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#Jon: half of the people here are checking you out
disasterarea-podcast · 10 months
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So given the writer’s strike, some people are concerned about their shows and movies being postponed or canceled, and aside from the fact networks have already BEEN canceling shows for no reason for years (I still maintain a healthy anger about what Netflix did to Sense8), I thought I would suggest some books on disasters you might want to read if you’re into that sort of history. Which you are if you’re here, I imagine.
Note: I’m suggesting these books because most books on disasters don’t get a huge audience, and so I recommend them because this sort of writing can be hard on the writer and requires a bunch of research. We throw so much money at true crime, we can spare a few bucks for the stories of people who died in disasters.
Also, please check with these with your local small bookstore or library. Amazon can be great, but let’s lend a hand to those who need us more.
Recommended books:
“The Circus Fire,” by Stewart O’Nan - This is one my favorite books on a disaster, because the whole thing creates a very vivid image of the circus prior to the fire in Hartford in July of 1944. There’s one specific line in the book which always makes me pause because it’s so affecting, about how everyone who escaped being able to hear the sounds of the animals screaming as they died - except all of the animals were out of the tent by then.
“The Only Plane in the Sky,” by Garrett Graff - This, I highly recommend you get on audiobook. It’s an oral history of the events of 9/11 with a full cast, and it’s incredibly affecting to listen to.
“Ada Blackjack: A True Story of Survival in the Arctic,” by Jennifer Niven - Ada Blackjack was a badass: flawed and weak at times, but hardy and steady when necessary. Half of her story is how she survived, but half is how she was exploited following her rescue. Both stories need to be known.
“Alive,” by Piers Paul Read - If you’re watching “Yellowjackets,” this should be required reading. If you’ve seen the movie adaptation from the 90s, there is WAY more you don’t know. The story of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 is a tough read, but a worthy one.
“A Night to Remember,” by Walter Lord - This is to disaster nonfiction what “In Cold Blood” is to true crime. It’s not a long read, but it’s a great one. Lord had the advantage of writing the book while many of the Titanic survivors were still alive and could give a very good description of what they went through.
“Dying to Cross,” by Jorge Ramos - I recommend this not just because it is good, but because it is timely. Nineteen people died in an un-air-conditioned truck as they were attempting to make their way into the states from over the Mexican border. It’s a horrific story, and one that humanizes an issue for whom some people need to be faced with the humans involved and what they go through.
“Bath Massacre: America’s First School Bombing,” by Arnie Bernstein - Harold Schecter also wrote a very good book on the Bath school massacre called “Maniac,” but I have a preference for this version. It’s a good reminder that schools in the U.S. didn’t just become targets in the last twenty years or so.
“Into Thin Air,” by Jon Krakauer - I feel like this is a gimme, but it’s a fantastic book from someone who was actually on Mount Everest during the 1996 disaster and knew those involved very well. I happen to like Krakauer’s work anyway - I even like “Into the Wild” despite my feelings about McCandless and his legacy - but it’s understandably my favorite.
“And the Band Played On,” by Randy Shilts - The one thing I will say is that Shilts’ treatment of Gaetan Dugas is *rough* to say the least and outright wrong on some points, God knows. But it’s still an amazing book, and if you come out of it not wanting to dig up Reagan and punch him a bunch I’m impressed at your restraint.
“Triangle: The Fire That Changed America,” by David von Drehle - The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire is one of the disasters I am most interested in, and I would argue this is the definitive book on the subject. Also, if this book introduces you to both Clara Lemlich and Frances Perkins … I mean, talk about badass women.
“The Radium Girls,” by Kate Moore - Look, I’ll say this. If you know of the Radium Girls, this is a great book on their story. If you don’t know, go in blind and prepared to be horrified.
“Red Famine: Stalin’s War on Ukraine,” by Anne Applebaum - Ukraine has always been a target. During the Holodomor, they were victims of one of the worst genocides in history.
“Midnight in Chernobyl,” by Adam Higginbotham - Like the miniseries? This is a great source for more information for what happened at Chernobyl and all of the ass-covering involved.
"Boston Strong: A City's Triumph Over Tragedy," by Casey Sherman and Dave Wedge - If you’re interested in the Boston marathon bombing, I really thought this book did a good job of connecting the stories of the victims, the authorities searching for the killers, and the killers themselves.
“Show Me the Bodies: How We Let Grenfell Tower,” by Peter Apps - As I understand it, Apps did a lot of covering the Grenfell Tower fire for the British press, and it shows. He provides a mountain of information, and you will come out of reading this book absolutely LIVID about what authorities allowed to happen in Grenfell and so many other council estates in the UK.
“Dark Tide: The Great Molasses Flood of 1919,” by Stephen Puleo - I feel as though the molasses flood gets treated like a joke a lot of the time, but y’all, twenty people died. That area of Boston was *wrecked*. The photos of the devastation are terrifying. Puleo treats all of this with the proper respect it deserves.
“In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex,” by Nathaniel Philbrick - Forget the movie. Read the book.
“The Great Influenza,” by John M. Barry - Want to read about the 1918 flu epidemic? Want to be mad that a hundred years later we didn’t learn a damn thing?
Now, that’s just a start. If anyone wants, I can always post photos of my disaster book collection on Kindle and next to my recording desk. Or if there’s a specific disaster you’re interested in, I may know of a good book about it you can read.
But just remember if SAG and the directors’ guild joins the strike too - there is so much out there to occupy your time until they come back. Entertainment work is work, and it deserves to be supported financially and fairly as such. Rock on, WGA. ✊
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could i please request a jon snow x female reader where jon is jealous of someone the reader is talking to (or vice versa) it's up to you :)
oh and which ever you feel would fit for headcanon, one shot or imagine :) thank you
Hi anon, yes! My guilty pleasure is reading fics with the love triangle (or love line I suppose)/ jealousy trope, so gladly haha.
The Jealous Type
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Pairing: Jon Snow x Arryn!Reader
Words: .8k
Warnings: None
In an effort to support Jon and Sansa in their re-taking of Winterfell, you decide to call on the banner-men of the Vale. The ones loyal to you and not your half-brother and his very unstable and spiteful mother at least.
It totalled to just under half of the Valemen that joined you in the North, but another large chunk of them had to remain to ensure Lysa didn’t try to make a move on the undefended keeps of your banner-men.
At the war camp, you find yourself engrossed in conversation with Ser Andar Royce. A handsome man no doubt—you’d always heard girls in the Eyrie talk about him and beautiful features. And for most, a very, very good choice in match.
But for you, Andar was always the friendly fade around the castle, nothing more, nothing less. And more importantly, he’s no Jon Snow.
“I must say My Lady, it’s been a long time since we last saw one another, and you seemed to have only grown more beautiful by the day.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Ser,” you say back sarcastically.
“A man is allowed to try, is he not?” he replies cheekily.
“So long as you win the battle to re-take Winterfell, I don’t see any problem with trying.”
At the mention of Winterfell, his face grows more serious. “Your knights will follow you, My Lady, but are you sure that you’re willing to risk the stability of your claim in the Vale for this?” He glances around as if to check around for prying ears and then says in a much more hushed voice, “They’ll probably crown the bastard, the Northernmen would. They’d pick him over Lady Sansa.”
A spark of anger flits in your chest. “If that were the case, Winterfell would at least be in the hands of a good man. One of the greatest I have ever met.”
Sensing the harshness behind your words, Ser Andar nods. “Yes, My Lady. Of course.” He gives you a small incline of the head and walks away.
Through the clearing of people hustling about, preparing for the next move of camp, you spot Jon staring at you from across the way with a puzzling look on his face. You begin to walk down the corridor of tents in a hurry and not necessarily in a talking mood so you quicken your pace.
Unluckily for you, Jon breaks from the crowd, matching your speed stride for stride with ease. “I couldn’t help but notice that Ser Royce was talking with you.”
You don’t look at him, only looking in front of you. “I am the claimant to the Eyrie, a lot of people talk to me.”
“You know what I meant.”
You shoot an eyebrow up to glance at Jon. “Are you jealous?”
He remains tight lipped. “I didn’t say that.”
“Jon, Ser Royce was a childhood friend back in the Vale and he lead his men and the other knights here to help our cause. There are preparations that must be made—”
“Do those preparations include flirting with his sworn Lady?” asks Jon with a biting sarcasm. His words cause you to halt in your tracks, Jon stopping as well. “ ‘Cause I could see the stars in his eyes from where I was standing.”
“And if he was, hm? It’s not like it would matter,” the next words accidentally tumble out of your mouth with the rest of your snappy retort, “I already have my eyes on someone else.”
Jon is silent for a moment and looks down towards the ground as if to examine his boots. “Can I at least ask…do I know him?”
Realizing he didn’t catch on to your slip up, you decide to tease him with it. “I certainly hope so.” But his face still remains as brooding as ever, so you continue in search of the dawn of realization hitting his face. “He has lovely dark hair, very nice eyes. Certainly easy on them as well. He could use some improvement with his clothing though, I think he only owns Black…And the brooding I could sometimes go without as well.”
A knowing smile flashes across Jon’s face. “He sounds like a handful.”
You give a curt nod. “The only problem is I don’t know if it’s reciprocated.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he chuckles. “He seems like the jealous type. Makes it very obvious.”
Your smile widens across your face, unable to hold it back any longer. “That he is.”
