, in a tangle of misplaced limbs, the ground knocking the fight from them. Shit, Levi repeated silently. Erwin was the last person he wanted to see him like this, childishly fighting another soldier, even if it was Mike. Levi gasped. His ass hurt. He couldn’t get up. He was pinned by two much bigger men and struggling only made it worse. He looked around wildly, trying to make sense of what was happening, as Nanaba and Hanji rushed over. Scolding and fussing, they tugged Levi’s arms roughly out from under Erwin’s side, helping the squad leader to his feet.

Erwin stood shakily, wobbling until Nanaba wrapped an arm around his side and held him steady. “Erwin, are you okay?” she asked, the concern obvious in her voice.

On the ground, inches away, Mike groaned. Levi rolled over and sat up, brushing dirt from his shirt and tugging his cravat untied.

“You two,” Erwin stared down at them, swaying far enough that Levi thought he might fall again if it wasn’t for Hanji’s hand planted squarely on his chest. “I’m disappointed in you. You know fighting isn’t allowed.”

“But-” Levi opened his mouth, still too shocked to think clearly.

“But nothing. It is not allowed.” Erwin’s thick brows drew into a firm line. “You know better than that. And you will be punished. Both of you.” He shot a meaningful glance at Mike, who hung his head bashfully. “Cleaning. The mess hall. The men’s showers. My office-”

“Erwin,” Hanji interrupted, pointing out, “only Commander Shadis can order cleaning of the common rooms as punishment. If you want them to clean the showers and the mess, you’d have to tell him what happened, and…”

“Fine. Then. My office,” Erwin sighed, running a hand down his face. For a moment he looked tired, and Levi winced internally- he hadn’t meant to let Erwin down like this. “My office then,” Erwin reiterated, “Six o’clock tomorrow morning. Sharp.”

Nodding dumbly, still a little numb from the whole thing, Levi clambered awkwardly to his feet and distractedly brushed dust off his aching ass while Hanji and Nanaba helped the injured Erwin half-march, half-limp off.

~

At six o’clock the next morning Levi knocked on Squad Leader Erwin’s office door.

“Enter,” came the response from within, and Levi stepped inside. Mike was already there, standing by the desk. Levi glowered at him, but the sound of Erwin clearing his throat quickly pulled his attention away. “At least I can count on you two to be on time. If I were Commander Shadis I’d hope you’d both be early.” Levi caught the smirk at the corners of Mike’s mouth and pursed his lips, holding back a reply and opting instead to stare down at the toes of his boots. “Do you know why you’re here?” Erwin asked.

He hadn’t directed the question to either of them, and it hung in the air. Getting heavier, making both Levi and Mike shift their weight, forcing them to avoid Erwin’s gaze and each other’s, they grew more uncomfortable as the moments stretched.

Finally Levi had enough. “Fighting,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Erwin agreed. He paused, letting the blunt answer sink in before continuing. “But not just fighting- the Scouts fight all the time. But we fight Titans. Not each other. And you both know that. You need to fight together. And for that you can’t be trying to kill each other.” He looked slowly between both men. His face open, his expression steady but not angry, Levi was surprised at how earnest his blue eyes looked. “We’re all on the same side.” Erwin’s voice was quiet, intimate, almost like he was entrusting them with a valuable secret as he met their eyes. “We need only fight for humanity.”

Levi’s shame burnt the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare look away. He had never run from anything in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“So, I trust that you’ll have this office spick and span by lunchtime,” Erwin finished, giving a small cough as his face once again took on its normally-stoic expression. With that he stood from behind the desk and strode between the two men, closing the door behind him without another word.

“Shit,” Levi breathed. He looked around the office, collecting himself, only then realizing what he’d really gotten into.

The place was chaos.

Books, stacked in piles, tall enough that they leaned on each other and the bookcases behind for support. Papers, haphazard sheaves of parchment occupied every available horizontal surface. Ink pots, wax for seals, quills, and all manner of discarded notes littered the desk, forming a second layer over the forms and reports. Squirrelled into every nook and cranny were books, letters, instruments for measuring or writing even more. And on top of at least half of it a generous layer of dust had collected.

“Shit!” Levi swore, this time with passion.

“I know, where do we even start?” Mike intoned, the despair already obvious in the flatness of his admission.

“I don’t know…” Levi murmured, turning in a slow circle as he took in the mess. “Let’s start by making a pile of shit we can throw away.”

“Why not start with the books or-”

“No,” Levi cut Mike off, “first we throw away any obvious trash. Next we clean the bookshelves. We put all these books away, then start on the papers. We need to go in order, top to bottom, and the floor will be last,” Levi ticked them off on his fingers. “We’ll need a duster, water, vinegar, soap, rags, and a mop.” He looked at Mike.

“O- okay?” Mike stammered. Levi’s eyes narrowed and Mike recovered quickly. “Right. You get the supplies. I’ll start with the trash.”

An uneasy truce had commenced.

Levi hadn’t thought it would be easy, but it was even harder to get started than he’d thought. Deciding what was needed and what wasn’t was difficult, and Mike kept turning around from wherever he stood, offering up a half-full inkpot, a crumpled letter, even a battered map for Levi’s approval. “I don’t know- just- just- put it to the side,” Levi found himself snapping. “We’ll figure it out later,” he relented a second later, knowing Mike wasn’t doing it to make him angry. They needed to work together and Levi could use all the help he could get.

After a half hour of throwing things out, Levi pronounced them ready to move on to the next step. It was obvious who would be dusting the bookshelves- the highest shelf was well above Levi’s reach. He handed over the duster with a grim look, and set to the task of wiping dust off the covers of books. They worked silently for a while, this task more clear-cut. Mike dusted, and though it wasn’t as thorough of a clean as Levi wished (he itched to scrub the shelves down with vinegar and water)- but with their limited time it was more than good enough. Levi cleaned books, placing them into different stacks as he did so, trying to give some sense to their eventual order. When Mike was through dusting he began to shelve the books Levi had set aside without prompting, allowing space on the shelves to accommodate the arrangement as Levi went.

The books disappeared from the floor, then the desk, and finally the few hiding under papers or knocked behind furniture were located and put in their rightful places. When Levi paused, inspecting their work for a moment, he had to admit that they’d done an okay job. So far, Levi reminded himself. “Papers next,” he commented, and Mike grunted in agreement.

The papers were harder to get a hold on, and between Mike and Levi they finally settled on a system of ‘toss’, ‘file’, and ‘unfinished’. It was minimal, but staring at letters, forms, reports, and receipts in a few dozen variations of nearly unreadable cursive or urgent print was already giving Levi a headache.

That was probably why when Mike started talking he didn’t even bother telling him to shut up.

“You’re not bad at this,” Mike commented, and Levi wasn’t surprised to have his own words thrown back at him. Mike was big and mostly blond, but he wasn’t actually that dumb.

“What of it?”

“Nothing. Just surprised.”

“That I can clean?”

“Yeah,” Mike shrugged, flipping through a stack of papers and sorting them into the piles they’d designated. He stared at a letter, bringing it closer to his nose as he squinted at the signature. “Well, that you’re so good at it, too. I didn’t know where to start. You did.”

“Well, cleanliness is important,” Levi said.

“Huh?” Mike’s grunted question made Levi’s brows pull together. He shouldn’t have to explain this.

“The Underground is dirty. It’s filthy. It’s full of disease, and waste, and death. You can’t fight your way out of that. You need to stay clean. You need to stay fed,” he pointed out.

For a while the sound of papers shuffling was all that filled the room.

Mike broke the silence cautiously. “So that’s why you were upset. About dinner. I didn’t realize. Food… must have been scarce in the Underground.”

Levi didn’t look at Mike when he responded. “Yes.”

The rest of the job went more quickly. They had figured out how to move around one another, how to divide the work most effectively, and use each other’s strengths. Levi was obsessive when it came to details. Mike was more general, his energy level high but his attention span short. They found it worked best when Mike tackled the bigger areas for a good once-over and left the finishing touches to Levi.

They didn’t talk much as they went. The silence was no longer uncomfortable. A few times, though, Levi thought he heard something. A low tone, off and on, rising and dipping just over and under the edge of a  volume he could make out. Finally, Levi realized it was coming from Mike’s direction. As he reached up high, wiping a soapy rag over the top panes of the window behind Erwin’s desk, a clear high note gave him away- Mike was humming. Pausing for a moment, Levi listened. The notes were familiar but it wasn’t any melody he knew. He puzzled over it for a minute, before realizing he was staring. Levi turned away, not wanting to be caught. The tone was a little nasal, but it wasn’t annoying. There was no reason to bring it up, to make it uncomfortable for either of them. Mike could carry a tune well enough, and it lightened the mood.

As the lunchtime hour neared Levi began to think they might actually meet their deadline - the books were taken care of, the papers had been organized, the surface of the desk was visible and clean, and he was about ready to start mopping the floor when Mike walked over to the desk.

“We already did the papers and the desk,” Levi commented.

“I know. But something’s weird…” Mike muttered, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He sniffed once, then again, head turning as he took a few steps toward Erwin’s chair. “Something smells…” he trailed off, bending down and taking a few quick sniffs close to the drawers. “No…” He moved down to the next. “No…-” then “-yes.” Mike opened the drawer and peered inside. Pulling out a tin and straightening up, he fixed the metal box with a wary glance. With a thud he threw it onto the desktop. “Let’s throw this out.”

“What is it?” Levi asked.

“Don’t know. Smells bad.”

“Like...? Nevermind,” Levi stopped himself, swiping the tin off the desk and prying it open. When the lid popped off, Levi wished it hadn’t. Grimacing in disgust, he stared at the moldy blue-green contents, immediately dropping it back into the wood. “Oi, what is-”

“Cookies,” Mike supplied after sampling the air with another deep sniff. “Those were probably cookies. Sugar and butter, anyway.”

“Ugh. Gross.” Suppressing a shiver of disgust, Levi frowned at the putrid tin. “Why would Erwin…”

“Erwin’s always had a sweet tooth,” Mike shrugged, unfazed by the spoiled treats.

“Still, that’s disgusting. And a waste.”

“Can’t say I disagree,” Mike admitted, “but, well- food may not be too scarce, but there’s something else Erwin lacks that makes him like this.”

“What’s that?” Levi asked, his attention turning from the garbage to Mike’s words.

“Time.”

Considering the simple response, Levi slowly nodded. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but he realized now that he seldom saw Erwin on the training fields. Sometimes he’d lead his squad in drills, but more often he was holed up here in his office. Planning formations, strategizing for expeditions, organizing supplies and filing reports- Erwin was probably doing more than his fair share as a Squad Leader. The way he’d spoken with them, so honest, about fighting together, bubbled up to the front of Levi’s mind. Erwin had meant it. Mike understood. But Levi had been too stubborn to see it.

Levi opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Mike reached out with one big hand and flipped the lid of the tin closed. He picked the whole thing up in one hand and whisked it off the desk. “I got it,” he said. With that he walked across the room, and tossed the tin into the bin that had been collecting trash. “Anything else we need to toss?” he asked Levi. Recovering from the realization, Levi shook his head. Mike opened the door, hefting the bin off the floor. “Be back.”

In the time it took Mike to take the trash away and come back, Levi had gotten halfway through mopping the floor. When Mike entered the office he paused only for a moment. Without being asked he gently eased the bookshelves away from the wall, and as Levi mopped underneath and behind them for probably the first time in years, he shifted the desk as well. They switched places, Mike moving the furniture back as Levi finished off the rest of the floor.

When Levi dipped the mop back into the bucket for the final time, he heard Mike speak.

“You know, we never did get to find out who’s Humanity’s Strongest.”

“Huh,” Levi grunted.

“I’m up for a rematch if you want.”

A rematch. Levi paused, staring into the greyish water, only a few suds still clinging to the bucket’s edge.

Did he want that? Was he still angry at Mike?

“Nah. Doesn’t matter.” The answer might have surprised Levi only a few short hours ago, but even as he said it he knew it was true.

[rainhalydia]

I wasn't in fandom at the time, so I'm curious about how you felt, as a Throbb shipper, about GRRM confirming Robb didn't love Theon as much as he loved Jon? And how did Throbb shippers in general feel about it?

Well, I can’t say how Throbb shippers in general felt. Not that happy, I’d guess? I can tell how I felt and still feel about it, though I didn’t see that interview until long after the fact so I didn’t catch any drama anyway. To sum it up: I don’t care.

A much longer, rambling word-vomit under the cut:

I think I summed up my feelings very exactly, but I kept thinking a lot about this ask and having lots of opinions, so here we go. I’ll preface this long-ass rant by saying I have no professional training in literary analysis. I just read a lot, overthink everything and had two classes in college about literature.

First of all, this tendency to give great weight - i.e., to care at all - about what writers have to say about their own work is completely foreign to me. I mean it literally - the main framework of literary analysis I’ve encountered throughtout my education was basically centered around the text, and I very much adopt it without even giving it conscious thought. I don’t seek out interviews, addendums, essays, anything at all. Sometimes I read it if they fall on my lap. Such was the case with this interview.

It’s not that writers don’t have things to say, or that those things are not interesting or valuable or sometimes shed a new light on their work. It’s that at the end of the day they’re not important! Only canon is canon. I don’t mean to sound snob or pedantic, like the books are law or something. And any canon has a number of valid interpretations (within limits), they’re not absolute, they allow some wiggle room. But any text needs by definition to stand on its own without writers poking their heads inside the room to say how we should interpret it. If we need imput from the writers to do it, then the text is already bad, it failed, sorry. Interpretation is the reader’s job. In fact, it’s the reader’s prerrogative.

Much of this hipe around authors, I believe, has to do with the rise of social media and how close to the public writers suddenly were. And I feel that applies especially for authors like Martin, who are very talented and have created a very rich world that has become really popular. And ASOIAF is still ongoing. It’s natural that everyone wants to pick at his brain and know where the story is going!

And here I make my second very unpopular point: authors are not specialists in their own work.

He knows more than anyone about it, certainly, and currently Martin is probably the only person who knows how things will end (though we have plenty of bare bones the show left), but he is, as he has admited himself, a gardener. The story was bound to get away from him, given his own writting style. The group of people who will be specialists on his work don’t include him, and they don’t even exist yet. They will only emerge when he’s stopped writing (so probably after his death) and his work has ended (if it was finished or not). Then people can read every single thing he has ever written, which is much more than ASOIAF, and analyse it to death, pick it apart from every single angle, the ones Martin intended to be there and the ones he didn’t.

Again, I don’t mean to come across as snobbish and say Martin does not know his own work, characters, creation, etc. He does! But no writer can leave all their biases behind when they start writing, so these books are not neutral to begin with. Add to it the lots and lots of variables readers will bring when they interpret the text, and any book is always going to be more than the author intends by default.

If my argument seems absurd, let me point out that it has already happened to a certain degree: my own interpretation from reading ASOIAF is that it is full of anti-war, anti-violence messages, and yet from it has sprung an adaptation that, in my own interpretation, glorifies war and violence to a ridiculous degree. I’m not alone in these opinions, btw. They’re pretty common in fandom spaces, so I’m sure I didn’t pull them out of thin air. We can argue until we’re blue in the face that the Ds can’t read anything for shit, they certainly don’t do themselves any favors, but you know, they interpreted the books well enough to correctly guess who was Jon’s mother and get permission to adapt it in the first place. I’ve since seen people (I’m not naming names, anyone still reading will just have to take my word for it, but I swear they do exist) defend that the show is a faithful adaptation of the books and that the glorification of war was there too, and others say that the show didn’t actually glorify war, it had an anti-war message! Who is wrong? Well, I don’t know. As I said, the GRRM’s specialists are yet to come, and I’m certainly not one of them. What I believe, however, is that all of us brought our own biases to the same text, interpreted it according to them, and came to different, often conflicting conclusions.

See also what GRRM said about the partnership between Jaehaerys and Alysanne and what most people made of their relationship from Fire and Blood. See the sept sex/rape scene controversy. See the Dany/Drogo controversy.

Do you get why I put little weight in Martin’s interviews to form my opinion? So given that and my own background, I’ll chose my own interpretation of the text rather than Martin’s apocrypha.

What does the book canon, and the book canon alone, say about Robb’s feelings for Theon? Well, unless new material is released, we’ll just never know for sure, because Robb isn’t a pov character. We do have Theon’s side of things - he has a certain affection for Robb, he’s more of a brother than his own brothers, he wishes he had died with him or at least that he had been there at the moment of Robb’s death, depending on how sincere he feels like being. We also know a little bit of what other characters thought of their relationship. Bran says Robb admired Theon and enjoyed his company, and it’s implied that he finds this baffling. He’s also jealous that Robb spends more time with Theon and other adults doing adult things than with his brothers. And though I’ve talked at lenght about interpretation and wiggle room to understand things, it’s also pretty evident that Robb is down to hear Theon talk about his sexual conquests in some detail as long as his brothers aren’t around.

Of course, Bran is a child and much as he loves Robb, their time together is cut short and Robb is not his main concern anyway. We get most material about Robb and Theon’s relationship from Cat’s pov. There’s a lot we can analyse and Damien had already done a great not-meta about it, but sadly he’s since deleted, thank you to the demons who got on his case, but for me the most damning piece of evidence that Robb feels very strongly for Theon is this:

“Robb will avenge his brothers. Ice can kill as dead as fire. Ice was Ned’s greatsword. Valyrian steel, marked with the ripples of a thousand foldings, so sharp I feared to touch it. Robb’s blade is dull as a cudgel compared to Ice. It will not be easy for him to get Theon’s head off, I fear. The Starks do not use headsmen. Ned always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, though he never took any joy in the duty.”

So to unpack what is going on: nearly drowing in grief, Cat rambles to Brienne about lots of things, including Theon’s impending death sentence. By Northern dumb tradition, Robb must be the one to behead Theon, his former best friend turned enemy, turned betrayer, turned brother-killer. And she says that it won’t be easy for him to do it.

Now, it can be argued that this is partly because of the sword. They’ve lost their sharp valyrian steel and Robb uses an inferior blade, not as sharp. I reject this interpretation as the only explanation (and here comes my own biases) because she mentions the headsman right after. A headsman might be more experienced, but it’s not like he’d have valyrian steel to do it either. Rather, I think she’s talking about how being able to pass Theon off to be killed by a headsman would be easier on Robb psychologically, but it’s not really an option, so Robb will have to suffer.

At this point, to Robb’s knowledge, Theon has: 1) betrayed his trust and used the ruse of negociations with Balon to escape; 2) attacked the northern shore and enslaved his people; 3) attacked and took control of his home; 4) made his brothers hostages; 5) killed his brothers; 6) denied his brothers the right to be buried in a decent way; and finally, 7) burned their bodies and exposed them for all of the North to see.

And after all this, having to be the one to kill Theon will make him suffer.

We know one of the moments Robb gets the angriest in the books is when Bran is threatened by the wildlings. He is the acting Lord and keeping his little brothers safe is his responsability. He nearly bites Theon’s head off when Theon saves Bran in a risky way and we know that was uncharacteristic because Theon is still sulking about that a whole year later. So his siblings are dear to him, but even after Theon does everything from steps 1 to 4, he’s still sure they’re not in danger and that Theon won’t do anything to them. That’s how much he trusts Theon. It takes literal murder to make him change his mind.

But then he does change his mind. He believes Theon did those awful, awful things to his brothers. After that knowledge has had time to settle in, after he believes the worst of Theon, he has this amazing convo with Cat that I’ll quote whole because it’s amazing:

“Enough.” For just an instant Robb sounded more like Brandon than his father. “No man calls my lady of Winterfell a traitor in my hearing, Lord Rickard.” When he turned to Catelyn, his voice softened. “If I could wish the Kingslayer back in chains I would. You freed him without my knowledge or consent … but what you did, I know you did for love. For Arya and Sansa, and out of grief for Bran and Rickon. Love’s not always wise, I’ve learned. It can lead us to great folly, but we follow our hearts … wherever they take us. Don’t we, Mother?”

Is that what I did? “If my heart led me into folly, I would gladly make whatever amends I can to Lord Karstark and yourself.”

Lord Rickard’s face was implacable. “Will your amends warm Torrhen and Eddard in the cold graves where the Kingslayer laid them?” He shouldered between the Greatjon and Maege Mormont and left the hall.

Robb made no move to detain him. “Forgive him, Mother.”

“If you will forgive me.”

“I have. I know what it is to love so greatly you can think of nothing else.”

Catelyn bowed her head. “Thank you.” I have not lost this child, at least.

So we know that what is going on here is that Robb is buttering Cat up before breaking the news of his marriage to Jeyne to her. One of the possible interpretations supported by the text is that Jeyne is in love with Robb and Robb is not in love with her. It’s a common reading that he married her out of honor and to avoid a possible Jon Snow situation. During their marriage, he seems to grow fond of her - Cat notices he likes her company better, and her brother’s, and that he laughs when he is with the Westerlings - but he also keeps some distance. She’s afraid of Grey Wind, which pretty much means being afraid of a part of him. In turn, he’s attentive, courteous, and a bit touched and annoyed at her public displays of affection.

Then there is this gem:

“His heir failed him.” Robb ran a hand over the rough weathered stone. “I had hoped to leave Jeyne with child … we tried often enough, but I’m not certain…”

And this is more Damien’s not-meta than my own, but once you see it, you can’t ever unsee it. Compare the bolded parts in that quote in the first Cat-Robb convo to the part bolded in the second one, put them side to side and tell me you can’t see the difference. In the first one, Robb basically spells it out that he’s made a mistake out of love, that love turned him into a fool, but it was stronger than him. At that point of the narrative, Robb’s biggest mistake (and notably it was HIS mistale, it was not a case of the narrative screwing him over) was to free Theon. A mistake that caused him to lose his brothers, castle and a significant chunk of political standing. The consequences of marrying Jeyne, which is pretty much only to lose the Freys, don’t even compare - especially because the Stark faction believes they can win their support back.

And this love that made him act like a fool is further described in the second bolded part of that quote. He loved so greatly that he could think of nothing else. That is some passion there, folks. Even considering that he’s trying to get Cat on his side, it strikes me as so sincere and heartfelt. And again, maybe it’s my own biases showing, but that sounds like an all-consuming love, the kind of love that doesn’t go away easily. I don’t see that same depth of emotion on the second bolded quote… they tried often enough. Does it add up with the first part? I don’t think so.

My conclusion, and forgive me if the shipper gogles come in, is that the love that hurt him, that consumed him, is the love he had for Theon. Not for his wife. But it was in the past, one might say. His marriage was just beginning, he and Jeyne grow closer, etc. I’ll quote two more bits:

“I cannot speak to that. There is much confusion in any war. Many false reports. All I can tell you is that my nephews claim it was this bastard son of Bolton’s who saved the women of Winterfell, and the little ones. They are safe at the Dreadfort now, all those who remain.”

“Theon,” Robb said suddenly. “What happened to Theon Greyjoy? Was he slain?”

Here we are nearing the Red Wedding. Some Freys come to pretend to make peace and pressure for a wedding to Edmure and they bring news of the battle of Winterfell. Professional writers don’t often abuse the “suddenly” like us poor fic writers, so when he says it was sudden, i believe it was sudden. I believe it came out of nowhere, in fact, and that Robb was the only one in that room considering Theon’s fate.

Roose Bolton removed a ragged strip of leather from the pouch at his belt. “My son sent this with his letter.”

Ser Wendel turned his fat face away. Robin Flint and Smalljon Umber exchanged a look, and the Greatjon snorted like a bull. “Is that … skin?” said Robb.

“The skin from the little finger of Theon Greyjoy’s left hand. My son is cruel, I confess it. And yet … what is a little skin, against the lives of two young princes? You were their mother, my lady. May I offer you this … small token of revenge?“ 

Part of Catelyn wanted to clutch the grisly trophy to her heart, but she made herself resist. “Put it away. Please.”

“Flaying Theon will not bring my brothers back,” Robb said. “I want his head, not his skin.”

Aside from Catelyn, who is torn, and maybe the Greatjon (I don’t know what snorting like a bull is supposed to convey), no one in that room approves of torturing Theon, they’re all rightly creeped out. But no one would blink an eye if Robb had ordered Theon flayed alive. Instead, he commands the torture to stop. Of course it’s the only decent thing to do, but let’s all appreciate how the character who is always arguing for peace, end of conflict and letting things go for the sake of the living and what can still be saved instead of more violence, is tempted by it. Robb is the only one who shares the full extent of Cat’s grief here, but he’s also the only one to try and stop the senseless punishment.

I joke all the time about how Throbb is canon, and it’s mostly jokes. They are not canon in the sense that Cat and Ned are canon, and I don’t think we’ll have any more facts added to their story together, there probably won’t be any flashbacks that hint at a romantic relationship between them. But looking at the text alone, what we have of it as of now, it’s possible to support a canonical reading for this ship. This interpretation is there in the text if you want to see it. In fact, some things make more sense if Robb was in love with Theon.

And you know, having a ship be supported by canon is not actually a condition that needs to be met to ship anything. It’s just something I particularly need to get into it. But even if you read Theon and Robb as just friends, it’s a reach to say that Robb didn’t love Theon.

Of course, we have Robb demonstrating affection towards Jon in the books too. He is Robb’s chosen heir, to Cat’s despair. Despite all the negative propaganda bastards get and the fact that the mother he so respected and loved disliked and distrusted Jon, Robb considers him a full brother, to compare to Sansa’s constant “half-brother” from the beginning of her journey. They’re seen having a good time together (they have a horse race in their very first appearance in the books, and Mance recalls them getting into trouble together as children), so they enjoy each other’s company.

Yet there’s also an undercurrent of sibling rivalry between them, seen from Jon’s pov. We have this bit with Benjen:

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.”

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

This is hilarious to me. My uncle paid me a compliment for being perceptive, a skill not at all related to martial skills! Time to compare my martial skills to my brother’s, even though we’re both 14 and there’s lots of more tried warriors in the world and we haven’t even had our last growh spurt! This is sure to impress a seasoned ranger!

Of course we know Jon’s rivalry towards Robb comes from his bastard status, but it’s interesting to me that it’s something that centers around Robb alone; he doesn’t compare himself to Bran or Rickon as far as I remember. That can be explained by their very similar ages and growing up together, I think. Jon has the advantage of being older than his other true born brothers.

Jon also says this:

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. I made a botch of that. Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

To Jon - and to the other Stark children - Robb is often the model to be emmulated. I won’t dig up all the times they hold him up as the ideal of bravery. Jon’s feelings are not unique in this sense, though they are when it comes to the rivalry. They all admire Robb. From Robb’s side, I don’t remember hints of him admiring Jon or any of his siblings. He certainly loves them, likes them, and enjoys spending time with Jon at the very least.

But Theon is the one Robb admires in text. Bran says it, and Theon too:

“There is nothing small about the letter I bear,” Theon said, “and the offer he makes is one I suggested to him.”