If you’d like to send in a Game of Thrones request, you can send one to my ask box or via DM! And if you’re wondering what to include in the request, hit up my pinned post!
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unmotivatedwrit3r · 7 months
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One in Eleven Million (ch. 4)
damian wayne x reader x jon kent
(a/n): so...it's been a month. But in my defense, I wrote a play.
Previous chapters linked here, here, and here.
wc: ~1800
warnings: airports, consumption of food, anxiety
~
Your alarm went off at 1am and you reached blindly across the end table to silence it. The dark hotel room came back into focus and you sighed. The sky outside was dark, just like it was when you finally went to sleep two hours ago. 
A large part of you desperately wanted a shower. Between the exhaustion, time constraints, and lack of everything from personal toiletries to clean clothes, though, you resigned yourself to brushing your teeth and an attempt at finger-brushing your hair. You shoved your phone in your pocket and fumbled your way into the bathroom. 
“Already dressed,” you deadpanned in the mirror, still squinting in the bright bathroom lights, “great.” 
There wasn’t much of your usual morning routine that you could scrape together in the twenty minutes you had. You felt a little stale in clothes that had already seen two airports, two airplanes, various vehicles, and your hotel bed, but you were also running on limited sleep and even more limited options so what was there to do?
The wooden toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste — and you meant tiny; the thing looked like it would be more at home in an American Girl doll house than your bathroom sink — you had was hotel provided, and you washed your face with hotel face soap. It was a weird texture, but you decided it was better to feel a little bit cleaner and just deal with it for the minute you had to than feel greasy the entire rest of the day.  
By 1:23am, you were walking out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby. You recognized a family already sitting there from the shuttle last night. Did it count as last night if you’d only gotten to the hotel for two hours of sleep? 
Closer to the door, though, were the people you were looking for. A part of you wondered if the friendship — you hesitated to call it friendship but what else could it be really? — you’d built yesterday was just a fluke. There was a chance the boys didn’t show up for the shuttle you’d all planned to take. Even worse, you worried that they would be there and just ignore you. It had already been a long trip, and a larger part of you than you wanted to acknowledge was craving the security of not being on your own. 
Damian’s eyes were fixed on his phone, eyebrows furrowed. Jon looked half-asleep, leaning into Damian. You lingered awkwardly in the doorway to the lobby until Damian looked up and waved before quickly returning to his phone. Something in your chest settled. You took the seat across from them, failing to hold back a smile. 
“You awake there, Jon?” 
One of Jon’s eyelids cracked open at you before sliding shut once again. 
“No.” 
Damian’s huff of amusement took you a second to register under your own. He tucked his phone into his jeans pocket. 
“Jon’s not awake until the sun is.” An elbow tried to nudge Damian. Jon’s aim was suffering from not having his eyes open though, and he succeeded more in almost falling off of his chair than anything. 
You and Damian exchanged an amused glance. For the first time, you noticed his eyes—long eyelashes and dark brows accentuating green-blue orbs. Your breath caught. Nope, you’re not allowed to like both of them, your brain argued. You ignored it. 
The shuttle ride was as uneventful as it had been the night before. 
“Which line do we go in?” Jon asked, squinting at his boarding pass as the three of you crossed the threshold into the airport. You spared a mournful glance at the bag check counters before following the boys to escalators. It was weird to not have a suitcase with you. 
“TSA-pre.” Damian pointed at a sign denoting the airline’s quicker security status. “Father doesn’t often fly commercial but we have it on his account.” 
You double checked your boarding pass. You hadn’t anticipated the same symbol would be there, but it made your heart sink nonetheless.
“I’ll meet you at the end of security,” You stopped by the entrance to the general line. “Or at the gate?” 
“You don’t have it? The faster one?” Jon wondered.
“No,” you shrugged. “It’s an extra charge. I don't travel enough to make the price worth it.” 
“There’s no crowd in either line.” Damian nodded his head at the vacant security checkpoint. “It is before three in the morning.” 
“Yeah, we’ll go with you.” 
“You sure?” Your hands tightened around your backpack straps.
“It’ll be easier to find you if we all just go together, right?” Jon walked through first, clumsily pulling an ID from his pocket before presenting it to the airline employee. You did the same. Damian followed, and you shoved your ID back where it belonged as he passed through. 
“We have to take our shoes off in this line,” you reminded Damian. Jon had immediately followed your lead, but Damian had yet to take anything out of his bag. “And large things like laptops.” 
Jon’s sneakers joined your shoes on the belt. 
“Nice socks.” 
He looked down, confused, then back up at you. You could see a blush rising on his cheeks. One of his socks had superman logos, the other flash ones. 
“Mine don’t match either,” you offered, lifting your feet one at a time to showcase your own socks. 
“Oh hey, that’s cool,” Jon’s bright smile made the discomfort of socked feet on airport floors worth it. The tile was cold through the thin fabric. 
“Share a bin?” You asked Damian, pulling your laptop out of your bag. You tucked it inside, phone already tucked away with Jon’s in a smaller container. 
“Sure.” Damian’s computer was slick, a dark gray Wayne Tech and wrapped in a black case. Yours looked a little clunkier next to his, but it fit him, or what you knew of him. 
Damian’s socks did match, you realized as he passed through the metal detector after you.  
“Here Dami,” Jon passed over a pair of boots. Damian murmured a thank you, pulling them on untied before grabbing the rest of his belongings.  
“Those are nice,” You said, shoving your laptop back into your bag. Damian finished tying his shoes. 
“It’s a good brand.” 
“Yeah,” you swung your backpack over your shoulder. The weight was comforting where it rested against your back. “They're expensive but worth it.” 
“I’m kind of a sneakers guy.” Jon raised one hand, swinging his backpack on with the other. 
You chuckled, following as Damian started heading towards your terminal. It was still pitch black outside and the airport was almost eerie for its emptiness. The clacking of the wheels on Damian and Jon’s bags echoed in the open space. A go-cart shot by, sirens blaring. You sighed out a breath, heart racing. Right, airports are never quiet. 
When the three of you reached the gate, there was half an hour left to kill. You took a moment to curse the fluctuations in airport security wait times before moving on. Damian headed straight for a set of seats right against the wall. You and Jon followed, dropping your bag on the floor in front of you and draping your jacket over the chair. 
“I think there was a pretzel place open at the beginning of the terminal. Pretzels for breakfast anyone?” 
“Soft pretzels?” inquired Jon, all of the sudden much more awake than he was at the hotel. You figured it was at the prospect of food more than anything else. 
“Yeah those ones. I’m going. Anyone else?” 
Damian shrugged then stood, pulling up the handle of his carry-on to roll it, his jacket, and his bag as one. Jon followed Damian’s lead. His jacket stayed on. 
You picked your stuff up from where you’d just laid it out, jacket zipper dragging against the chair. 
“A group errand then,” you declared. Beside you, Jon snorted out a laugh. 
Between the early hour, you and Jon arguing over which pretzels were better, and Damain’s skepticism at their deliciousness overall, you were pretty sure that the pretzel stand employee was tired of the three of you already. Damian insisted on paying despite not wanting anything (“it’s like six dollars, I’ve got it,” you protested. “If you don’t let him, he’s just going to do it anyway,” Jon explained, “and you did save us from a 600 dollar hotel reservation last night.”), but he didn’t protest when Jon ordered an extra cup of the cinnamon nuggets in addition to the one for you. Jon’s own choice, regular nuggets with a very yellow cheese dip, was left all on its lonesome.
“There’s no way that’s real cheese,” you argued as he opened the dipping container. “You’re basically just eating chemicals.” 
Another pretzel covered nearly entirely in cheese disappeared into Jon’s mouth. He shrugged. You watched him for a moment before locking eyes with Damian. Matching grins spanned your faces.  
“With his taste in foods, he’s lucky he has such a strong digestive system,” Damian volunteered. 
You snorted, sinking down on top of the jacket you’d once again splayed across the chair as you shoved another pretzel nugget in your mouth. When you turned, the cold metal of the armrests bit into your side even through your shirt. 
Jon’s cheese dip lasted about halfway through the cup of pretzels. He looked mournfully into the container. 
“Aww man.” 
You tilted your bag towards him, rattling the nuggets inside. 
“Do you want one?” Jon stood up, shaking his head.
“I might actually just go get another-” Damian grabbed his arm and pulled him down. The seat let out a puff of air. You had to hold back a laugh at the startled expression painting Jon’s face, popping another nugget into your mouth. The cinnamon sugar was rough between your lips.
“You,” Damian said, “are not eating anything else horrible for humans.” 
His phrasing was a little weird, but you understood the sentiment. One container of processed cheese was more than enough for most people on a good day, and it was barely 3am.
“Oh, right.” Jon frowned. 
“They’re good with just salt,” you offered. “If they didn’t have the cinnamon ones, I would have gotten those. But I think there is such a thing as too much processed cheese for breakfast.”
Damian bit into another pretzel nugget. 
“The cinnamon ones are by far superior to the plain ones.” 
“Oh I agree one hundred percent, but if you don’t like them,” you nudged Jon, “the plain ones are okay too.”
Jon shrugged and popped a plain nugget in his mouth, swallowing morosely. 
“They’re dry.” 
You and Damian exchanged a look. 
“What?” Jon justified through your laughter. “They are!”
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lola-babylon · 5 months
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Running the numbers on Brendon, Ryan, and owning the Panic! at the Disco legacy
Some people are a bit upset that Brendon Urie continued performing as PATD after Jon & Ryan left, or after Spencer & Dallon left. One of the primary criticisms you see floating around is that, by using the Panic name for his solo career from 2015-2023. Brendon was profiting off of Ryan's legacy as the main songwriter on the early albums.
Let's dig into that, especially the "profit" bit.
I've seen jokes about Ryan Ross working retail now cause he's broke. We don't know what Ryan does with his days and it's none of our business unless he chooses to share that information publicly, but AFYCSO alone has been certified 4x Platinum in the US, having sold 4 million copies. Ryan, being the main songwriter on the album, would one hopes receive a decent income stream for the royalties and has no need to work a job he doesn't want to pay the bills (recording contracts are usually a Kafkaesque nightmare, but hopefully they had a decent contract where the artists get a fair share of royalties, that it isn't all chewed up by record companies).
But if you look at the album sales over time, this is where it gets interesting.
(well, interesting to a stats and facts wonk)
Here's the Recording Industry of America's certification record for AFYCSO - you can check for yourself here
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The album went platinum, meaning sales of a million copies, in 2006, a year after it was released. It took another 9 years for the album to double that figure, selling 2 million copies by 2015 and achieving 2x platinum. But then things took off, with AFYCSO reaching 4 million sales by June 2023 and the resulting 4x platinum certification.
But what stands out here is this - AFYCSO was released in 2005. And fully half of all sales of AFYCSO took place after 2015.
2015 was the year that Panic became a solo project of Brendon Urie's. It also marked the start of the period of some of the band's highest sales since the early days, including their first number one charting album, a second number one album, and (Jebus, please save us from) the single "High Hopes". And Brendon toured extensively - musicians used to tour to encourage people to buy their albums; now that most music is digital musicians rely touring as their largest source of income, which is one of the reasons why a ticket to see Led Zeppelin on their 1975 U.S. tour cost $31 adjusted for inflation to 2023 dollars, but seeing any decently sized musical act in concert these days will set you back well over $100 and that's just for starters.
(I told you I was a stats wonk).
Anyway, through all that work, Brendon was using the Panic name, sure. Was he entitled to? That's not my point here. What he was doing was keeping the Panic name in the public mind, entertaining old fans and winning new ones (not my thing, but again that's not my point) and in those years, those fans purchased 2 million copies of AFYCSO, and as the main songwriter on the album Ryan has received the largest share of the royalties from those sales. Ryan earned and was entitled to that money, of course, but would AFYCSO have sold two million copies between 2015 and 2023 if Brendon had retired the Panic name and continued as a solo artist?
Let's be realistic. No.
When people heard High Hopes or any of the other post split music, they were hearing a Panic at the Disco song. If they liked it, they'd look up the artist Panic at the Disco, find the band's earlier work, and buy/stream it. If they'd heard High Hopes as a Brendon Urie song, and looked up the artist Brendon Urie, is it likely they'd have followed the bread crumb trail, learned about this now defunct band called Panic at the Disco Brendon used to be in, and bought that band's stuff too?
We could go back to 2004/2005 and debate whether Panic would have made it as big as they did back then without Ryan's songwriting skills and determined online hustling of the band. Or without Brendon's vocals and stage presence, or Spencer's creative vision for their image and live performances. Or without that they were all so young, they were just crazy brave enough to put their all into the band when if they'd been only a few years older, they might have been worried about the future enough to stay in or go to college, or train as a hairdresser or whatever. Or for that matter whether they had all that, and the right sound at the right time, and made the right connections, oh and they weren't exactly bad looking. There's so many reasons bands do or don't make it. Just talent is never enough. Trying to work out which parts of Panic's early success were due to the respective talents of Ryan, Spencer, and/or Brendon nearly 20 years on is like trying to unscramble an egg (even Brent paid a role, through the loans his parents provided to help pay for the band's practice space and van for the early tours). But it's unrealistic to say Panic was a success solely because of Ryan or that Brendon trampled all over that to get to the top solo. Either way....
Brendon Urie continuing as Panic has been, financially, very benefical for Ryan. Brendon continuing with the Panic name has meant AFYCSO was from 2015-2023 the first album of a very successful currently touring act, and not a footnote to Brendon Urie's career from his now defunct first band (I don't see it that way at all - this post is about album sales and money, not artistic integrity). And Ryan has received the royalties from albums that would never have been sold if PATD officially disbanded in 2009 or 2013 or whatever.
And whilst Ryan has been at home restoring antique cuckoo clocks or whatever he chooses to do, Brendon's been missing his family, home, and dogs, getting up at 4am to catch flights, living out of suitacses, answering inane interview questions, sleeping on tour buses and wondering what country he's in today - and, indirectly, making Ryan money. If Ryan only cared about money he probably would have continued on with Panic past 2009, but I'm sure the royalties he's received since 2015 haven't been a burden either. I'm not saying Ryan owes Brendon anything, he doesn't, and Brendon only lived that life because he loved it, or thought the performing bit made it all worth it (along with making a bunch of money for himself).
This post has focused on AFYCSO, though of course Ryan also gets royalties from Pretty. Odd, which has had a long overdue reappraisal from audiences who realise it's really fucking good. (I'll use the correct punctuation this once, but there was no way I was going to add an exclamation point every time I typed the word panic). Anyway, crunching the numbers on one album was enough. But Brendon didn't profit off of Ryan's legacy by continuing as Panic. It's been very profitable for them both.
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pastanest · 1 year
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Jon Snow x she/her!reader
A/N: this is my first proper piece about Jonny boy and it is…7.6k words long 👁️👁️ this is set just before season 1 AND I kinda stole a random House name from the GoT map and made a new story for them solely for this fic. hope the 3 Jon Snow fans on this hellsite enjoy!! ♡
and yes, before you ask, I had Love Story by Taylor Swift on a loop while writing this. what of it.
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With Love
The Starks liked to think they knew every face in Winterfell, but truth be told, the one belonging to the family without the honour of sharing the name was the only one that knew each and every face within the walls. A sign of the lack of distance between himself and the townspeople that was ever present with the rest of his family, and the mother he could never have.
It was not only the horse that Jon knew to be unfamiliar, but its rider, as the two rode through the Winterfell gates. The uncertainty with which the horse was guided to the stables told Jon that both the horse and its rider were unfamiliar with the area, too. Seeing the gown adorning the rider peaking from beneath the cloak she wore, the gold thread of the hem catching the last of the day’s sunlight, Jon stood to attention from the crumbled stone wall he had been sitting on, watching the sunset and the world go by until it slowed to a stop, just for you.
He kept his pace towards you slow as you rode your horse to the stables you had found and dismounted, patting your horse gratefully and checking through the saddlebags as you lowered your hood. Jon could only see half of the smile that you gave the horse, but it was enough to stop him in his stride. As you turned, your eyes locked onto him as though pulled by some mythical force, your smile not faltering as you approached him.
“Forgive me, I am not familiar with this place or its people, might you introduce me, Lord…?” Your eyes travelled down his body, the dark clothes he wore appearing too formal for that of the general townsfolk.
Under your gaze, it took Jon several seconds to remember how to speak. “There is no need for such formalities, my Lady, I’m no Lord. Perhaps if I took you to my father, he could assist you in whatever it is that has brought you here?”
You frowned, confused by the stranger’s explanation. “Surely, if your father is the one man in Winterfell to guide me, he would be Lord Stark, making you his son, and a Lord, yourself.”
Jon felt the unfortunately familiar shame of his namesake sink into his very skin as he avoided your eyes. “Aye, Lord Stark is my father, but Lady Stark is not my mother.”
There was a sadness in your eyes, an ache in your heart that made it impossible for you to resist reaching for Jon’s shoulder, brushing the small amount of dirt that resided there. A gesture so seemingly insignificant, but something about the attention you showed him made him feel truly seen.
“What is your name?”
His shoulder burnt where your fingertips had grazed it, even through his clothes, and he gulped. “Jon Snow, my Lady.”
You smiled at him then, exactly as you had when you had first seen him. “No need for such formalities, Lord Jon. Stark blood runs in your veins as well as it does your siblings, you are worthy of the same respect the name brings them.” The sincerity in your eyes was unlike anything Jon had ever known, and the feeling it caused in his chest was something new, too.
“If you could take me to see your father, I would be most grateful.” Your smile didnt falter as you took your first look around Winterfell, having not torn your gaze from Jon until that very moment, allowing him the freedom to breathe without feeling heat rise in him under your eyes.
Without a word, he nodded, turned and began to walk towards the hall, his mind running away with him.
The moment Lord Stark saw you, his eyes went wide and he ushered you into another room with Lady Stark, shutting Jon out with no explanation. Though he was used to being kept at arm’s length when it came to family matters, the fact that he was being restricted from the mystery of you felt like a far more personal pain, for a reason Jon could not yet place.
It was not until an hour later, when Lord Stark returned to the hall, that Jon realized he had not moved. Unsurprised to see his son still waiting for you, Ned Stark approached him.
“She is to be staying with us for her own safety, and no one is to question this. Not her name, house, or history. Is that understood?”
Jon nodded, clinging to every word that only pushed him further from you, who you might be.
“What am I to call her?” Jon questioned, not wanting to cause you any offense by addressing you incorrectly.
Lord Stark was thoughtful for a moment. “What did you call her on her arrival?”