“This wolf king heeds your counsel, does he?” The notion seemed to amuse Lord Balon.

“He heeds me, yes. I’ve hunted with him, trained with him, shared meat and mead with him, warred at his side. I have earned his trust. He looks on me as an older brother, he—”

Readers often dismiss this as Theon’s garden variety empty bragging. To be fair, Theon very much distorts reality in his head to fit his own idea of how things should be, but this is one of the few times when he’s not doing that. He’s genuinely proud that Robb thinks so well of him. And since he’s so sensitive about what people think of him and people not giving him the credit he thinks he deserves, I’m ready to believe his account of facts this one time.

What I get from canon, regarding who Robb loves the most out of Jon and Theon, is that he loves them differently. He might even love Jon more by ASOS; it’s a wonder that we have hints that he still cares about Theon at all by the end, after the murders of who we know are the miller boys, but who Robb thinks are Bran and Rickon.

He had different relationships with them. Even if you reject the reading of Throbb as romantic, friends and siblings are not interchangable, even if you’re out there calling close friends brothers or if your brother is your best friend. It’s different sorts of affection. At the beginning of the series, Robb and Theon seemed closer to me than Robb and Jon - let’s not forget that Jon’s favorite is Arya, and the biggest family drama at that time has to do with Jon and Cat. They grow even closer as they go to war together, and then they’re pushed apart by circumstances and by Theon’s actions.

But okay, this is not long enough yet, so let’s say that this is an invalid framework of analysis and Martin’s word of god has as much weight as canon, and that in fact, we’re 100% certain that Robb loved Jon more than Theon.

Why does it even need to be a competition? No one holds it against Ygritte that Jon loves Arya more. Asha has a steady boyfriend that she’d gladly marry, and still she takes risk after risk for Theon. Ned was probably the greatest love of Cat’s life, but her interactions with her brother and uncle are still emotional and moving in great part because of the depth of her love for them.

Robb loving Jon more doesn’t take anything away from Theon. He doesn’t love Theon less because he loves Jon more, love is not a finite resource. And Robb loved Theon plenty, be it in a familial, friends or romantic way. If it diminished, that was a result of Theon’s choices alone.

[broken-clover]

Day 7- Hanahaki

Ho-ly shit I am so so late on this. Then again, does anyone even read these things. So despite the initial setback, I have finished! And in hindsight, jesus christ no wonder this took me so long, it’s 3500+ words and I redid it three times. Just something about this prompt, I guess, I dunno. I think for now I’m just gonna work a day behind schedule and try to just double up on an easier day because atm I do not have the energy to do today’s as well. I appreciate your understanding.

Well, onto the fun stuff, today I’m using Axl Low, featuring Sol and Ky as well! Axl is usually a lot of fun since he has a lot of opportunities for angsty stuff but I will admit that writing this actually made me cry a little, so make of that what you will. Oh yeah, and this is X-era/pre-Xrd because cop Ky.

Bonus content warning for vomiting, and I think that should be it but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong

“Watch your head!”

Sol immediately ducked, hearing something whizz past overhead. He wasn’t especially surprised to see a sickle-blade embedded in the tree in front of him. Not that it made him any less annoyed by the sight on it.

“For fuck’s sake, are you trying to kill me?” He stood back up and turned around to give the Brit a good, hard glare. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

“Heh heh...hey, chief.” Axl looked suitably sheepish, still clinging onto the other half of his kusarigama. “Uh, your reflexes are still good?”

The Gear stormed over, clutching the Junkyard Dog with an iron grip. He wasn’t especially happy with the though of being interrupted, especially now when he almost had his head chopped off in the process.

“L-listen, I can explain- !”

Maybe there was a reason, and maybe there wasn’t. In the moment, Sol hadn’t cared. He hadn’t been thinking much at all, really. He simply drew back his hand and punched Axl square in the chest, sending him flying off of his feet and crashing in a tangle of limbs a few feet away.

“Ow…”

“Shit, I-” Whether or not he felt all that bad about it didn’t really matter, he realized that punching someone with the same strength he used to rip open Gears and punch through walls was probably overkill on a regular human. He didn’t need a murder charge, especially on one of the few humans that he found tolerable to be around. “You okay?”

Axl didn’t offer him a reply, though he did slowly untangle himself and sit up, so at least he was definitely alive. He had an odd look on his face, though, and before Sol could ask, he was dry-heaving and scrabbling off towards the nearest bush.

“Dammit.” Sol followed behind at a distance. “I didn’t break anything, did I?”

The only response he got was a wet gag. It was enough of a reply for the time being, and he certainly didn’t want to bother Axl in the middle of that. When the retching finally quieted down, he let himself approach and offer a small pat in the back. “You okay?”

“Nggh- ow, ow-” Axl flopped back on the grass, rubbing the sore spot on his chest. “Jeez, I just know that’s gonna look ugly in the morning.”

“What made you think it was a good idea to sneak up on me?” Sol noticed something peculiar. “And what’s with the flowers?”

Along with the slime that still ran down the corner of his mouth, several little blue blossoms dotted his clothing. It hadn’t been a flowering bush, and he was pretty sure Axl hadn’t had them when he’d first shown up.

The man in question looked no less confused. “That’s what I was trying to find ya for, actually. I-” He paused to cough, and to Sol’s surprise, another small handful of the same blue flowers scattered out onto the dirt, soaked in spit. “I’ve been coughing up these damn things for two days now, and I can’t get them to stop.”

“Why ask me?”

“You’re a smart guy, you know a lot of stuff.” Axl gave him a shaky smile. “Besides, if it’s some weird Gear disease, I wanna know ahead of time before my eyes go red and I start shooting lasers.”

Sol rolled his eyes, hauling the man up to his feet. “Well, you can still crack a joke, so you can’t be that injured.”

“Stop right there!”

Axl stiffened in shock, while the Gear simply groaned at the familiar tone. “Should have known you’d show up at some point, pretty-boy.”

Ky already had a tight grip on the Thunderseal by the time he was visible. Thankfully, he kept it sheathed for the time being, but Axl could see faint blue sparks twinkling on the man’s gloved hand.

“What are you doing here?” The officer asked. “Why are you both here?”

“Tch. Well, I was trying to get the hell out of here.” Sol jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “But this idiot showed up and got in my way.”

At that, Ky leveled an icy glare at Axl. “So, care to explain why you’re here, then?”

“Needed help.” He’d hoped that the fewer words would make it easier to avoid another incident, but he felt something itching in the back of his throat. Before he knew it, he was shaking from another coughing fit, with more wet, slimy flowers coming up with it.

“What on earth…?” Ky’s stern expression faded. “Sol, what is the meaning of this?”

“You’re asking me.” He replied, giving Axl a thump on the back to help clear out some of the flowers. “He won’t stop puking them up.”

“WHAT?!” The officer dropped his hold on his sword to try and pull Axl to his feet. “What are you just standing around, Sol?! Did it never occur to you to find some sort of medical professional?”

“The fuck?” So scowled. “You know some back-alley witch doing dark magic?”

Ky flashed an impish smile. “No, but I know Dr. Faust has been spotted downtown today, and he seems to be the go-to for this kind of problem. Come along now, sir…”

“We’re going to him?” The feeling of the world spinning as he stood up made Axl gag again. “Don’t suppose I could get a second opinion?”

++++++

“Hmm. Well, there’s no other way to say this. There’s a plant in your lungs.”

“Revelation of the century.” Sol tried to pull out a cigarette and light it, only for Faust to immediately pluck it out of his fingers. “Hey!”

“No smoking in my office.” It was really more of a dilapidated warehouse, but Faust had still set up a nice little arrangement in it. “Based on the scan I took, it appears that the roots have settled into the pleura and have branched out into your lungs. Based on the symptoms I’ve seen, it appears that you’ve contracted Hanahaki Disease, Mr. Low.”

“Hanahaki Disease?” Ky asked, the confusion thick in his voice. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s a magic-based disease, as far as I know. Though it’s not well researched.” Faust sat down in his chair, tapping his fingers. “It’s theorized that the source is some kind of desire that can’t be fulfilled. It’s most commonly interpreted as one-sided love, though some say it can also apply places that you can’t go back to, or things that no longer exist. I suppose it makes sense, given the flowers you keep coughing up.” He held up one of them. “Forget-me-nots.”

“Well, that’s not hard to guess.” Sol’s expression didn’t change. “You want to go home, don’t you?”

“Of- of course I do!” Axl had to pause to spit up a few more small blossoms. “Wait a minute, ‘unrequited?’”

“That’s most common, yes.”

His face fell. “B-but- but Megumi, she-” with a strangled noise, he buried his head in his hands. “S-she can’t have forgotten about me…”

“It’s possible that with so much time spent away from your era, her feelings have waned.”

“So what sort of treatment is available for a condition like this?” Ky inquired. “How can the plant be removed?”

“That’s not something I’m sure of right now.” The doctor said. “I’m afraid since information is so scarce, I’d need to draft a plan by myself. You don’t need to stay here, I should be able to work with just the scan.”

Axl still looked downtrodden. “But if it’s tied to my memories of home, won’t it just grow back if you take it out?”

Faust sighed. “I’ll admit, I’m not sure. But it can’t stay where it is. You could choke on those flowers. And I fear the sort of damage all that coughing could do to your throat. I’ll try and figure out a way to remove it from you, surgically or not, but for now, there’s not much I can offer in terms of help.”

They were barely able to step out of the building before Axl pitched over again to vomit up more bloodstained flowers. Sol merely gave him a pat on the back with a warm hand, while Ky stood behind awkwardly. When it finally subsided, Axl didn’t get up.

“What am I gonna do…?” He was always the optimist, or at least tried to be. But what was there to be optimistic about here? The concept of going home in the first place was nigh-impossible, Megumi had probably moved on without him, and even Faust had no idea how to get rid of the plant.

“I’m sure there’s something.” Of the three of them, Ky seemed to be the only one that had any energy to him. “There’s a solution, we just need to find it!”

“What can I do? I can’t go home, I don’t know if Faust can take this thing out, and for all I know, Megumi doesn’t care about me anymore!”

The other man faltered slightly. “I-I’m sure Faust will be able to fix it. Getting worked up is just going to tire you out. Maybe you should go home and rest? Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere.” Sol dragged Axl to his feet, though neither of them looked especially happy about it. “Wherever I can afford.”

Got a small place over on Brooke.” The Gear shrugged. “Y’can crash there, I guess. Not like I’m using it much.”

For a moment, Axl actually perked up. “Really? Thanks, chief, that...that actually means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, let’s just get you home before people start staring.”

++++++

A gloved hand reached up to deliver a hard knock on the door. “Sol? Are you home?”

“Yeah, come in.”

“My hands are full, can you open it for me?”

He tried not to roll his eyes as the irritated grumbles that the barrier muffled. The door swung open, revealing a less-than-pleased Sol. “Hope you were planning on sharing that.”

“Well, I can’t exactly eat a whole gratin myself, can I? I brought it to share.” Spotting a small, rickety table in the corner, Ky stepped inside and deposited the dish onto it, along with the heavy satchel he’d been carrying. “Has he been eating?”

“Barely leaves his room. Haven’t seen him eat anything today, at least.”

“I told him to stop doing that.” He shook his head in dismay. There were two doors on the opposite end of the small living space. Ky approached the closed one and knocked on it. “Are you awake?”

“Mphh.” The noise was unintelligible even before being muffled by blankets and the door.

“I’ve brought some things for you. Would you like to come out and eat something?”

“...okay.”

When the door opened, Ky had to force himself to not immediately look concerned. Axl was haggard and bedraggled, looking like he’d just peeled himself out of bed, but the dark circles around his eyes said he hadn’t been getting any real rest out of it. A few blue petals still clung to the front of him, which he brushed off.

“G’morning, sleeping beauty.” Sol half-nodded, not getting up from his spot on the couch. “Get any sleep last night?”

“What do you think?” Ky winced at how hoarse the response was. “Up all night trying not to choke.”

The officer started spooning out some food for everyone. “So, not feeling any better?”

“Take a wild guess.” Replied Axl, picking off the last of the flowers. “Can barely get any sleep, can barely keep anything down.”

“Well, might as well try to eat something, anyway.” Ky offered him a plate. “At the least, it might help distract you for a bit.”

He looked unconvinced, but Axl still took what the food. As soon as he took the first tentative taste of it, he began wolfing it down like a starving animal. Ky smiled. “I guess it’s good then, huh?”

“F-fuck, can’t remember the last time I’ve had something like that.” It took him a significant amount of effort just to pull himself away from it to speak, and Axl immediately went back to gorging himself on the food. “You made this yourself?”

“That’s right.” The officer looked pleased with himself. “One of my mother’s old recipes. Macaroni gratin makes for an excellent comfort food.”

“Shit, you’re telling me! Nice to eat something warm, too. I dunno what it is, I just feel cold all the time, no matter what I do.”

Sol quirked an eyebrow. “Y’know you could have just asked me, right?” He placed a hand on the other’s back, leaving small trails of heat as he dragged his fingers across trembling shoulders.

Though Axl leaned into his touch, he still looked perturbed. “You don’t usually act like this, chief…” He smiled anxiously. “What, am I finally gonna die?”

Ky glanced off uncomfortably. “Well, not that. But I do also have an update from Faust.”

“What? So what’s Dr. Baldy got to say?”

“It’s safe to do the surgery, he said, and it shouldn’t grow back again.”