Jon stood up straighter, frowning, unsure whether his father was testing his ability to greet you respectfully. “My Lady, of course.”
His father nodded. “Then that is what you will continue to call her, I will ask the same of your brothers and sisters.”
Jon lowered his head in agreement and with that, his father was gone.
Not knowing what else to do, Jon decided to retire to his quarters for the rest of the day. As he ascended the staircase to his family’s quarters, though, he was stopped by you once again. This time, you were stood in the doorway of Lord and Lady Stark’s room, seemingly in deep conversation with Lady Stark until your eyes were drawn to Jon once more, at the opposite end of the hallway. You smiled at him, but he was too stunned and too lost in his own head to return it right away. Just as a small smile reached his face, Lady Stark followed your gaze, scowled and closed the door on him, as she had done all Jon’s life.
The next morning, you joined the Starks for breakfast, wearing a different gown to the previous evening and giggling with Sansa at the table by the time Jon arrived. Though the sight of you getting along with his family so quickly did warm his heart, Jon couldnt help the small pit of sadness that formed in his stomach at the thought of you favoring them over him, as most did. The moment he sat down at the table, however, you locked eyes with him and smiled.
“Good morning, Lord Jon.”
The room fell silent, but your smile did not waver. Jon felt his face rise in temperature with every fraction of a second that passed.
“You do not need to refer to any of us with such formalities, dear girl.” Lady Stark replied, her tone firm, her underlying message clear to all, masked under the guise of none of the Starks requiring such titles at breakfast.
But you merely shook your head and continued to smile. “No, please Lady Stark, I insist. Your family has already treated me with such kindness, such welcome, the least I can do is respect you all in name.”
Lord Stark smiled at this, silencing Lady Stark from making any further comments, which signaled the continuation of breakfast as normal. As you began to eat, you glanced up at Jon to find him still looking at you. His expression would make you think he was admiring the one to hang the moon in the sky, and you could not hold such a gaze, your face flushing as you lowered your eyes to your plate.
The first full day spent at Winterfell, you were almost treated as the new toy amongst the Stark children. Sansa wanted to spend every waking hour at your side, discussing your gowns and how they were made, Arya was desperate to convince you to let her take your horse outside the walls to practice archery on horseback, Bran wanted to show you just how high he could climb, Rickon shyly asked if he could introduce your horse to the others to ensure “he was not lonely at Winterfell”, Robb laughed at his siblings antics and tried to very casually flirt with you, while his shadow Theon Greyjoy tried the same with a far less casual nature, and Jon simply watched from afar as he practiced with his sword.
He did not expect to speak with you much, if at all, that day, as you would no doubt be too kind to refuse any of his siblings. As such, he tried his best to focus on the swing of his sword and nothing else. Certainly not the different shades within your eyes that he had noticed when stood closer to you the previous day, not the way in which your gowns complimented your silhouette, not the melodic sound of your laugh, and most definitely not the look in your eyes when he had been your chosen view.
“You are quite good with that, you know.”
Jon Snow jumped out of his skin, and you were quick to muffle your giggle with your hand.
“Apologies, my Lady, I did not see you-“
You waved off his apology. “Worry not, I should have made my presence known. Regardless, my point still stands: you have a talent with a sword.”
Jon smiled shyly. “Thank you, my Lady. Are you enjoying Winterfell?”
You chuckled at this. “Very much so! Though I am already tired from the amount of talking I have done.”
Jon sighed, wishing you had not been so pestered by his family. “I do apologize for my siblings, it is not often we meet new people.”
You shook your head. “I will accept your apology for that Greyjoy boy, but you need not apologize for your siblings, they are utterly lovely. In fact, Sansa is inspecting my gowns at this very moment, Rickon and Arya are befriending my horse, Robb is lecturing Theon, and I am scheduled to witness some truly incredible climbing soon. I wondered if, as I have not had much chance to speak with you today, you would care to join me?”
Jon could not believe his ears, you had given his siblings everything they’d asked of you within reason, in ways that had no doubt left them all overjoyed, save for Robb. Now, it was Jon you were seeking out.
“I thought you were tired from all the talking you’ve already done?” Jon mused, concerned that you were wearing yourself too thin.
At this, you simply smiled. “I am, but it seems you are the exception. So, will you accompany me to the climbing show, Lord Jon?”
Jon could not wipe the grin from his face if he tried, your declaration of him being the exception to your tiredness feeling like the greatest title you could possibly bestow upon him. “It would be my honor, my Lady.”
With that, he held his arm out to you and you looped yours through it. No words were spoken as Jon led you to the tower that he knew Bran liked to climb most, neither of you daring to interrupt the smile shared between you that only grew with each sidewards glance.
When the two of you reached the tower, Jon was both surprised and relieved that you did not remove your arm from his and instead lifted your other hand to hold onto his upper arm further, as Bran began to climb.
“Is this safe?” You whispered, not wanting to discourage Bran, but worried for his safety.
Jon could only smile at you adoringly. “He has not fallen once, my Lady.”
Though his words reassured you, you did not release his arm until it was time to applaud the end of the show, when Bran had descended the tower and bowed before you. It took less than a minute for Lady Stark to call Bran to her for a lecture that strongly advised against climbing, and you looped your arm back through Jon’s, turning away from the tower and letting him walk you wherever he desired.
That is how you spent the remainder of your day, arm in arm with Jon Snow and a beaming smile on your face for all to see, not ashamed as he feared anyone would be to be seen on his arm, but proud to be. The unwavering confidence and serenity you showed him in the face of prejudice only made it more difficult for his heart to resist. As the sun set, the two of you settled beneath the Weirwood tree, sitting below it and watching the red leaves flutter in the wind.
As much as Jon had never felt happier than he had in these moments with you, his curiosity was eating away at him. Finally away from the eyes and ears of others, he felt it was time to ask.
“Forgive me, my Lady, for I mean you no offence, but I cannot help wondering…if you are of noble descent, which I suspect you are, are you not ashamed to be seen with me?”
You lowered your gaze from the red leaves to frown at Jon sympathetically. “I am forbidden from speaking of my family, but I can assure you, I have no reason to be ashamed of being seen with you, Jon.”
Though it did not answer his question entirely, Jon nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
Your expression softened to a humored smile. “I must ask, was it my gowns that gave away my family’s status?”
Jon chuckled. “Perhaps.”
You laughed with him. “I can assure you that, while my gowns are well made, my family are far from being as noble as yours. We are a small house, my father being an old friend to yours, but few know of us and even fewer know of me. All will become clear soon, though.”
It was Jon’s turn to frown at you. “What do you mean?”
You gazed out into the godswood, your smile no longer reaching your eyes. “A dear friend of mine is to arrive soon, she wishes to be wed here. There is to be a grand party and suitors will present themselves to her. Despite the circumstances, I have assured her I will attend, hence my unannounced arrival here.” You turned to Jon. “May I request that you are present, to avoid the entire event boring me to an early grave?”
Jon couldnt help but laugh, the new information about you and your friend relaxing him somewhat, as it did not allude to you being in any kind of danger, which he suspected was the reason for your discrete travels.
“Of course.” Regardless of the event, there is nowhere else I would prefer to stand than at your side, he wanted so badly to add, but he could not.
“Thank you. That eases my mind.” You sighed, as though a physical weight had been lifted from you.
Jon tried to read your eyes. “What is it that worries you about your friend’s arrangement?”
You shook your head. “She has dreaded this day her entire life, she has often cried to me about it. She has already mourned the loss of the life she had before, but to marry a stranger…it is a cruel fate, truly.”
Jon nodded, empathizing as much as he could. “If being a bastard does count for anything, it is that I will never face such a frightful concept.”
You looked up at him, admiring the curls that the wind blew over his face. “You are far more than a bastard, Jon, but it is a relief you have found at least one positive to the status. Do you think you will marry?”
Jon’s mind went completely blank, much like it did every time you had smiled at him since you had arrived the day before. “I’ve not really thought about it, my Lady.”
You sighed at that, somewhat jealous of the fact Jon had never had to think of bearing the heir to his family name, but not wanting to voice such an insensitive thought and discredit the torment he had suffered as a consequence of his own birth.
By the time the two of you had returned to the castle, the rest of the Starks had gathered in the hall. At the sight of you, Lady Stark ran and took ahold of your hands.
“A raven came. It is to happen in three days time.” She told you, in as few words as she could, which you nodded to her gratefully for.
Closing your eyes in a pained blink, you took a deep breath, then opened your eyes and offered the Starks a smile that was too bright.
“If you will excuse me until the morning, I am frightfully tired. Goodnight to you all, I wish you the most pleasant dreams.” Your voice shook on the very last word, but before anyone could even open their mouths to answer you, you had all but run from the hall and up the stairs, locking yourself in your quarters.
Lady Stark looked sympathetically after you, while the Stark children exchanged confused glances. Jon watched the path that you had disappeared on as though you were still there, a new ache in his chest that was unfamiliar to him, once again.
That night, Jon could not sleep. No matter how many times he turned and shifted, he could not get comfortable enough to even close his eyes, he was completely restless at the thought of you so distressed. Feeling that he had no other choice, Jon sat up, put his sleepshirt back on, and left his quarters. The walk between his door and yours was no more than few steps, but Jon felt more exposed with each step, wearing nothing more than his sleep clothes and aware that if you answered the door, you would see him in such attire. He could not let that be enough to deter him, though.