Just like that, Axl was out of his chair, looking more energetic than he had in days. “Well, then what’re we waiting for? L-let’s go-!”

Sol pulled a bucket out from underneath the coffee table, shoving it in place before the ensuing wave of flowers and half-digested macaroni could make a mess on the floor. He pulled Axl back onto the couch, kneading more warmth into his back.

“That’s not all there is to it, though.” Ky’s expression went grim. “According to historical accounts of the disease, if the plant is removed forcefully, it will also remove all emotional connections to the source of it, as well as the memories regarding it. Faust himself said that he couldn’t guarantee the results, but there’s a chance that-”

“-I could forget everything about home?” And just like that, all the hope and light in his eyes vanished. His shoulders sagged, dirty blonde hair drooping down to his lap. “No. No, I can’t do that.”

“Axl, please, I beg you to consider it.” Ky pleaded. “I know the circumstances are unfavorable, but it’s the only possibility you have to recover from this.”

The room went quiet once more. It hit a point where Ky wasn’t sure if he’d even been heard in the first place, and he wondered if he needed to say it again.

“...Then I won’t.”

“You’re being an idiot.” Surprisingly, Sol managed to beat Ky to the punch. “Why would you choose to do this?”

Axl reared up to glare at him. “If I left everything I had of home behind, what would I even be left with? I’m broke and homeless half the time, hoping to go home was all I had left!”

Ky sprang out of his chair, not caring about the mess being made as his plate hit the floor. “That doesn’t mean you should throw away any hope for the future! We could help you find someplace to be in this world, give you a new life to live! I’m sure there’s a place you can belong.”

“You don’t get it!” The man snapped. “I wouldn’t just be losing parts of me, I’d be losing almost everything! Would I remember how to function? Would I remember anything important?? I-” Axl sighed, making a few quiet coughs. “You two are the only ones that care about me in this stupid fucking world. ‘n even then, I can’t say that for sure. Maybe you’re just being nice to me because you know I’m fucked. It’s better than nothing.”

The officer reached out to him. “Please, you don’t have to-”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

With how quickly and suddenly he stood up, neither Sol nor Ky could stop Axl before he ran off to the bathroom, dry heaving all the way. By the time they were capable of running after him, the door slammed shut, with the lock clicking immediately after.

“Dammit, open the door!” Sol banged a fist against it, making the wood creak.

Ky reached for the knob, only to flinch back with a cry as the metal turned hot and began to shift. “Is he melting the handle?!”

“Axl, stop acting like a stupid kid!”

No reply. All they could make out was the sound of vomiting, soon accompanied by weak sobs. Ky let his hand rest on the door, though he didn’t try to open it again.

“Why would he be so insistent? Why would someone choose to die if they had another choice?”

Sol’s expression was hard to read. “Just not something you can understand, kid. The crusades might have been hell, but at least there was something to go back to in the end. Some people value memories more than others. If that’s all he’s got, why would he want to give it up?”

It was an unusually poetic sentiment, especially from someone like Sol. Ultimately, all Ky could do was shake his head. “This isn’t a decision I can make for him. I don’t have to like it, but I suppose I can’t force him to reconsider.”

“Never thought I’d hear that from you of all people, boy-scout.”

He wanted to be mad, but that required an energy that he no longer had. The muffled gagging started again in the sealed room.

“Still, I don’t feel like I can just give up. How can I walk away from this?”

After a moment of thought, an idea came to him. Ky stepped off, back towards the table with the rest of the food and the heavy bag. Grabbing the latter, he brought it back with him.

He gave the door another soft knock. “Axl? Can you hear me alright?”

The retching had gone quiet. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Why are you still here?”

Ky settled back down next to the door. “Because nobody deserves to suffer alone.”

He pulled out a book from his satchel, thumbing through until he found something. “Have you ever read Chaucer?”

“No.”

“Is it alright if I read a poem? I know some people find his work a bit dry, but I feel like being stuck in that bathroom will get very boring.”

“Y-you…” Something shuffled behind the door. “You’re just trying to get me to come out, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.” Replied Ky. “I just want to give you a bit of company.”

“...Is chief still there, too?”

“Yeah, blondie, I’m here.” Sol let himself sit down as well, rapping his knuckles against the wall. “Need some kinda proof?”

“Ok. Ok, fine. Read your poetry, or whatever. I can’t stop you.”

Ky smiled. “Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly…”

His tone was clear and strong as he read from the book, gesturing with his free hand at certain words. The apartment was quiet, aside from Ky’s poetry and the occasional round of coughing. Those were the only times when his voice faltered, sometimes going quiet until the noise eased up before starting where he had left off.

At some point, Sol had rolled his eyes and made enough quips about the flowery language that Ky had threatened to throw the book at his head. Sol had simply offered better stories, and barely waited for a reply before launching into his own tales, involving bounty hunts and incidents that had resulted in him getting chased out of towns by angry mobs. At one point, they could hear faint laughter from the other end, the first time Axl had done so in a long time, and the only noise he’d made aside from coughing.

The fits of noise grew more frequent, until it interrupted each story several times. There was a point where neither man paused speaking when they heard it. They simply kept going, passing songs and poems and anecdotes underneath the door for hours upon hours.

Eventually, the sun was far beyond the horizon, and the noise had faded. They’d continued to talk, until Ky trailed off halfway through an elegy.

“Axl?”

When no sound came, the man’s expression slipped into something solemn. He stood back up, joints cracking from the lack of movement. A hand rested on what had once been the doorknob.

He sent a look to his companion. “Can you help me with this, please?”

Sol ripped off the malformed hunk of metal, and the door swung open easily after that. Axl was sprawled out motionless on the floor, surrounded by bloody flower petals. Ky bit back a noise, instead merely kneeling down and feeling the man’s neck.

“Dead. But still warm. If it’s a rare disease, I wonder if Faust…”

In a way, Sol didn’t even look shaken. But his expression was strained, in a way that only Ky knew how to recognize from knowing him so long.

“...No.” Ky shook his head. “The government offers funeral services for those who can’t afford it. I’m sure something nice can be provided for him.”

“Kid.” Sol’s tone was a low, dangerous rumble. “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry, Sol. You knew him better than I did, I can’t imagine how you feel.”

“I said shut up.” He nudged a handful of petals with the toe of his boot. “Why are these ones different?”

“What?”

The flowers were scattered all over the floor, in piles and in heaps. But closer to the center of the room, near where Axl had been, the flowers began to change. Rather than the small, blue flowers, they had become larger, alternating in colors of red-orange and off-white with violet streaks.

“Huh? Hold on a moment, I know these.” Ky reached across the floor, picking up one of the mangled white flowers. “My mother used to grow these. The white ones are gladiolus. ‘Sword lilies.’ And the red ones, I think she used to call them fire...lilies…”

A dawning realization glimmered in his eyes. “Are these….because of us?”

“So it wasn’t all that useless, then.”

Ky couldn’t bring himself to chastise him. “Yeah, I- I guess it wasn’t, was it?”

And yet, it didn't make either of them feel any better.

[clarencejc]

Imagine Getting a Migraine with the Company While Traveling

Pairings: None | Warnings: Pain? | Word Count: 2871

Summary: The reader is traveling with the company and gets a migraine but decides not to bring it up to avoid being a burden.

You had been traveling with the company for a little while now after they offered to take you with them at Bag End. You had come into Middle Earth with little to nothing besides what had been in your backpack and you knew you were extremely unprepared. It had been a few weeks into the journey when you felt it, and oh how you wished it would go away. It started in the back on your eye, feeling smaller than a pin prick then it grew into a full-blown migraine that cramped your neck muscles, blurred your vision, and made it almost impossible to speak or move properly.

           “We’ll stop here for tonight,” Thorin booms from the head on the line making you squint your eyes in pain as your head throbbed. You look down at the ground with your permanent grimace and almost vomit from how high it looks from the back of your horse. You just want to stay there for the rest of the night and suffer silently. It’s not that you don’t want their help, but they treat you like Bilbo sometimes, like a burden to their company and like you don’t know how to do anything. The last thing you want to do is prove them right and ask them for help or slow them down, so you’ll just keep your mouth shut and ride this one out on your own.

           “Y/N, dear, are you alright? You look very pale,” Gandalf says gently as he walks towards your horse. He grabs the reins of your horse as you shakily lift one leg over the side of the horse and slide down only to stand on even shakier legs.

           “Thank you,” you slur a little and he looks at you carefully as you walk away. You don’t even hear his question over the high-pitched whine in your ears. The constant bombardment of sounds, light, and motion overwhelm your senses as you try to lead your horse to the rest of the ponies. ‘Stay upright, don’t throw up, stay upright, don’t throw up’ you repeat to yourself as you walk over.

           The next thing you comprehend is dinner being shoved into your hands by Bilbo who looks at you funny. ‘Concerned?’ you try to place, but your brain protests ferociously at the effort of interpretation.

           “Y/n? Y/n?” Bilbo calls again and you finally look at him in the eyes. “I’ve been calling you for some time now. Are you feeling alright?” You force a tight smile onto your face and nod your head, not trusting your voice. You look at the stew and your throbbing head makes your stomach do flips, threatening to make you vomit like earlier.

           “Not hungry,” you say shortly and push the bowl back into Bilbo’s hands. He looks at the bowl and then back to you before walking away slowly with a confused look on his face.

           “Has anyone noticed Y/n acting strange lately?” Bilbo asks the group quietly. They crane their heads to look at him and then shake their heads 'no' but still wait for a further explanation from their hobbit.

           “What do you mean by strange?” Bofur replies. Bilbo looks over to you and then back to the fire.

           “Well I called her name and she didn’t respond at all, she has barely said a word the whole day, and she’s gone pale as a sheet,” he explains back with distress creeping up on him at the thought of you injured for so long. They all turn their heads to look at you curled up next to a tree with your head in your hands and pressing tightly against it.

           “If there was something wrong then she’d tell us, now keep your nose in your own business,” Thorin interjects before anyone else can speak up. They all shift nervously and continue on with their night.

THE NEXT MORNING

           The pounding in your head hadn’t gotten any better with the little amount of sleep you got last night. You could feel heavy bags under your eyes. The mixture of pain and lack of food making you dizzy as you pack your belongings, swaying your way to your horse and then struggling to get on. You try and fail, to block out all conversations in hopes of easing the pain rupturing in your head, but it does no good as it kept throbbing and bringing random strikes of pain to your eyes and neck. ‘Deep breath in, big breath out, deep breath in, and big breath out’ you repeat in your head. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and you breathe in deeply again.

           Throughout the day the company watches you carefully, but not obviously. Quick glances at you, little assessments are done while you are unaware and trying to figure out what could be causing you so much pain. Kili is the first one to ride up to his uncle with concern.

           “Uncle we need to stop. Something isn’t right with Y/n, she’s clearly in pain and can barely stay up on her horse. She hasn’t said one word all day!” he hisses out and meets his uncles calculating gaze. Thorin’s deep blue eyes take a moment to scan over your slouched over form with precision and he nods his head in agreement.

           “We will make camp here,” he calls out to the back of the line, and this time doesn’t fail to notice your flinch and grimace at the sound of his loud voice. “Set up camp, but be silent about it,” he signs in Inglishmek. The rest of the dwarves nod and then glance at you a little, noticing that you haven’t moved or look like you even heard the order. Bofur comes up to you and places his hand lightly on your leg.

           “Come on darlin’ let’s get you down and let you lie down for a bit,” he says softly but that drives nails into your head and you frown deeply making your facial muscles hurt too.

          ‘Everyone is so loud’ you think pitifully. You understand what he wants though as you shakily get off your horse once more to slouch on a tree with your eyes closed. The reins are gently pried from your hands by another person with large fingers. More insistent hands guide you over to another tree where you’re told to lay on the ground. ‘What about my stuff?’ you think blearily but can’t find the strength to say it. Your body feels heavy as lead, and your eyes burn and feel like they’re about to pop out of your head. Weathered hands run across your forehead and you pull your head away sharply which makes the ground under you spin.

           There are whispers around you that you try to keep out and don’t focus on their words until the hand becomes more persistent against your skull. “So it is your head then,” the voice concludes from your reaction. ‘Must be Bofur. So gentle’ you think lightly. You pry open your eyes to see the whole company staring at you with worry, and yes, Bofur kneeling in front of your body. The whispers get louder as they see you open your eyes and move around, but you grimace when they give little cheers. Bifur growls at them gruffly in their language and it’s silent once again.

           “Don’t be quiet on my account,” you try to joke, but it comes out slurred and a little messy, but remotely understandable.

           “Can you tell me what’s wrong lass?” Bofur asks you softly.

           “Migraine,” you mumble. He tilts his head at you in confusion.

           “Is that something to do with your head?” he asks again and you give a fraction of a nod. You sigh lightly because you know that he won’t stop bugging you until you tell him, but damn does your head hurt!

           “Really bad headache that makes everything hurt. Light, sound, can’t eat and can’t sleep,” you tell him quietly, but your stomach still turns at it. Bofur frowns at this. ‘This is what happens to Bifur, but she doesn’t have an ax in her head.’ Bifur walks forward and taps him on the shoulder, signing something too quickly for you to follow. You close your eyes again, fighting the waves of nausea and hoping that they just leave you alone, and wait for your head to stop hurting.

           “Lass, Bifur is asking if he can try something to help,” he asks you and you crack your eyes open to see everyone looking at you nervously except Bifur who looks at you with soft eyes. He signs something again and Bofur frowns a little. “He’s asking if you can take off your cloak,” he says and as Bifur signs something else his frown deepens. He signs something back before hesitating and then turns to you saying, “Is it alright if he touches your hair?”

           “Go ahead,” you tell Bifur weakly. He nods and strides up to you, takes your shoulders gently and sits you upright. The new position makes you whimper and makes your vision go fuzzy so you shut your eyes tightly. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him and his gesture shocked you a little, but now isn’t the time He unclasps the cloak carefully and then puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on the back of your head. You feel him sit in front of you and pull your body forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder. Your hands lay limply in your lap while he adjusts himself. You breathe deeply and smell the wood and pipeweed on his clothes that makes your stomach turn a little less, and then his hands are on your back. 

            He starts a gentle pressure on your shoulder blades and then moves up to the muscles of your neck. His fingers are gentle, but firm, on those muscles as they protest against his ministrations and your head pounds viciously once more for a split second before the pain vanishes. Your shoulders slump against him as you give a small whimper at the sweetness of relief. You also hear Bilbo stutter a little at the sight.

           “What is he doing?” asks Bilbo from the side, and this time it doesn’t hurt your head to listen to their conversation.

           “He often gets those headaches like hers, so he’s using what he knows to get rid of her pain. I reckon if the lass didn’t ask for help by now, then she wasn’t going to ask Oin for anything to dull the pain. I’d say this way she doesn’t have to take anything,” he tells Bilbo and you want to tell him that he’s spot on, but Bifur’s massage makes it almost impossible. 

           The relief from the pain is absolutely exquisite. You hear Bofur shoo the others away from the intimate looking scene, which you have to thank him for later. Bifur’s fingers move up to the base of your skull and lightly move the hair out of the way. He makes long motions down the muscles with his hands and then moves one hand to hold the muscles in place and the other to rub the side of your head firmly. You let him guide your head and mold your muscles back into the right spot and work you into putty. It is so wonderful to not be in pain that you don’t even realize when you fall asleep.

           Bifur felt you slump against him when he started and noticed the changes in your breathing by the middle. He knew that these headaches were tricky things so he didn’t stop right away and decided to do more work while you were asleep. He was initially surprised that your muscles were hard as stone and when he pressed against them nothing happened, but your falling asleep was a good sign. ‘Poor lass didn’t even know where to start’he thinks sadly.  

            He digs his fingers into your muscles using a fraction of his actual strength, but quite tough enough to work out those issues, and your sleeping form slumps even more. He works over every muscle in your neck and along your head before he gently rolls you off of his shoulder and lays you on the ground.

           “She should be fine now,” he signs to the group around the fire. The tension that was once there vanishes within a second.

           “Poor girl must have been like that for some time for you to work her over like that,” Bombur says from his spot next to his pot. The others around him nod in agreement.

           “Will she be able to travel tomorrow?” Thorin asks him coolly and Bifur nods his head.

           “She should be able to. I’ve had those and that one was quite nasty,” he says to the group. “Surprised she didn’t break earlier. “If I think they’re nasty then she must be tough as stone,” he adds and the others blanch. 

           “I’m not quite sure what you all are talking about now, but she was like this almost all of yesterday,” Bilbo informs them quietly. Bifur raises his bushy brows at the little hobbit.

           “If what he says is true, then she should have been screamin’ by tonight,” he tells the group while Bilbo looks on, confused at the different language.

           “Why didn’t she ask for help then?” Ori asks quietly and everyone nods at his question.

           “I have a feeling it’s because she thinks that you would look down on her,” Bilbo says gently. Everyone’s eyes widen and Balin is the first to speak up.

           “We do not though! We have given her no implication that we do,” he says. Bilbo gives a heavy sigh.

           “Well if you all glare at her long enough then that’s implication enough!” he tells them forcefully and their faces become filled with guilt. “We have both heard our names be used along with the word burden or useless, and this must have been her way of showing that she is not a burden. I would guess that she felt blocked in by this situation as well.”

           “What do you mean by that halfling?” Dwalin says snarkily from the other side of the fire.

           Bilbo shakes his head at the thickness of dwarves. “What I mean is that if she told you, you would have said that there was no time to stop for something so minor as a headache, and if she said nothing and you found out then you would blame her for being careless and still call her a burden. She was trying to show you that she is strong enough to not need help in this area.”

           “But she did, and she should have known her limits,” Thorin interjects from Dwalin’s side.

           “I do know my limits master Oakenshield and that was not my limit,” Y/n says as she walks up to the fire. The dwarves whip their head to where your figure stands tall and strong once again. “That was not the worst that I have ever had. That was painful, but I’ve had others that are debilitating, and once in my life that it was genuinely crippling to the point I had to be taken to the hospital for a day while they got the pain under control.” The dwarves look at you with wide eyes and slack jaws. You turn to Bifur with a small smile on your face, “Thank you so much for helping me Bifur. You didn’t have to, but you did and that’s something that I won’t forget, so if there’s anything you ever need then I’ll try to help you,” you finish quietly. He looks at you with kind eyes and gives you the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

           “Well next time don’t be afraid to ask for help from us,” says Bombur softly from the fire. You look over to see all of them looking at you with heartfelt concern and it shakes you to your core at how much you've bonded over these weeks. Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur are the sweetest dwarves you’ve ever met. Really some of the only dwarves you’ve ever met, but the point is that they’re kind. You nod your head thoughtfully as you fully soak in their offer and then smile brightly. Oh, sweet acceptance! You sit down by the fire and just listen as the dwarves start their own conversations about this and that when Bilbo comes up to you with a bowl of soup.

           “We’re glad that you’re feeling better Y/n,” he tells you sincerely. “You gave us all quite a scare. Never seen anything like that in my life. I hope I never go through that in my life!” he says exasperatedly as his curls bounce and his eyes bulge for a moment. You crack a smile as you dig into your soup and you smile at the feeling of warmth in your hungry belly for the first time in the past few days. The rest of the night you listen to their stories and make jokes about the little things in life. Traveling with them really isn’t so bad after all.

[possomshanty]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑  .

                                           𝑎𝑛  𝐸𝑑𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑆𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑂𝐶  𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I :  THE INTRO. A creature. The frantic scrambling and skid of claw against pavement  --  the collective buzz and cries of a busy neighborhood silhouetted by the flashing lights of police cruisers, and the sounds of sirens  ( that have been sent chasing after a shadow. ) A colorful town settled snuggly at the foot of a narrow mountain, with the bare trees of winter twisting and stretching up toward the remains of an old, decrepit mansion. The corpse of a fairytale castle, rotting beneath the dark of night and whispering ghoulish tales on the wind, to the minds of curious children burrowed in their beds. The screech of tires shriek through the streets, until the pursing vehicles whirl swerve to a sudden stop at the round of a cul de sac  :  search lights catching only glimpses of the monster that flees them  /  sent flailing into the dirt, and the wood. The lungs burn  -  inhuman lungs gasping to keep up with inhuman speed and immortal panic. Run, the creature thinks, hide  ..  retreating into and betrayed  by moonlight illuminating the sky, lighting that darkness that it wishes to disappear into. The hard soil of winter beneath it's paws, packing into the space in it's talons. Run.. Run.. Hide. Skeleton branches scrape at it's hide, and brittle edges snap against the sudden weight barreling into them from below.

Cruisers are not abandoned in the chase  :  instead used as shields with doors flung open, as officers disperse from the innards and fire shots in the dark. PRIVATE PROPERTY.  NO TRESSPASSING. The signs are more a gate than the rusted bars creaking and whining against the wind. The creature was beyond their reach now, but not forever.

"It can't stay up there forever, Sheriff. There's nothing up there but that old house, - " a voice sounds over the last echo of pistol fire. The Sheriff ejects the magazine from his pistol, gawking with dark eyes over the ridge. The boy in him recalls the stories he had been told by his grandfather, the rantings of an old man about a creature who dwelled there, a man with scissors for hands. "No," he replies, "Maybe not. .. But it might." A beat, "Sheriff?" "Nothing. Get back in your cars, it's over."

The monster climbs, never once casting it's eyes toward it's back, as it hurls itself over inhuman heights, over what is left of the grounds' main gate, and tumbling into grass. Luna had begun to fade, grabbing her child by the pelt on it's hide and pulling BACK the shroud  ;  exposing it for it's truer nature. A woman. Joints moan beneath the sudden transformation forced upon them, crackling like the dead wood of the trees beneath the winter ;  fangs shrinking down, down, down to canine and molar ... thrusting a human body into the cold, and abandoning her there on stone steps to shudder and heave vomit into the hedges. A newborn every full moon, shuddering and whimpering into the world. The disappearance of time in this change leaves her flesh numb to the cold, though only until she's numb no more  -  and while the eyes open, they are frantic, darting feverishly around her until they catch sight of the fading lights flickering into the distance. Safe, she thinks, for now.. only for now. Blinking, dirt-stained fingers shift and graze over the rough of stone stair as she fights to rise, arms wrapping tight around naked bodice. She's in.. a garden. Though with little initiative to gawk, she pushes inside the waning cry of an untended, unlocked door.  (  Abandoned, she thinks, for years and years. The night makes the garden tidier than it is, for certain. )  and what she's confronted with eases a cushion between her doubts and any hard place they may have been backed against, for ample eyes that glower beneath the dark have settled upon air speckled with dust. Machines, and statues blanketed in spider houses. The dark and cold of abandon. Swallowing against the arid ache of her throat, there is little hesitation in her to advance into the depths of the mansion  ;  to draw forth a dusty sheet from the sleeping furniture and wrap it tight around her shoulders, all the while making barely a sound. No use in calling greetings out to ghosts, she thinks, wide-eyed and gawking at last at what she's wandered  ( or, rather, flung herself ) into. With the tremble of the change still bearing down upon her, a little girl's fascination is tucked away as quickly as it may have bubbled up from within, for her eyes catch upon stairs that wind up, and up, and up perhaps into the very god that has forsaken her. Higher is safer, she thinks, before taking to ascending them ; bare soles of her feet pit-patting against the stone. What stretches before her at their height is an attic, though the holes of a caved in ceiling illuminate the space with what dying moonlight that remains, though lacking the strength to tie her any longer to the beast. She's a shadow, moving into the center of the room, saucer eyes cast upward in appreciation of the very heavens that damn her, "My god," it's but the breath of a whisper into the black  -  but enough, it seemed, for something else to hear... it stirs, in the room's far corner, and catches her attention at the very first iota of fidget! Sets her to flinging herself into the opposite side of the room, "Who's there?" her voice demands, though it's met only with silence.. and then breathing. Then the soft scraping of metal. The heart takes to thundering in her chest, a savage beast raging against the rib cage  :  "WHO IS THERE?" .. a beat, and though the beast has abandoned her to bare flesh, the veins swell against pale flesh :  the mirror of animal eyes reflects back against the dark, and all at once the wilderness breaks the silence, sending her forward a few feet in an instant and SNARLING LOUD INTO THE DARK! It only sends the other skittering farther, farther into the corner it's backed itself into. She can hear the heart racing, the breath hitching in fear. A moment, before the nostrils flare / and the air carriers her the scent of something human... or, almost. Lips relaxing slow over the snarl that exposes pointed teeth to the dark, she'll cock her head before lowering herself slow on bent knees .. "I can smell you," she dares, coaxing another slow and soft step forward, and then another. "You can't hide." A glint of silver against the moonlight. ".. and knives cannot help you." She pauses, eyes wide, yet keeping the sheet drawn close over narrow shoulders. "Come out." The presence hesitates, but she can hear it breathing  -  almost whimpering. ".. Come out, now." A beat, bathed in the acid stench of fear, before the other dares even to stand  :  to tremble. Eyes narrowed, she swallows before taking a step.. back. A gesture of peace, though one that could be closed in an instant.  "You're afraid. I won't hurt you, unless you make me .. come out." Hears it swallow.. she straightens her back. Out of the shadows, the moon exposes pale skin as white as a phantom, and ample, dark, human eyes  -  despite the body that suggests something else. Yes, a man .. of sorts. The woman takes another step back, gaze lowering to the glitter of steel at his sides  -  "I told you, knives won't help - not .. scissors either. Put them down,"   -  "I can't." comes a voice, soft and gentle and afraid. She swallows back her words, dark brows knitting close to their center.  "The hell do you mean you can't?  --  I said put them down - " he nears only a step further, until she can see him, for true  -  what he is.  He blinks, and the blades fidget nervously at his sides before rising to his chest, to cover part of his face as though she'd struck him.  ".. I can't." She's staring, the closeness of her eyebrows chiseling a deep crevice into the flesh of her brow. Instinctively, lithe digits pull tighter to the dusty sheet around her throat. A long moment creeps as heavy silence through the air like fog, for they've both taken to peering at one another the very same. Both swallowing, barely blinking. At long last, the girl's eyes may flutter upward, toward the ghostly face that hides behind steel. "You haven't been following me?" is a question answered with silence. "You, what? .. You live here, on these grounds?" "Yes." the response is simple, and quiet. She might have barely heard him, as anyone other than herself. A step forward merits a step back, and again they're left at a gawking impasse. "So you .. you haven't been chasing me, you didn't see me run up here?" Silence. "Who are you?" Silence, again. ".. Do you have a name?" "Edward." "Are you alone?" Hesitation, and the blades held before his face like a barricade take to anxious snipping against the quiet. If an answer was on his tongue, it was strangled in his throat, and it leaves the air to another wordless nothing. The stranger considers it, and interprets the meaning. "I didn't.. Well, I didn't mean to frighten you. I didn't think there was anyone up here,--" She retreats, another several feet back, to allow the creature some sort of comfort. It avails, and his hands begin to ever-so-slightly succumb from his face, though the singing of steel still stirs the air as he fidgets. "..What happened to you?" the woman asks. A beat. "I'm .. not finished." "Finished?" her eyes are wandering, caught upon a cot nestled in the crook of an old fireplace, decorated in magazine clippings  :  new and old, but mostly old .. the page edges were curled, the images faded by the sun. Invention announcements  -  articles of cripples turned success. "..How long have you been up here?" Slowly, still, the blades fall away from the chest before they stir worriedly at his sides. He barely blinks, though his gaze flits too to the space she's examining - embarrassed, maybe. "Since he made me." It beckons her gaze back to him, wide and bewildered. "How long ago was that?" No answer. Narrowed eyes hold on him, blinking against the dark. Defenses lowered, he seems a child  -  a fawn, standing awkwardly on nervous, long legs. For a moment she chews her lip, before urging more words into the silence. "I'm sorry I scared you, alright? I won't harm you, really." Silence. Then, with the frivolous curiosity of a boy :  "What's your name?" It beckons her head to quirk slightly to it's side. " .. It's Ellie." "... Did you run away too?" A pause. The question is worth considering, though her answer is no less vague. Her eyes trail him before catching in his eyes, and searching  -  what happened to you? she thinks, and who did you run from?  Settling her jaw, she offers him something just short of a slow nod. "Sort of." It's a drop of certainty, amidst their ocean of uneasiness. A pebble of common ground that such an anxious creature may cling to. Steel digits come together to continue their fidgeting at his front, and wide eyes settle somewhere at the floor below her bare feet. "Where are your clothes?" he dares, though the words ooze a sanguine sort of concern like cold honey. She's watching him, still, though perhaps with less hardness in her eyes  /  no, maybe now none at all. "I -  tore them. .. I don't reckon you have any spares sitting around anywhere in this place?" "Only his. .. I can show you." Edward considers his steps forward before he makes them, the feet that carry him creaking softly over the weather worn wood of the floor as he moves back toward the stairs. Ellie watches before trailing behind him, bare feet padding along at his back. "Thank you." "You're welcome."