Not wanting to wake you if you were asleep, Jon gently knocked on the door, and when he heard a sniffle on the other side, his heart shattered inside his chest.
“It’s Jon, my Lady, I…I could not sleep, knowing that you were so upset. Is there anything I can do?” He felt helpless, having never been more desperate to ease someone’s pain before in his life.
There was no verbal response from you, and Jon began to lose all hope that you would answer him at all, until he heard the sound of the door unlocking from the other side. His heart skipped a beat as the door opened, revealing the features of your face that he had memorized, but they were swollen from the seemingly endless tears that you had cried, and were still crying. Seeing him standing there, caring for you in such a way, broke you all over again, and without care for formalities or tradition, you fell into him, sobbing into his nightshirt as he wrapped his strong arms around you, hoping he could make you feel just a little better, a little safer in your feelings.
Taking some steps back, you pulled Jon into your room, the door closing behind him as he held you tightly against him, shushing you gently.
“Please, my Lady, do not cry anymore. I swear that I will do whatever I can to make the day more bearable, for both you and your friend. I am sure a fine suitor will appear, that a declaration of love powerful enough to silence the whole of Winterfell will take place in the hall of this very castle, and the worries that you and your friend have shared will disappear.” Jon promised, already unsure of how to keep his word, but certain that he would find a way before the day arrived.
“Thank you, Jon. I am not sure I would be able to see the day through without you.” The confession shocked Jon, his stomach flipping as you hinted at the extent of your feelings for him, just slightly. “Will you stay?”
Jon swallowed, hard.
At his boyish nervousness, you playfully hit his chest. “Do not ponder such perversions in the presence of a crying girl, Jon!”
He chuckled at this, sensing your spirits had lifted by the joke you had made. “My apologies, my Lady.”
Feigning disappointment in him, you pulled away slightly and shook your head. “Must I spell out that my intentions are solely to fend off any further tears and that you have been the apparent cure for them thus far?”
Jon sighed dramatically, playing along. “Well, I suppose we do not have another choice then, do we, my Lady?”
And like the lovesick teenagers that you were, you snuck into bed in fits of giggles, shushing the other and pretending to want to sleep, when all either of you wanted to do was stay awake until the sun rose again, talking about anything and everything.
Naturally, neither of you had thought very far ahead and considered how difficult it would be to effectively sneak Jon out of your room the following morning. That said, by standing with an ear pressed to the door to listen for any passersby, you did eventually manage to shove him back to his quarters when the corridor was clear. Needless to say, breakfast that morning was once again filled with shy glances and equally warm faces.
For your second day in Winterfell, Jon made it his mission to distract you as much as he could from the worries of the night before. So, he planned that the two of you would take Arya out on horseback to practice archery, with Lord Stark’s permission. Unfortunately, Lord Stark would only give his permission on the condition that Robb and Theon would also accompany the three of you, to help watch over Arya, who had a particular talent for disappearing.
Begrudgingly, Jon agreed, convincing himself that Robb and Theon would provide further distractions for you. While this fact did reign true, Jon did not account for the way his blood would boil in his veins as Theon tried to flirt with you. Robb was respectful enough to see what was blossoming between you and Jon, so had ceased his advances entirely, but Theon did not care for Jon’s feelings. At least, not as much as he cared to feel you, apparently. The very second Jon caught sight of Theon reaching a hand towards your hip, he was marching with a fury like no other.
Forcing himself between you and Theon, Jon’s expression was colder than even the harshest Winter, eyes dark with a fire that raged beyond the capabilities of a Stark.
“Try to touch her again and you will lose that hand.” He threatened, voice lower with his anger and in an effort to not cause a scene in front of Arya, who was practicing with Robb a few feet away.
Theon scoffed. “I dont take threats from bastards!”
Then, to everyone’s absolute astonishment, you stepped out from behind Jon to stand in front of him and scowl at Theon.
“Call him that again and you’ll lose your tongue as well as your hand, boy.” You did not care to lower your voice, catching Arya’s attention, and the ferocity with which you defended her brother earnt you her respect in an instant.
Theon tried to scramble for a retort, but Robb frowned at him. “Go home, Theon.”
And so, the son of Balon Greyjoy was sent sulking back to the walls of Winterfell, while Jon Snow stood staring at you like you were a star that had fallen from the sky and landed right in front of him.
That night, Jon walked you to your quarters like the gentleman he had always wished he would be allowed to be, cheeks rosy with the simple joy of such things finally being possible for him, all because of you.
“Thank you for today, Lord Jon.” Your voice had been quiet, shy in the close proximity of your protector.
And Jon’s smile was shy in the close proximity to his. “Thank you for the same, my Lady.”
With courage that he did not know he possessed, Jon took your hand and raised it to his lips, placing the lightest kiss against your knuckles as you watched with wide eyes.
Your hand, so much smaller in his, squeezed his fingers in response to the heartfelt gesture.
“If you can promise me there will be no tears tonight, I will bid you farewell.” Jon’s voice was barely above a whisper, his tone playful but words sincere, an unspoken oath to stay if you needed him, for as long as you did.
“And…if I can make no such promise?” Your gaze dropped to your hand, still held by his, and your expression fell ever so slightly at the thought of being parted from him.
But Jon would not allow such a sadness to steal your smile away. “Then, if it please you, my Lady, I will not bid you farewell until the sun rises again.”
His words brought about a tension between you that was sinful in nature and near impossible to resist, but the two of you knew better than to even consider more than a chaste kiss outside of marriage, Jon understanding the consequences of such actions more than most. Despite having no intention of giving in to such temptations, the tension did not ease, much to the dismay that you shared, but dared not speak of.
The pain of sending him to his own quarters would be too much for you to bare that night, and without another word, you reached behind you to open the door to your quarters, eyes never leaving his.
Though the two of you spent more of the night holding each other than you did talking as you had the night before, Jon knew it was the best night of his life. He had never felt stronger than he did when you were in his arms, safe from any and all that could try to harm you. An uncertainty began to stir within him as he focussed on the sound of your breathing as you slept, your head resting on his chest, over the heart that unbeknownst to you, you had claimed as yours. Once your friend’s ceremony has ended, where will you go? Can you stay? Are your days here, with him, numbered and so few? The thought left a bitter taste in Jon’s mouth, and continued to plague him until he drifted off to sleep.
For your third day in Winterfell, Jon was more determined than ever to make your last day before the dreaded arrangement, one to remember, for the right reasons. He wanted to ensure that in years to come, when you thought of the time you had spent at Winterfell, perhaps you would remember that day more than the one that came after it. So, he had planned the entire day. Not being a particularly talented man in the kitchen, Jon woke at dawn, snuck out of your quarters, and pleaded for the household staff to help him prepare a picnic of some of your favorite foods, which he had strategically asked you about over the past few days. He set the picnic under the Weirwood tree and then knocked on Sansa’s door. She greeted him with an excited smile and handed him the gown she had been working on for you ever since you had arrived. Then, Jon knocked at your door. It was still quite early, he should not have been surprised by the sight of you tiredly rubbing your eyes as you opened the door, but the feeling in his chest was something he could only compare to moments of pure, blissful shock.
“My Lady, your breakfast awaits.” Jon bowed and held the neatly folded gown in his arms out to you, causing you to gasp, the confusion of having woken up without him already subsiding.
“By the Gods, Jon, what is this?!” You carefully took the gown from his arms and admired it, holding it against your body and squealing in delight. “I must thank Sansa at once and dress for the occasion!”
Jon chuckled at your excitement. “Then I will wait for you in the hall, my Lady.”
For half an hour, Jon paced around the hall, his smile contagious to everyone that happened to see him, unwavering and bright. Only when you entered the hall in the gown Sansa had crafted for you, did his smile fall into an expression of complete admiration. As bashful as Jon had seen you, he did not expect you to stroll into the hall with such poise and twirl with a beaming grin plastered on your face, overjoyed by the gown and how confident you felt in it.
“My Lady, you are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon managed to say in between the breaths you had stolen.
At this, you rolled your eyes. “Have you seen every woman in the Seven Kingdoms to verify that statement, Lord Jon?”
His eyes followed you as you glided around the room, the gown flowing around you like water, and he was entranced. “I do not need to see every one to know that none can even touch on the enchantress that is you, not to me.”
Your face flushed at his compliments, too shy to accept them as truth but appreciative of them nonetheless. Looping your arm through his, you smiled up at him, his gaze softer than you had ever seen it as he began to lead you out of the castle and towards the Godswood.
The small feast beneath the Weirwood tree and the soft blanket Jon had laid under it for you both, brought tears to your eyes. You must have thanked him a thousand times in the seconds it took to sit down and begin to eat, and a thousand times more with every piece of food you tried.
After a large meal, Jon led you on a stroll through the Godswood, telling you tales of his childhood, spent running through and climbing the very trees around you. The fondest memories he had were the ones spent playing outside with his siblings, away from the ever-scowling eyes of the mother he could never have, and as happy as he was to recall the fun he had with his siblings, your heart ached at the love he had been denied. Stopping in the middle of the Godswood, you turned to face him with such sad eyes, he was just about to ask you if you were alright when you suddenly pulled him into your arms. You didnt say anything, thinking it was not your place to speak on his family, but through such a kind and comforting gesture, he knew exactly what the hug was for. Obviously, you had not been present during the saddest moments of his childhood, when he had cried at his window and begged the Gods that he thought lived amongst the stars, to answer why he did not deserve a mother that loved him, but somehow, the hug that you gave him comforted every part of him, even the young boy locked away in those painful memories.