[thebluelemontree]

What do you think about valientned's theory that Sansa invented the Unkiss to explain the situation in her recollections, versus the prevailing SanSan theory that she invented it because she wanted it (later)? One puts stock in the Unkiss as proof of Sansa's fear, and the other as proof of her desire or love. Not that those are mutually exclusive. +They both make sense and have evidence. IMO, the fact that Sansa makes it up after she starts having erotic dreams indicates desire for him, not fear

**Edit** I do follow valientned’s tumblr and I enjoy their posts.  I was not aware of their position on the unkiss or read anything about it from them personally, so I’m taking your word for it.  But I will answer from the position that some people have about the unkiss being about processing trauma or fear.***

It’s sooooo not about fear or trauma.  Just, no.  That makes no sense and here’s why.

I think to understand the unkiss, we have to look at it first in a literary way and why the Blackwater scene was written the way it was. What is GRRM (not Sansa) trying to say to the reader with not just the unkiss, but everything connected to it?  He obviously can’t write a literal romance between them in the early books for so many horrifically unconscionable and logic-defying reasons.  George is really following a literary tradition using sexual and romantic symbolism to speak directly to the reader without the characters being aware.  It’s a classic Gothic literature theme of exploring sexual desire that is fraught with fear for it being taboo or somehow non-prescribed by society.  Or in Sansa’s case, that it is not the ideal.  (See the Bear and the Maiden Fair).   

The Blackwater scene itself is not actually sexual, though it is terrifying, to say the least.  It is however very sexually and romantically symbolic in its wording.  The dagger as a phallic symbol, the “wetness that was not blood,” the blood-stained cloak evocative of loss of virginity, etc.  BTW, we were already pre-exposed to Sandor holding a blade against Sansa’s neck and she was not scared (kind of unimpressed actually).  Swords and daggers are dicks and they are everywhere.    

What we’re really talking about here at the Blackwater is metaphoric wife-stealing and it’s important to understand what wife-stealing actually is.  It’s a ritual among Free Folk to demonstrate to the woman a man’s prowess and worth to be considered as a suitor.  They value traits of being brave, clever, and quick.  Ygritte has no fear or trauma from Jon unwittingly stealing her at knife point because she is interpreting the events through her cultural lens.  She enthusiastically accepts “his suit” because he passed the test.  It is not an assault on the woman or an actual kidnapping.  The man might get the shit beat out of him, but the woman is never supposed to be hurt.  In the end, the woman has the final say if she will have him, as Tormund’s daughter Munda did with Longspear Ryk after he stole her.  This custom is set apart from the already existing sexual freedom for both sexes to hook up.  Wife-stealing is a public declaration of a serious romantic relationship.  It’s a marriage proposal.  Sandor fails the wife-stealing test metaphorically at the Blackwater.  He’s drunk, scared, barely holding on mentally and he is refused.   

So GRRM has given us extensive literary set-up to place the Blackwater in a symbolically romantic context.  Why?  So he can make the unkiss just about Sansa processing fear and trauma?  That makes no sense.  Now that we have the proper literary context, we can look at Sansa’s progression of thought toward the unkiss logically.   

This is before the first incarnation of the unkiss:  

1)  It’s implied she’s already forgiven Sandor after he leaves her room wrapping herself in his cloak.  She was cold, but she was already in her own bed.  She has cloaks of her own.  That does not speak of fear and trauma after the fact to seek out his cloak and remain under it for some time.  It speaks of subconscious emotional attachment.  

2)  Still so hint that she was traumatized.  This passage takes place approximately one month later according to the ASOIAF timeline.    

I wish the Hound were here. The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she’d been wise. She had his stained white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. She could not say why she’d kept it. The Hound had turned craven, she heard it said; at the height of the battle, he got so drunk the Imp had to take his men. But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. It was only the fire he feared. That night, the wildfire had set the river itself ablaze, and filled the very air with green flame. Even in the castle, Sansa had been afraid. Outside … she could scarcely imagine it.                 

 She wishes the Hound were there for his advice.  She’s has spent more than one night considering the events of the Blackwater, so she’s already processed it.  She secretly kept his cloak with her future wardrobe, though she can’t give a reason she is consciously aware of.  She understands why things happened the way they did from a non-emotionally charged place and with critical thinking.  The only fear she emphasizes is the fear of the wildfire, both inside and outside the castle.  By “wondering if she’d been wise” (that slight pause over her choice but without overwhelming regret) says she might have chosen differently if he had approached her the right way.

Now we get to the first incarnation of the unkiss.  Compared to what actually happened, let’s look at what’s stayed the same, what’s changed or added, what’s been removed:

Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He’d come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song.

He did not not come to her.  He was already in the room.  It’s been changed so he’s coming through the door where she can see him instead of startling her in the dark.  The first thing she says is that she kissed him.  The whole tone of the passage is matter-of-fact.  Not emotionally charged either positively or negatively.  No mention of the knife at her throat.  Then he kisses her.  Then he threatens her and makes her sing him a song.  So the kiss comes before any threat and is tied to the song instead.  The kiss didn’t come under duress, the song did.   

We know from Sansa’s fantasies of Loras Tyrell, she imagines herself being an actor, not just acted upon.  All while the Bear and the Maiden Fair is sang LOUDLY in the background (pointing to the subconscious) by Butterbumps just to drive the point home it’s the bear that satisfied the maiden.  Loras is still very much her conscious ideal at this point.  It’s the type that she is supposed to be with.  He’s what the songs are made of and she wants her life to be just like a song.  Sandor doesn’t fit in that superficial equation at all.  That’s the struggle.  The unkiss is not about coming to terms with trauma.  It’s coming to terms that deep down her erotic desires are the stuff of Gothic literature.  She’s not scared of Sandor, she’s scared of what wanting him says about her.  Miss dutiful, oh so proper lady that she is.  Ha!  

Her first erotic dream that replaces Tyrion with the Hound in the marriage bed is definitely not a nightmare at the end.  It comes the night of Lysa and Petyr’s very loud bedding after their marriage and after Lothor Brune (who she initially mistakes for Sandor) saved Sansa from Marillion’s unwanted advances.  So if the dream is coming after she’s being reminded of sex by the wedding night and Sandor is replacing and protecting her from the unwanted, doesn’t that make his presence wanted? Desired?  The context in how we interpret these things is key.

Finally, let’s get to the second and last (so far) incarnation of the unkiss:

Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy’s kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy.  If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her … and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

As the boy’s lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.

It made no matter. That day was done, and so was Sansa. 

Once again, we must look at the context of what sparked this final version: Robert’s clumsy kiss.  Clumsy and cruel are now tied together.  Although Sansa has no desire to reciprocate Robert’s crush, she does want to be kissed again.  Her first inclination is to pretend he’s Loras, but that doesn’t work. She’s accepted the reality that courtship among the noble class is first and foremost about pedigree and politics.  The rose given was an empty gesture.  She can’t make him the focus of her desires any longer while accepting the truth.  Then her thoughts pivot to her “memory” of the unkiss. 

This version is far more poetic in tone than the first.  The wildfire outside is now turned into a vivid backdrop to the scene, not a horrific apocalypse.  There’s no knife, no threat, no vomit, no wine, no startling her in the dark, no fear.  She’s removed all unwanted elements and kept only the intensity of the moment.  Remember that Sansa wants to be an actor, not just acted upon.  As far as she knows the unkiss is her first real, mature, and erotic kiss.  And it was impulsively done (clumsy) under circumstances where she wasn’t prepared to meet it like an equal participant.  And he left!  The cruelty is making her desire him and leaving her nothing but a bloody cloak.  While the addition of the cloak is factual, it speaks to what she was given, what she was left with, was ultimately unsatisfying though she kept it all the same.  “That day is done,” there’s no going back.  He upended her usual fantasies and rocked her world view.  No other erotic fantasy will measure up now and it’s over before it can be satisfied.  We know from the preceding passage about Loras that her conscious desires now hinge upon accepting the truth.  This isn’t fear or trauma, it’s disappointment.  Like “I kissed the Hound and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”  She’s consciously accepted her desire and must put it behind her immediately because he’s gone.

But not to worry because literarily speaking, GRRM has set us up for a do-over and she’s due to see him again really soon. ;)                

[bunnybrownauthor-blog]

An excerpt from Gra’s Gift:

She stopped and stood when those in front of her stopped.  She didn't look around but only ahead.  She put everything she had into standing still.

"We bring to you a warrior.  The first Gra warrior in seven generations. This is your gift given to you by Gra. Now you must decide.  Will you except her and trust in Gra once more? Or will you kill her like the last Gra warrior?"  Those that were lit up asked the council.

"War! You have brought us War?!"

She bit back a response.  Her ear twitched and she knelt, bowing her head.  Gra would be dealing with them.

"You sit in judgment of this young warrior but are ignorant to even her name. You have no idea of her nature." They paused.  There was some murmuring from the council.  "But Gra does.  This is where you either trust Gra to lead…. or you do not."

"We need to discuss...."

"You have had four days!  The time for discussion has passed.  Now is the time to decide.  Will you and your house follow Gra or will you turn away?  This is the question that you are to decide nothing else." This sent another murmur through those gathered there.

"I will not have her here!  I don't care if Gra himself was here!"

"The leader of the second house has made his decision."  She did not hear that voice again, but there was great murmuring from those above her.  If she had been looking up, she would have known that no sound could come from the ruler, even though he was gesturing wildly and trying to say more.  Anyone that tried to help him by interpreting was also afflicted.  Soon they settled.

The baby moved and though it was a light movement her hand went to her stomach instinctively.  Her mind almost exploded as a realization struck her like a wall.  She felt her stomach lurch and felt nauseous, as panic rose in her chest.

"How can allowing her on Mearth be following Gra?  She will only bring war and destruction!”  scoffed the next voice.

“Because I….have brought her here!  You must TRUST that I have your tail.”

“I cannot in good conscious let her be here." said the voice.

"The ruler of the third house has spoken."

She thought she might vomit and swallowed hard.  She prayed, no one understood the language she used.  It was one that only she and Gra knew.  "What of the child?  Kind Elder I am afraid I do not want the child to die."  

One of those that where lit came to her and knelt beside her.  "Peace child.  Is the baby yours or mine?"

She thought a moment, "yours," she replied humbly.

"Then let me take care of him."

"You have given me the responsibility of caring for him.  Will I not be remiss if I do not try everything I can to see that he is well?"

"Peace child," the sound came out slightly amused.  "You have little control of this outcome.  I know your weakness well but stay strong warrior." The person stood then but stayed close.

She shoved her doubts aside and swallowed her fear, settling herself.

They were waiting for the fourth ruler.  He was sensitive and could feel the fear roll off of her like an ocean wave.   His heart broke for her.  She was still very young, but she faced a real death.  He felt her push it all aside and calm herself after the one spoke to her.  'She stands on faith,' he heard his grandfather's voice, 'what will YOU do?'

"Question." The elder Luset began.  "I do not know what the outcome of all of this will be, but I would like to know her name."

"Ssinarr'ala.  Though those that know her well call her Cindy.  A mispronunciation of the name lead to this."  Cindy said something in that strange language.  "She would like you to know that the child that she is carrying will be named Raph."  A ripple of shock ran through the group.  

Luset’s eyes teared up, but his voice was strong when he spoke.  "As for me and my house."  he paused to take a deep breath.  His voice rang with authority when he next spoke, "We will follow Gra!"

A cheer unexpectedly erupted from the crowd to her right.  Cindy started and then exhaled in relief.

"The ruler of the fourth house has spoken." Was heard above the den. It took a few minutes for them to quiet. Cindy noted that they were not reprimanded.

"My house will stand with Gra." Another round of cheering broke out, though it didn't last as long.

"The ruler of the fifth house has spoken."

There was a long pause.  "This is a hard decision to make."

Someone from her right shouted, "no its not follow Gra!"  Soon the chant broke out.  "Follow Gra"

The ruler raised his hand.  "Quiet please."  There was another pause.  "I have heard many disturbing things about this one."  A breath was taken.  "I pray that Gra knows what he is doing and while I do not trust this one. I will trust Gra.  I except her."  A cheer broke out.

"The ruler of sixth house has spoken."  There was another long pause while the crowd quieted.  

"I have heard similar things about this one."  The voice was female and shocked Cindy a little.  "I cannot in good conscious except her."  It sounded like she took a breath to say more but no sound came from her.

"The ruler of the seventh house has spoken."

Cindy added the numbers in her head.  A tie, but one house still hadn't been heard from.

"Senzent of the house of Senzent.  It appears yours will be the deciding vote.  Come forth!"

"I already know how I will vote," came the reply.

"As do I. That is why I want you to be here when you give it."

Senzent seemed to puzzle this a moment and then got up.  While they waited one of the lit ones came up to Cindy.  They spoke in that strange language, but Cindy understood.  "Dagger." Cindy reached to the small of her back.  "The other." Gra said.

Cindy paused thinking of the collection that she wore.  She reached to the right of the small of her back. "Dagger." She repeated as she held it out.  The lit one took it.  Cindy felt a little woozy but breathed through it.

Senzent appeared and walked over to where the lit ones where gathered around her. "It is in your heart and mind to vote against this warrior.  So, take this dagger and deliver the death blow yourself."

There was silence and Cindy could hear his intake of breath.  He took the knife and fear swelled inside her.  She closed her eyes.  "If you place one hand on my head it will stabilize the neck." She heard herself say.

"I would not touch you!" Senzent spat at her as he stepped behind her.  

She took a deep breath and held it.  She felt the blade against the base of her head.  'Good position.' Her mind thought.

Then one of those that were lit stepped beside Senzent and whispered something to him. The blade shook in his hand. 'Crud he is going to miss.' she thought wildly.

To everyone's shock Senzent stepped away dropping the knife.  "I can't!  Gra help me I can’t do it!" he all but wept.  

"So, you accept her?"

Senzent looked at the lit one and nodded.  "Yes. May Gra have mercy on my house for my weakness."

"The ruler of the first house has spoken."

"To the houses that voted against my warrior.  I will speak to you now.  To the second house's ruler.  Because you have chosen to turn from me.  Your house will not prosper.  Everything that you and your house touch will wither and die.  This will continue until your house rises a Gra Warrior of its own."

"Mercy!"

All eyes turned to Cindy who had cried out the one word.  "Mercy for the children of the second house."

"They would have killed you and YOUR child.  Yet you cry mercy for them?"

"Yes," Cindy replied no doubt in her voice.

"This is…. This is the warrior that you fear?!” the lit ones gestured to Cindy and then pointed accusingly at the second house's ruler.  “The one that cries MERCY for YOU!”  

Then they paused, “Very well.  For my warrior's sake.  Any of the second house that accepts my warrior into their house or helps her will be blessed.  In addition, if four or more of the second house gather together and cry Ca'cis, mercy, to me; they will have enough for their families."

"Thank you.  Your mercy is great."  Cindy said.

The lit one nodded and turned to the third house.  “To the ruler of the third house.  Because you have chosen to turn from me.  I will bring your house crashing down around your ears.

The seventh house's ruler.  I will take from you everything you hold dear."  

They then turned to the first house.  "To those of the first house.  I send this warning.  You need to learn to follow me or you and yours will be pierced through the heart."

Then tuning to the crowd all seven said as one, "I present to you your Gra warrior!"  A cheer erupted from the crowd.  The light vanished from those around her.  

Cindy stood wobbly and walked out.  Her brain was in a fog.  She didn't understand what had happened.  ‘Now what?’ she thought dismayed as she wandered outside.

[sickandvomiting]

As promised!

A lovely submission from a lovely anon!!!!

Hey, as promised, here is the story of a sick Neil.

I am not English, so am sorry if there are mistakes. I did my best but I have trouble with conjugation. Well I interpreted according to published illustrations and stories. I imagined Neil, Oscar and Aisling in collocation. I hope that pleases you. Love you

******************************

Something was wrong. He didn’t know exactly what but it was bad. Neil turned in his bed and looked up at the red numerals of his alarm clock. 5 AM.

A slight noise in the living room told him that Oscar was probably still standing. God … He did not know how this guy was doing to live the night. Himself depressed if he didn’t see the sunlight when he awake.

He changed his position again, curling up to the side. Impossible to close the eye. He was too hot. Cold at the same time. The sheets sticking to his skin, stifled him. He seemed to be lying on sandpaper. Wrapped in a thick, rough layer. His whole body was itching, he felt dirty, irritated, exasperated. He turned again. Pushing his head into the pillow. But even like this, lying on his stomach, he felt no better. On the contrary.

7 AM.

“It’s not true,” he moaned, “that will never end? I just want to sleep”.

With an angry kick he sent out the blankets. He regretted it at once. The brutal movement had sent an electric discharge into all its members. A wave rose in his stomach. He then understood or was the problem at the same time that he leaned. With a violently gag he spiting the contents its gastric content. By reflex, he had aimed at the side of the bed, but it was not enough to prevent the sheets and himself to be covered by the vomit.

-No no no no….

But as his conscience dictated him to get up, to get to the bathroom and then clean the room, his body too relieved to be free from the discomfort decided otherwise and he fell asleep.

-Neil … Neil!

The man opened his eyes with a jolt at the sound of the voice panicked. He took a few seconds before realizing that he was slumped in the bathroom and sobbing violently, hanging on to Aisling. Confused he tried to recall the events preceding the present situation. He felt bad in the night … and ended up vomiting in his bed … but after? The black hole! Why was he crying like a baby in his friend’s arms? How was he there? Too tired to try to reason, he felt a wave of panic hug him. He repulsed Aisling. The walls were turning. He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply. His efforts were interrupted by a powerful wave of nausea. A layer of sweat slid down between his shoulder blades. His hands became moist and clutched convulsively the porcelain bowl. He felt sinking when the soft hands of Aisling came to support his forehead and caress his back.

He was shaken by vertigo, and almost heard his blood beat at his temples. His stomach revolted.

When the nausea ceased at last, tingling swept through his joints, he could not even hold his head straight. Only her friend’s voice, in her ear, prevented her from collapsing.

“Neil,” she murmured in his ear. “Simply breathe. Everything is fine. You’re not alone.”

Little by little, he managed to relax, the tingling disappeared and he let himself slide against his friend, reassured by his presence. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of well being of the fresh fingers that brushed his hair out of his sweat-soaked forehead.

-“Ash”, he asked finally, a little ashamed of the tears in his voice, “I … how … What happened?”

-“It’s up to you to tell me,” she replied with a little laugh. “You would have seen Oscar’s head when he came in my room! For once, we must thank him for going to bed so late. It was he who heard you and when he came to see if everything was ok, he found you sleeping in your own vomit. You gave us a hard time, you know. We couldn’t wake you up and as if that wasn’t enough, you started vomiting before we could take you to the bathroom. You screamed and crying that you felt bad, we knew more what to do. Oscar was about to call an ambulance when you calmed down a bit. We were able to change your clothes and clean up the mess a little. But you did not stop sobbing … Oh Neil … What put you ilike this? You have a fever and a good cold if you want my opinion but you …”

-“Where .. is Oscar?” Interrupted Neil, unwilling to not answer the question immediately.

-“I think he was starting to feel sick. It was he who cleaned the room and your clothes while I taked care of you. You know he has a fragile stomach, so I sent him to buy some water.”

-“I am sorry…”

-“Don’t apologize. Explain to me rather.”

Neil sank a little more against Aisling, sighing softly. What had put him in that state? He did not know too much. A lot of little things accumulated over time, daily hassles, the rain of the day before that had soaked him … Maybe he had more trouble accepting himself than he thought. A too full of unspoken, past suffering. Nothing serious but it was enough to plunge him into a spiral of doubt and ill-being, increased with the feverish delirium of a seasonal flu.

-“I don’t know,” he murmured at last. “I don’t know Ash, I’m just tired right now.”

-Humm, she smiles, desirous not to jostle the Sick.

She felt that there was something else, but she also saw how confused the blond was, and how bad he was, she did not want him to become more anguished than he already was. Against her Neil began to fall asleep, breathing still jerky with small hiccups. He was clearly exhausted but calmer. The bulk of the discomfort had passed.

-“Neil … How are you feeling?

-“I don’t know…”

-“Do you still want to vomit?”

-“A little … I … feel … empty …”

-“You’ll be better lying, come, I’ll take you back to bed.”

-“Mmmmh … no … living room …”

-“You prefer the sofa? You will be less at ease!”

-“Yes … Please …”

-“Okay, calm down,” she sighed, kissing him as small tears were forming in the man’s eyes. “All is well Neil.”

With patience, she helped him get up. The man trembled with exhaustion… Walking was terribly painful, every step required a considerable effort. Terrified by his own weakness, Neil could not prevent his tears from sinking, and when at length he lay down on the sofa, he hid his head in the pillows.

-My god, Aisling … I’m pathetic! I’m sorry … so sorry …

-Chut, stop, everything is fine. I put a bucket next to the sofa in case you feel sick again. So don’t hold back okay?

Neil didn’t answer, just nodding his head weakly. He was not even sure he understood what Aisling was telling him. All he wanted now was to sleep. Plunge into a heavy sleep or pain could not reach it.

The young woman sighed in relief as the breath became more regular. She gently released her hand from Neil’s hand and covered the trembling body with a blanket. She would lie down beside him when the sound of the door made her raise her head. Oscar entered the room with both arms loaded with bottles of water. He laid down his burden and approached his friends.

-“Well,” he sighed, “it’s crazy what it looks like fine!”

“Hmmm … it’s going to be a long day,” the young woman smiled.

Oscar stroked the blond’s hair and then kissed his friend’s forehead.

“Well, we’ll be there for him.” He said, sitting down next to them.

“Yes, that’s what friends do,” Aisling agreed.

She let her head fall on Oscar’s shoulder and they both fell asleep.

[miragablog]

Top 10 Mahou Shoujo Shows for Babies (Part 1)

I’ll be the first person to admit, getting into Mahou Shoujo is hard.

With the lacking amount of accessible critique and over the top presentation shows of the genre adopt,

It can be genuinely uninviting for many anime fans to get a foot in the door that is Magical Girl.

After my last video, I received a handful of comments asking about what I’d recommend as great gateway shows for a newbie.

While a recommendations list is all good and well, giving context to why these shows are worth your time is what i’m more interested in talking about today.

Before getting into the list I’d like to clarify that the choice being presented arnt tiered based on quality nor personal preference.

Some of these shows I love more than others and others not so much; However when recommending shows to try in a sub genre like Mahou shoujo, I find it counterproductive to introduce ratings when breaking down audience bias.

Also I’m judging the viability of these shows on their first five episodes, maybe a few chapters of the manga.

With that out of the way, let's get into the first section….

Kill la Kill

In a world where facism has taken hold of Japanese government, scissor blade wielding badass Ryuko Matoi is on a quest to avenge the death of her father. This brings her to Honnouji Academy, a school run by the iron fist of Satsuki Kiryuin. 

For the sake of finding her father’s murderer, Ryuko must demonstrate pride in her body and fighting spirit with the help of a bloodthirsty seifuku known as Senketsu.

Let's say you made a magical cheesecake. Amongst the common choices, of strawberries, banana and cherries you dig through and find the tangy lemon that is Hiroyuki Imaishi’s Kill la Kill.

Trigger has done some fantastic work in its six years as a studio, revolutionizing modern anime as we know it. 

However what I never hear ANYBODY talk about is how Imaishi and co.’s work has pushed the concept of the Magical Girl.Kill La kill is a bombastic, stylish addition to the genre and a fantastic entry point for introducing others to Mahou Shoujo. 

It has a really fresh, fun take on the Magical warrior, in its most literal form. The use of a mascot character being the transformation item is rare enough, but including symbiote-esc elements to the costume as a whole is something i’ve never really seen done outside of comic books stateside. 

While some may critique the shows use of “Fanservice” to be pandering or perverted, I don't think it should be a roadblock in trying KLK out. Most of the nudity presented serves into a message about confidence and having pride in who you are.

It's not trite BS like what you see in Queens Blade or (shudder) Master of Martial Hearts.

If you’re trying to get your little brother or a friend to try Mahou shoujo without having to preface starting crunchyroll with a disclaimer- about how your a real man, throw this on with a bowl of popcorn and a pitcher of lemonade. You’ll have a blast.

Shugo Chara

Amu Himamori is, for all intensive purposes, popular.

Or is she feared?

The “Cool and Spicy” character surrounding Amu pervades the relationships she tries to make with others.

Despite her crushingly shy nature, classmates interpret everything she does in a rebellious lense, perpetuating rumors without making the effort to get to know Amu outside of her reputation.

But in a miraculous turn of events, she is given the chance to rectify her social standing with the blessing of three strange eggs known as Chara, portions of Amu’s buried personality that act as guardian angels.