Jon took you on a horse ride after that, your horse having bonded with Jon’s as a result of Rickon and Arya’s introduction between the animals, the creatures seeming to have a conversation of their own while the two of you laughed and joked like the world around you was plagueless and without any kind of restriction. Out there, beyond the walls, with nobody else in sight, the world felt so vast and so small simultaneously, a little piece of it that the two of you were kept safe inside, where you could stay forever if you chose to. And oh, how you wish you could choose.
When you arrived back at Winterfell, you asked if you could watch Jon practice with his sword again. He had not anticipated that you would enjoy such a thing, considering you would simply be watching him, but the excitement with which you posed the question made Jon blush and nod without opposition. It was an excuse to sit and admire him, really, and you could not withhold the content sighs that escaped your lips as you watched him, the strong hands that had held yours now gripping a sword, arms tensed beneath his black clothes, expression firm. Having never felt deserving of a woman’s gaze like that in his life, Jon found that he quite enjoyed being admired, once he had stopped blushing.
Before long, the sun had set again, and Jon was walking you back to your quarters for the night. He hoped that you would invite him into your chambers again, terrified that it would be the last chance he had to hold you before you potentially disappeared from his life altogether; something he dared not question you about in fear of ruining the day. But as you approached the door, you turned to him with a bright smile.
“I think, after such a wonderful day, tears are impossible. And I think the excitement of another day with you, regardless of the event, will bring me pleasant dreams.”
Jon smiled back at you, relieved that the day he had hoped to give you was received successfully with the desired impact, but ever so slightly devastated that it had backfired to restrict him of another night with you.
“Very well, my Lady. I look forward to seeing you. Goodnight.” His voice was quiet again, his confession of sharing your excitement to be together again bringing a bashfulness he is certain he should have moved past, but simply could not.
“Goodnight, Lord Jon.” You closed the space between you to place a chaste kiss on his left cheek, and then disappeared behind the door to your quarters.
Blinking rapidly, Jon lifted a shaking hand to trace the skin of his face where your lips had been, your kiss lingering there far longer than he thought possible. In a daze, he retired to his own quarters and fell asleep with a smile on his face, ready to make the day you had been dreading, one that you could enjoy, if he was able to grant you such a thing.
However, by the time Jon awoke on the morning of your fourth day in Winterfell, he left his quarters and saw your door already open, sunlight streaming in through the windows. With a confused frown on his face, Jon stepped into the room to see a handwritten letter on your neatly made bed, addressed to him.
Lord Jon,
Do not fear, I have left to meet my friend before the event begins, but I will see you there. I will be counting down the minutes until I see you again.
With love,
Your Lady.
Jon read your words over and over again, each time letting them sink further into his very being. With love. Those words caught him every time his eyes glanced over them. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be counting down the minutes until he saw you again, too.
The Stark breakfast was rushed that morning, everyone frantic to be ready for the event to begin, and Jon found himself spending longer than he normally did deciding on his attire and fixing his hair, having not had an occasion to truly dress up for you prior to this event and hoping that if he did, maybe it would make you smile as much as your dressing up made him. As the clock ticked, Lord Stark instructed his children to stand in a line outside the castle, awaiting the arrival of the company. Instead of standing behind his siblings as he expected to, Jon was told by Lord Stark to stand beside Robb with his family, at the request of the company. Even the briefest mention to you was enough to bring a smile to his face.
Minutes later, the carriage arrived, decorated with the banner of a black horse with red mane and eyes, that Jon recognised to be that of House Ryswell of the Rills, a noble Northern family that had an unfortunate recent history. Lord Rodrik Ryswell and his two sons had fallen ill and tragically passed away within weeks of each other, some years ago, leaving no heir to the House or their land, which made Jon very curious as to their arrival. They did not have a suitor to offer your friend, less it were a bastard like himself? But as a soldier hurried to open the door of the carriage, Jon’s heart stopped.
You stepped out of the carriage, wearing a gown of House Ryswell’s colors, a gem studded headband catching the sunlight as you bowed to the Starks, who all bowed back at you, though Jon was in too much shock to do so until Robb discretely elbowed his side. Standing back up, you smiled at the Starks, Ned and Catelyn smiling warmly and the Stark children all sharing the same wide eyes, with Jon appearing as though he was on the brink of collapsing. Lady Ryswell stepped out of the carriage after you in her own House-coloured gown, smiling at the Starks with the same warmness you had, and the way her eyes crinkled was the final nail in the coffin for Jon: you were the only remaining heir to House Ryswell.
As is tradition, Ned Stark took your mother’s arm and Robb Stark took yours, to lead you into the castle hall, everyone else following behind as the suitors began to arrive on horseback. Jon could only watch on as your silhouette disappeared beyond the castle doors, but as the first suitor with a Karstark banner passed him, he knew he could not stay outside any longer.
He took his seat beside Robb, sharing a table with the rest of his siblings, seeing your family laugh with his father at the table at the head of the hall, like the situation was normal and expected. But for them, he supposed, it was.
Jon Snow did not expect to be confronted by the sight of man after man offering themselves to you, with riches and titles, gifts and promises. Regardless of the way in which you politely refused each and every one, Jon was sure it was the biggest practical joke of his life. After the tenth suitor, he ran out of patience and stood, staying as close to the walls as he could to make a discrete exit.
Once outside, he leant against the same crumbling stone wall he had been sitting on when you has first arrived, taking some deep breaths, his eyes closed tight as he fought off the mental image of every man that had come here for your hand.
“Only two nights ago, you swore you would do whatever you could to make this day more bearable.” Your voice sounded almost timid, afraid of Jon’s reaction to you with your identity revealed, but hoping that recalling a memory shared between the two of you would remind him that regardless of name, you were still you.
Jon stood up straight and wiped his face his hands, turning to look at you and fighting the contradicting feelings within him. “I did, for you and your friend, who does not exist.”
You nodded guiltily, unable to hold his gaze.
“Why could you not tell me your name?” Jon asked, the question finally allowed.
Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the explanation Jon had been waiting for. “My name is (Y/N) Ryswell, and it was my father’s dying wish for me to marry, to pass on the family legacy. With him and my brothers gone, the family name will die with my mother, my name changing to match whatever man I choose, but our family land will be mine, by right. My mother decided it would be best to keep me a secret until I was of age, to avoid every eligible Lord swarming me and trying to take that land for themselves.” You paused, smiling sadly. “My father…he always spoke so fondly of your family, of Winterfell, I wanted to marry here to honor him, but to experience this place and all of you for what and who you all truly are, I had to come alone.”
Jon nodded slowly, understanding you and your intentions completely, mentally scolding himself for thinking you had in any way deceived him when you stood before him, telling him of the person you were, who he knew you to be.
Still, a sad thought remained, weighing him down and making it impossible for him to give you the smile that was yours.
“Have you decided on a Lord, then?”
You sighed, shaking your head. “Truth be told, even if every man sat in there now presented himself to me, I’d still deny each and every one.”
Jon frowned in confusion. “What will you do?”
You shrugged at that, a sparkle in your eyes and a small smile on your face. “That all depends on you, my Lord.”
Jon’s frown intensified. “But, you said every man-“
You interjected to correct him. “I said every man sat in there now, and, as I see it, you are standing outside.” You raised an eyebrow at him, letting him gather the meaning behind your words before you glanced back inside the hall. “Well, I’d better return to my seat. Nothing more riveting than rejecting men presenting their cocks and riches!” Your words dripped with sarcasm as you stepped back into the hall, and would have made Jon laugh if he wasnt frozen in place, contemplating his entire life.
Very slowly, he followed you back into the hall and took his seat again, face far paler than it had been the last time Robb had seen it.
“Brother, are you unwell?”
Jon could only shake his head, eyes locked onto you as you politely declined another man, who turned solemnly and returned to his seat. Without thinking, and without giving time for another man to stand, Jon rose from his table and approached the head of the hall. The room fell silent, all eyes on him, but Jon could only see the curious expression on his father’s face, the furious scowl of Lady Stark, and your soft smile directly in front of him.
Jon Snow cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the hall. He bowed to your mother. “Lady Ryswell, I would first like to thank you for allowing your daughter to come here. She has brought sunshine with her unlike any Winterfell has ever seen, and my family have been honored to have her.” Your mother smiled at Jon, grateful for his compliments towards you, and he continued. “During her time here, I made a promise, of sorts, to your daughter, in that I told her I was sure a fine suitor would appear, and that a declaration of love powerful enough to silence the whole of Winterfell would take place in the hall of this very castle. As yet-“ Jon looked around the hall, then back to your mother. “-I cannot see anyone that has offered such a thing.” Quiet chuckles erupted throughout the hall, relaxing him slightly as he carried on. “Given it was I that made your daughter believe she would receive such a declaration, I feel it is my responsibility to ensure that she is given exactly that, or as close to that as I can possibly give.” Then, his gaze turned to you, and he lowered himself to one knee. “Lady (Y/N) Ryswell of the Rills, I am Jon Snow. I am no lord, I have no house of my own, no lands or riches to offer you, and I am certain that if tradition had a voice, it would scream in opposition at what I am about to say. But I swear it, by the old Gods and the new, not a soul in this room is capable of loving you more than I, and if you will allow me the greatest honor you could ever bestow me, of calling you my wife, I will do everything in my power to bring you every happiness, every day, for the rest of our days.”
The tears that flowed freely down your face were different to the ones Jon had seen from you before, your trembling smile further evidence that the reason for those tears could not be more different to that of previous ones. As your mother raised her handkerchief to wipe her own eyes, you stood from the table and walked around it.
Once in front of Jon, you leant down and took ahold of his hands, using them to guide him back to his feet as he tried desperately to read your eyes for an answer to his proposal, and when all he could read was the very words that had stumped him with every reread of your handwritten letter, his heart soared.
“There is no other proposal I would accept, save the one you have given me, Lord Jon.” Your voice was raw with emotion, words shaking as Jon felt every possible weight he had ever bore on his shoulders ascending to the heavens.
As cheers erupted throughout the hall, Jon wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you into the air, spinning you around in a gesture of pure bliss.
“Gods be good, let the lovebirds be married in the morning!” Lord Stark yelled out, raising his goblet, watching as every other goblet in the room raised in solidarity with cheers of the shared sentiment.
Jon Snow gently placed you back on the ground, his arms still holding your waist as you chuckled deliriously at each other, eyes exchanging words that dared not be spoken between lips in the company of others, and he knew then that every action of the rest of his life would be done with the same promise as the one at end of your letter.
With love.
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cellsshapedlikestars · 9 months
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You've once AGAIN brought us an incredible fic, and I really enjoy the chance to read a canon (ish) fic from you (even though I adore your modern aus). Thank you for continuing to write for us!!!
I actually got a few comments on for the wars from people saying they'd never read a canon au from me, or maybe didn't remember, and it made me look back. I've written more than I would have guessed, but also they're almost all one-shots... so here's all the canon(ish) au's I've written:
on the bound (Sansa in the Vale)
sneaking out & the merchant's daughter (the og Brandon's son au)
keep you safe & sometimes they come true (closest things to show canon I'll ever write)
not the same (book canon)
a song (Sansa doesn't go with Ned to KL & they find out about Jon early)
ruin (Jon is a Targ & initially betrothed to Arya)
time travel (half canon?) & constellations (could be either book or show) from my ephemera series
and who could forget, white knuckles. the only real multi-chapter one, and the only fic I will likely never finish. sigh.
.
(and then if you're looking for something like a salty teens, Jon is a Targ fic, you could check out this one from a completely different author that definitely isn't me)
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atopvisenyashill · 3 months
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i totally get not shipping jonerys but i think there's too much potential for george not to explore. i do think jon is going to be critical of dany’s methods and they’re doomed, but they have a lot in common too? like wanting to impose their beliefs and world view on others, and they can bond over having really bad pr too! i just hope that it’s more interesting than the show, for my own sanity.
I do think there's potential to explore but I just do not see the romantic potential. Their commonalities are not the sort that would make them get along. Jon's bad PR is he's a reclusive dick running off bad advice (from another Targaryen to boot) who won't explain his long term plans to people he doesnt like, sends every single one of his allies away, and is trying to break down long held prejudices in the span of a few months. Dany's bad PR seems similar except on top of "breaking down long held prejudices" she trusts violent, shady ass men at every turn (while Jon just straight up executes Slynt! Do you see Jon misstep wrt Alliser and Bowen? Yes, but he is not sitting here justifying their violence the way Dany justifies men like Daario), compromises in ways that completely undermine the prejudices she's trying to break down, and has now simply accepted that her dragons killing innocent people is an acceptable loss. Dany takes a profit off the selling of slaves and I simply do not believe Jon would react so cavalierly to Dany telling him about how she burned her slave alive to hatch her dragons, especially after whatever shenanigans Melisandre and Stannis are going to be getting up to in TWOW. Not for nothing here, but Jon does not use Ghost as a killing machine; anyone or anything Ghost has killed has been in defense of Jon while Drogon is very much a weapon of war.
Beyond that, Dany's identity is very tied up in the being the last dragon. She's going to be ten times worse in the books about finding a dragonseed in Westeros, especially if Rhaegar found out Elia was killed and married Lyanna, thereby legitimizing Jon above Dany's own claim. She's going to kill Aegon VI and destroy KL, maybe even Casterly Rock and parts of Dorne as well! The thing I think everyone overlooks here though is that she is not getting to Westeros until the very end of TWOW at the earliest! She's going to have wracked up a kill count higher than every other character on page, probably a kill count higher than the Conquerors or the Dance or the Redgrass Field. Regardless of any similarities they have in their backgrounds, what Jon is likely to feel when she lands is horror, and a fair amount of nerves. Do I think he will feel guilt for having a hand in his aunt's death, in ending the line of Targaryens? Yes, absolutely! It doesn't mean his guilt will drive him to side with a woman who lands with a slave army and then sets fire to half the continent.
And to be completely honest, if they do hook up, if she lands and she's lauded as a hero after destroying the city states of Slaver's Bay, after slaughtering the khals of the dothraki, after taking a profit off slavery and engaging in collective and cruel & unusual punishment, if murdering Aegon VI for *checks notes* being lied to about who he is and having a better claim than her but not "earning" his ending, and finds some sort of happiness with Jon, I'm saying that's 100x more misogynistic than what the show did, not to mention nauseatingly imperialist and classist. The reason I am very firm in saying Dany will go dark is because it is my opinion anything less is a betrayal of the themes of non violence, the costs of war, and the punishing of the poor. Like, Robb's murder is a tragedy but the book does not shy away from the harm he does! Dany will not (should not!) be treated any different just because she's a woman; that's like the basis of feminist theory!
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puppiesandnightlock · 3 months
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Link: A Robin's Song (Chapter 4)
Summary: found here
“A NIGHT TO REMEMBER: BUY YOUR PROM TICKETS NOW!”
Damian was hit in the face with banners, posters, and flyers littering the school grounds the moment he’d walked in.
“Here we go.” He sighed, preparing himself for two months of watching cheesy promposals, disgusting amounts of PDA, rejections, and annoying phrases that only served as a reminder to his nonexistent love life.
A few months had passed by, Jon and Haisley still going strong, although in Damian’s opinion, he and Jon were not.
Sure, although they considered each other best friends still, and talked at least once every day, they’d done less together. Jon was always out with Haisley, Damian taking care of his siblings and his job more so now that his father was working longer hours to keep up with the rent, despite the fact that Damian’s online presence was covering at least half of their bills and groceries.
Incidentally, Damian's Robin persona had grown big to where he was being offered contracts and agents. He denied each of them saying he already had an agent, but thank you.
(Tim preened when he found out that he was the agent Damian had.)
Robin had done a few covers, the past three hit singles having left people demanding more. His most popular video that wasn't one of his original songs was one where Jason had wrangled him into performing a duet song with him from a musical.
There hadn't been much inspiration lately, which surprisingly counted as a win. Less need for venting, less emotions killing him inside. However, as previously mentioned, kept his relationship with Jon a bit more strained. He’d gotten more used to avoiding Haisley during lunch, unfortunately meaning he was avoiding Jon, too. 
He’d met some people while “in hiding” as his brother called it, a red-haired boy named Colin who’d saved him from being spotted by a teacher during lunch and they’d found that they had gym together, a person who went Akira who frequented the library and was always willing to be silent company or recommend some books, coincidentally in his AP Lit, and most recently, a girl called Skylar in his Art class who’s saved him from embarrassment when he left his sketchbook in the class, opened to a page full of doodles of Jon.
There was still hope held out that they would grow as close as they were before, although the Kent that frequented the house more now was Kon, as he, Tim, and Bart Allen, who was one of Tim’s 4 closest friends, would go to the elementary school to pick up Dick, Jason, and Bart’s little cousin/sort of brother, Wally.
It was one rainy night that it finally did happen, a football game that he’d taken a rain-check on due to Duke being out and his father on the late shift. 
Jason, Cass and Steph were fully asleep, a feat to behold. Tim had been ordered to bed, technology confiscated, but knowing his brother, he would have some way of finding more. 
Dick was up with a warm cup of milk with some honey and cinnamon due to a nightmare, curled up with Damian.
“You should go to bed, little bird.” he pulled the empty cup from the five year old’s grasp. 
“W’nna wait for Daddy…” the child argued, although he was on the brink of falling to sleep’s clutches. 
“Daddy will be there when you wake up.” Damian assured him, carrying him to the shared room at the end of the hall.
Despite the protests, he fell asleep before he was even in bed. His older brother smiled softly, brushing the hair to the side and kissing his forehead. Jason was asleep in the bed next to his, one arm hanging off the bed and clutching a book. 
Damian removed it and bookmarked the page, giving him a good night kiss as well. He did the same with the rest of his siblings, exiting the oldest children’s room as a knock on the door came.
 He went to answer it, expecting Duke. Instead he was met with a tearful Jon, soaking wet from the rain and the tears on his face.
The paint on his cheeks from the game was smeared, and he was still wearing his football jersey, but none of the padding, and he was panting slightly.
Damian deduced he’d run directly from the locker rooms to his house, and he ushered him inside without a second thought.
“D-Damian-” He choked out, stumbling inside and falling into the shorter boy’s arms.
“Hey, hey.” He soothed. “What’s going on?” 
“H-Haisley-” the heart-broken look on his face split Damian in two, causing him to lead him to the couch and sit him down.
He let him change into some of his oversized clothes, oversized for him meaning it’d fit Jon perfect, if not a bit snug. 