Originally watching the show while airing in 2008, I can say that Shugo Chara is a contender with the likes of Pretty Cure when it comes to presentation. I’m surprised I don't hear more people talk about the series to be honest.

Transformation sequences are minimal but catch the eye.

The concept of having multiple characters to change in and out of when needed lends to keeping the audience guessing, especially when paired transformations with new Chara come into play.

In combination, Peach-Pits colorful art design and Kenji Yasuda’s directing kept me glued to the screen.

While the shows premise isn't horribly original, Shugo chara stands out for it’s “heart on it’s sleeve” approach to character development.

Overall Shugo Chara has a very child friendly plot while addressing overlooked themes in most bishoujo.  

Panty and Stocking With Garterbelt

Keeping this one nice and sweet as i’ve already mentioned Hiroyuki Imaishis contribution to the genre with Kill La Kill.

If you want to test your expectation or others of Mahou Shoujo while indulging in some vulgar toilet humor, then Panty and Stocking is worth checking out.

While shows like this may not be everyone's cup of tea, Gainax has definitely cranked out a fantastic parody addressing the more sexual undercurrents usually glossed over in Magical warrior.

You don't see many studios that have the confidence to implement pole dancing into their transformation sequences.

Atsushi Nishigori, Masahiko Otsuka, Yoh Yoshinari- Shit even my girl Sayo Yamamoto is here. With the diversity in staff, you’re bound to find something you like whether its the experimental realism in “Vomiting Point” or a saving private ryan homage with sperm ghosts in “Pulp Addiction”.

As someone who's watched all of Panty and Stocking through in both Japanese and English; I’d highly recommend the dub.

Not only does it help jokes stick but stays really close to the original intent while implementing some Adult Swim level humor.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll probably be swept away by the shows poppy, powerpuff girl-esc art and Teddyloid’s contributions to the OST, introducing punchy playlist worthy electronica. Just don't listen to it with your mom or anything.

Cardcaptor Sakura

Sakura Kinamoto is your typical fourth grader.

She's outgoing, participates in sports at school and is beloved by her fellow classmates.

One day, when returning from class Sakura hears a strange sound from her father’s study. Investigating the bookshelves, she opens a strange tome containing “Clow Cards”,

a magicians tarot deck imbued with the powers of aspected spirits.

However, with a gust of wind the cards are lost and with the help of the books guardian, Kero- Sakura must recollect the deck and discover her true self.

Cardcaptor Sakura is by far one of the least abrasive gateways into long form Magical Warrior.

I’m 20 episodes into the series and while I know I dont have the free time to watch another 50 I kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnddddddddddaaaaaaaaa dont careeeeeee?

The scenery is beautiful, pacing is mellow and everybody, whether it be top tier camcorder waifu Tomoyo to the cuckoo lander childhood crush Yukito will find a way to melt your heart.

When others talk about the typicality of magical girls, I find that Sakura presents many unorthodox takes on commonalities to the subgenre.

The show doesn't have transformation sequences, but rather invests its runtime on  inventive fight scenes and dynamic character development.

On the Manga side the series is much more compact read, with about 12 volumes not including the newly announced Clear Card Arc. Mokona and gangs luxurious, carefully laid linework are in the forefront, taking a less hi-scifi approach than their other titles.

When it comes to wholesome, genuine Mahou Shoujo- Cardcaptor Sakura is a great series to snuggle into a blanket and watch with a friend.

Sailor Moon

YOU DON'T NEED A PLOT SYNOPSIS FOR THE DRAGON BALL Z OF MAHOU SHOUJO. IF YOU DO, YOU’RE EITHER LIVING UNDER A ROCK OR TOO YOUNG TO BE ON THIS SITE. FUCK.

Yes, the Dic dub is borderline horrible if you didn't grow up with it and the shows a popular prototype for what we now consider the Magical warrior, which for some is pretty stock. BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN IT ISN'T FANTASTIC AND WORTH THE BINGE.

As far as Magical Warrior goes, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon is a staple introduction to modern Mahou Shoujo.

While early sections of the series do contain buckets of filler, the show makes up for it with a lovable, diverse cast, Beautiful transformations and a fun premise.

Season three alone, Sailor Moon S is arguably one of the best installments in the genre and worth every second of your time as it showcases director Kunihiko Ikuhara, of Utena and Mawaru Penguindrum fame.

The story is nothing too crazy mind you; but if you’re interested in Sailor Moon manga-wise, Naoko Takeuchi’s illustrations are TO DIE FOR, drawn with meticulous detail and colored with a mixture of ink and translucent watercolors.

Look i’ll even make it easier; because I have no life and completed the show six times. A month or so ago I put together a “Abridged Viewing Guide” for people wanting to cut out useless filler so if you’re interested the link will be in the description.

Sailor Moon broke ground in the 90’s for what is now considered a “typical magical girl”. Truly, You would be doing yourself a disservice passing the series up.

[kevinscottgardens]

8 through 31 December 2019

The week of 8 December was one for Christmas parties: Monday for volunteers at the garden, Tuesday was book club’s and Wednesday was the horticulture team’s secret Santa and dinner.

Our team likes to treat our volunteers to a week of baked goods before Christmas and this is what we baked...

Allison: lemon polenta cake

Louisa: carrot cake

Jess: rocky road squares

I baked Ottolenghi’s apple cake with maple frosting

Nell: millionaire’s shortbread

Rob: boiled orange cake

The next book for book club is Cloud Garden by Paul Winder and Tom Hart Dyke. I read it over the last weekend in December. I didn’t recognise the title; however, when I started reading it, I remembered it. Evidently I read it just two years ago, according to my account on Goodreads!

There was much raking and I did a lot of pruning in the tropical corridor before I headed to Lyon then Germany and France for most of the end of December.

I went to chez Stéphane et Bruno for the weekend of 13-16 December. Their annual friends’ fancy dress Christmas party was a lot of fun. This year’s them was ‘l’union de la haute cour et la basse cour’ leaving lots of room for interpretation - one of the many reasons the party is so much fun. It was all the more exciting this year when they announced their engagement. The wedding will be at next year’s Christmas party, 12 December. I am very excited for both of them. What will the theme be?

Brunch Sunday is always a big affair too...

Then two days in the garden before I headed to Germany. I took the train via Brussels to Köln, where Stephan met me and drove me to Wuppertal where he lives and grew up. We enjoyed visiting Christmas markets in Wuppertal, Essen and Köln. We also took lots of walks with his dog Lady. Wuppertal is famous for its Wuppertaler Schwebebahn; the oldest electric elevated railway with hanging cars in the world and is a unique system.

I was affected by the French train strikes, and has to sit on hold for ninety minutes of irritating muzak. Finally, someone answered and I had a replacement ticket in under two minutes. My nice first class seat on a midday train was now a 6am train and not in first class.

The trip to Paris was pleasant. I arrived at chez Lucien et Fabrice welcomed by Raymond le chat and a beautiful Christmas tree. Lucien and I made the rounds in Paris on his tandem to collect all the food for Christmas eve dinner. There were eight of us and this was the menu:

Aperitif - Foie gras et champagne

Entrée - Plateau de fruits de mer rouge, bulots et crevettes

Plat - Volaille farcie accompagnée de champignons, haricots verts et des marrons

Fromage - Plateau de deux fromages avec salade

Dessert - Bûches de Nöel au chocolat et citron vert de Maison Mulot

I returned to London on Boxing Day. The following day I managed to see a doctor to have some tests done for some stomach issues I’ve had most of the month.

I enjoyed a very nice evening with a delicious meal and good company at Maarten, Mark and Mike’s place in Kingston. We rang in the New Year with a toast.

Tuesday, New Year’s Eve, I had the results, I have a bacteria in my gut. I tried to collect antibiotics as soon as I found out; I didn’t realise they closed at midday. I would have to wait until after the New Year to start my antibiotics...

Plant of the week 13 December

Rubiaceae Coprosma robusta Raoul

common name(s) - karamu synonym(s) - Coprosma coffaeoides Colenso conservation rating - none native to - New Zealand location - world medicine Oceana, accession 2014-0400 leaves - branches are stout with no hair; domatia (small holes on the back of the leaf at the intersection of veins) and stipules are significant characteristic features of Coprosma; stipules are black, hairless and obtuse with slightly serrated margin that are united at the base; glossy leaves to 120mm long, elliptic-oblong shape and acute or obtuse leaf apex and with obvious veins; dark green on the blade and light green on the back, thick, and the midrib is not raised on the upper surface flowers - small and white, axillary, dense, have four lobes and have a different appearance in male and females; male flowers are dense, glomerules with a campanulate shaped corolla and have four stamens; female flowers are compound with a tubular shaped corolla; stigmas are obvious; often dark orange-red to red, oblong to narrow ovate drups habit - large bushy shrub to 6m tall habitat - most commonly found in coastal areas, lowland forests, or shrublands to 1,200m altitude pests - none found disease - none found hardiness - to -5ºC (H3) soil - can adapt to infertile soils, poorly drained and exposed lands sun - full sun to part shade propagation - seed when ripe; semi-ripe cuttings pruning - damaged, dead, diseased nomenclature - Rubiaceae - rubia - red, ruber (the name in Pliny for madder); Coprosma - dung-smelling, the odour of the bruised leaves; robusta - of oak, robur, strong-growing, robust, robustus NB - juvenile shoots can be applied to release inflammation or bladder problems if boiled and then the liquid drunk; leaves are believed by Maori to have the ability to deal with kidney troubles and bark can be and used to treat stomach ache and vomiting; mature berries of karamu can be eaten as food, and its leaves used to make a tea drink; this is one of the first seven Coprosma species collected by Joseph Banks with Cook's voyage to New Zealand. At that time, Coprosma robusta was called Pelaphia lata.

References, bibliography:

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] http://www.iucnredlist.org/search [4 Jan 20]

Plant List, The [online] http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl1.1/record/kew-46935 [4 Jan 20]

Wikipedia [online] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coprosma_robusta [4 Jan 20]

Plant of the week 20 December

Santalaceae Viscum album L.

common name(s) - European mistletoe, common mistletoe, mistletoe; French: gui; Spanish: muerdago; Italian: vischio, visco synonym(s) - Stelin album Bubani; Viscum album var. album conservation rating - Least Concern native to - SW Asia to Europe location - William Curtis bed, accession 2006-0029 leaves - evergreen flowers - dioecious; small, easily overlooked flowers are produced in a short inflorescence of three to five flowers in the forks of the branches; sweetly scented, produce nectar; waxy white berries in autumn habit - small woody shrub, frequently globular in shape and can reach over 1m in diameter habitat - grows on the branches of other trees, to which it is attached by a swelling called a haustorium pests - none found disease - none found hardiness - to -15ºC (H5) soil - n/a sun - part sun propagation - smearing the seed onto host branches pruning - none nomenclature - Santalaceae - santalum - from the Persian, چوب صندل shandul, for the sandal-wood tree; Viscum - the ancient Latin name for mistletoe or the birdlime from its berries (Aristotle knew that the mistle thrush, Turdus visivorus, excreted seeds onto apple trees, hence mistle twigs or mistletoe); album - bright, dead-white NB - it is hemiparasitic which means that although it depends on its host for water and mineral nutrients, it is able to photosynthesise; potentially fatal, in a concentrated form, and people can become seriously ill from eating the berries; an ingredient of pomace brandy based liquor biska made in Istra, Croatia.

References, bibliography:

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/203473/2766017 [4 Jan 20]

Plant List, The [online] http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl1.1/record/kew-2461327 [4 Jan 20]

Plants of the World [online] http://plantsoftheworldonline.org/taxon/urn:lsid:ipni.org:names:300881-2 [4 Jan 20]

Wikipedia [online] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viscum_album [4 Jan 20]

Plant of the week 27 December

Campanulaceae Canarina canariensis (L.) Vatke

common name(s) - Canary Island bellflower synonym(s) - Campanula canariensis L.; Campanula hastifolia Salisb.; Canarina campanula L.; Canarina canariensis var. angustifolia G.Kunkel; Canarina laevigata G.Don; Mindium canariense (L.) Raf. conservation rating - none native to - Canary Islands location - glasshouse two, accession 1982-0198 leaves - a tuberous deciduous perennial with hollow, scrambling stems, bearing lance-shaped leaves flowers - pendent bell-shaped, attractively veined deep orange-red flowers; fruit is a large ovate, fleshy berry, orange when ripe, and edible habit - scrambling habitat - frequent in laurel forests and forest margins 300m to 1,000m pests - glasshouse whitefly, glasshouse red spider mite disease - generally disease-free hardiness - to 1ºC (H2) soil - well-drained loam or sand; under glass, grow in loam-based potting compost in bright filtered light with good ventilation sun - part shade, sheltered propagation - seed at 15°C to 18°C in spring pruning - none nomenclature - Campanulaceae - campanula - bell-like, diminutive of campana; Canarina - from the Canary Islands, Canaria insula, (dog island, one of the Insulae fortunatae); canariensis - of bird food, from the Canary Isles NB - water freely when in growth and keep completely dry when foliage yellows in late spring.

References, bibliography:

Gledhill, David, (2008) “The Names of Plants”, fourth edition; Cambridge University Press; ISBN: 978-0-52168-553-5

IUCN [online] http://www.iucnredlist.org/search [4 Jan 20]

Plant List, The [online] http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl1.1/record/kew-366766 [4 Jan 20]

Royal Horticultural Society [online] https://www.rhs.org.uk/Plants/2996/Canarina-canariensis/Details [4 Jan 20]

Wikipedia [online] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canarina_canariensis [4 Jan 20]