 Water had already been boiling for tea, so he got out a cup for jon. He stood behind the boy and held a towel, running it through the raven curls in an attempt to dry them.
The sobs had quieted to sniffles, and the hair was no longer dripping, so Damian sat next to him, his own cup of tea in hand. 
“So.” He said, blunt, but gentle. “You gonna tell me what’s up or did you just come here to mope?”
Jon’s voice was rusty from the disuse and crying, so his first few words were slightly broken.
“I-uh, I had a fight with Haisley. Our…first. Bad one, I mean.”
Damian’s expressions morphed into sympathy, scooting closer to let the older boy lean on him. 
“What was it about?”
He hesitated, then spoke, Damian’s hand running through the damp curls as Jon leaned on his shoulder.
“I didn’t notice a cheerleader was flirting with me, and I just kept speaking to her normally, you know, and by the time I did notice, she’d gotten too close. Haisley saw the whole thing and i thought she had come to help me, cause she took me away, but she started yelling at me-”
His voice cracked. “She’d seen the whole thing and said that I was too trusting and a pushover. I-is that true, D? I mean, i’m not the smartest and this was proof that i’m stupid enough to trust anyone-”
“Jon, stop.”
 This whole time he grew increasingly more annoyed at Haisley for this, it hadn’t been Jon’s fault, and nothing had warranted the reaction and words she’d said. It was normal to be a little pissed, but that’s sorted out by communication, not harsh phrasing.
“You aren't stupid, and you didn't do anything wrong. It’s not your fault that you didn't catch on early, and if Haisley likes you like she says she does, she’d understand that. You should talk it out, both of you. I have a feeling that you didn't get a word in edgewise.”
He’d come close to crying again, but had refrained, leaning into Damian’s warmth. They stayed like that until the rain let up, Jon hugging him tightly before he left the Wayne’s.
“Thanks, D.”
It gave him a surge of some unexpected emotion, the way the other boy watched him with such reverence in his eyes. 
It felt wrong, this joy, the spark of…hope. 
He shouldn’t have been feeling like this, not for someone who was happily in a relationship. 
But is he really happy? His mind taunted temptingly. How much more can you take? How much more can Haisley hurt him?
He shook his head, shoving the dark thoughts back.
No.
He would not surrender to his own urges so easily, and he would never if it meant hurting Jon.
_____________________________________________________________
On Monday, two days after Jon had come to the Waynes, Damian had stuck by his friend, Jon avoiding Haisley at all costs. 
This kept up throughout the week, until Jon had gone to her with his tail between his legs, something that Damian had firmly advised against, seeing as she was the one who jumped to blame. 
This was only the beginning of the downfall, arguments getting louder, happening more frequently, and towards the end, Jon fighting back. Damian had had the unpleasant experience of sitting in the middle of one, although he loved watching Jon fight back when she went too far.
Many times, they would end up on the Waynes front porch, or the Kents backyard, Jon leaning on Damian for comfort. 
It was one of these nights where they watched the stars spread across the sky, Jon’s head in Damian’s lap. 
He could pretend, for a minute, that this was real, that all of this here was for them two. These moments were savored, the small touches and honeyed words. 
“Hey, Dami.”
Damian paused in playing with his curls, responding with a simple, “Hey, Jon.”
“You know about prom coming up? You gonna go?”
Damian paused. “Dunno.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“You can always tell me anything, you know that.”
“I don’t think I want to take Haisley to prom. I…I don’t even know how much longer we’re gonna last, the way these things are going.”
Something absolutely explodes in him, overwhelming his person with hope and excitement and disgust. 
Disgust at himself for this. 
“I see.” he settled on. Jon must have seen the emotions battle across his face because he turned a kicked puppy expression to him.
“You…don’t think I’m a bad person for this, do you?” his voice was shaky, perhaps on the verge of tears. 
Damian was quick to soothe him, jumping in with an “I could never.”
“You deserve happiness, and if you feel like she’s hurting you, or you don’t feel that way anymore, you have to tell her. Especially if you don’t feel that way, because that could end up hurting the both of you.”
It was silent, the older boy absorbing his words. Then he smiled.
Just a small one, enough to see the pearly whites peak from soft pink lips. It was one that held the world to Damian, and however small, it made his heart skip a beat.
He wanted that smile to be directed towards him forever, to burn it into his memory along with all of his favorite memories of the boy. 
It would stay forever, even if they wouldn’t.
After all, everything breaks at sometime, even the things created from the best and built to last.
“Thank you, D. Say, if I do ask Haisley, would you still come? To prom, I mean. Just cause she’s gonna wanna be with her girls and i’d like my company, maybe we can even find you a date!”
Damian paused, snapping out of the haze. 
“I could find a group to go with, if you would like me to. I do have friends besides you, you know.” He teased lightly. 
“Of course.” He stuck his tongue out at him. “But I’m still your number one boy.”
“Always.” Damian said, without hesitation, however the admission might have seemed.
 He supposed it was possible that it could have been too blunt, as Jon’s pale complexion sported splotches of pink after, his blue eyes avoiding his gaze. 
“It’s getting late. I should go.” He stood, shaking out his hair from where Damian had been toying with it.  “See you tomorrow, D. Thank you for…all of it.”
“Of course” He stood as well, watching as Jon stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way up the street, watching until he turned the corner and disappeared. 
With a  quiet sigh, he walked back inside, shedding his day clothes for sweats  and a loose top. 
However tempting it might have been for them, his siblings said nothing as he settled on the couch between his two youngest brothers, scribbling words mindlessly.
He had half a song when he retired for the night, burning in shame as he read the cheerful, wanting words on the page. There was half a mind to tear it out, shred it into pieces. Guilt tore into him, the scribbles feeling as though he was exploiting what Jon had told him and wrapping it up in pretty paper to serve it to the masses.  But another part, the one he despised and was repulsed by on a daily basis, told him to keep it. 
Indecisive, and acting much like a child, he shoved it under his bed, the page burning a hole in his pillow the rest of the night.
_____________________________________________________________
It was back to the same old thing the next day, Jon and Haisley making up and going on as if nothing had happened. 
It was times like these that Damian would feel actual concern, more than usual. If this cycle of pain continued, surely he would have to step in. 
He ranted about this to Colin in P.E, who’d shrugged, and then Skyler in Art who had seen many similar things in her own friends, and now to Akira during lunch. They watched him pace, whisper-scream because it was a library and then slump in a beanbag chair.
“ Why do I love him?” He whispered, surprising even himself. He turned to Akira with a plea. They raised an eyebrow at him, bookmarking a page and saying gently. 
“This is the first time in the twenty rants you’ve gone on this month that you’ve told me you love him. That means something. I know what, but I'm not going to tell you.”
“Because this is the part of the story where the main character has to figure their own way out with only the cryptid words of the friend?” Damian asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes, actually. And my cryptid wisdom for you has probably been yelled at you by everyone else you talked to today. It’s to tell him. And at the very least, do something with yourself that helps you. I don’t wanna hear the ‘but my best friend’ bullshit, just say it, and if you’re as good as friends as you say you are, he’ll let it go and y’all will go on with your normal life.”
Akira stuck their nose back into the book, letting Damian mull over the words that he’d been plagued with the whole day. They weren’t wrong, Colin had said the same thing at the beginning of sprints and Skylar had recounted past experiences.
His siblings had been drilling this into him for the past two years and it had never seemed in any way possible, but now it might even be necessary. 
He got up as the bell rang, departing to his next class. 
He deduced that if Jon didn’t ask Haisley, and they actually did break up, there was no rule against him taking Jon. 
If he was ever going to tell him, it would be that week of prom. There was a month left, and as Damian entered his house, he ran for his bed and pulled out the half-finished song. 
This was it. If he was truly going through with this, it would be on his terms, through his preferred medium. 
Song.
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even breathless, neck throbbing with pain, the agony of betrayal in the empty pit of his heart, damian can still see superman radiating pride. it's how he's always looked at richard, whether they were in the watchtower right before a fight, or in the manor as bruce deigns to invite his friend over for lunch, or even at the farm when dick coordinated a childhood get-together with the one kid damian couldn't kill. (at least, not easily.)
clark is no different now, smiling at a boy he watched grow up into someone purposeful and powerful with headrush of praise, with pellucid respect. he is proud.
damian wants to throw up.
richard is—richard is not richard, that thing is blood-ringed fingernails and blood-streaked cheeks and bloody, bloody smiles. and he looks at damian sharply fond, the way a clenched fist punching a mirror is sharply fond. damian wants to rake his own fingers over his eyes until the imposter just goes away, until his richard comes back.
"damian, thank god," not-richard says, spotting damian's eyelids fluttering open. he glides over, a touch too smoothly to be human—but then again, richard always did most things a little too graceful, a little too perfect. when he crouches in front of damian, concern pooling in his lustrous eyes—too bright, too bright, far too bright to be natural—damian holds in a shudder.
his touch is just as gentle, just as tender, brie and berries and love. something in damain breaks with relief. he's not all gone.
"i was getting worried," not-richard murmurs, tilting his head up and checking his eyes for a concussion, palm on his forhead, doting. "you said you'd only ever die if you tasted ollie's chili. gotta make sure you stick to that." it was richard's standard after-patrol routine, making sure damian was alright with a quippy joke and a caring touch. just like mother used to do.
damian scowls and kicks at richard's leg. it's much weaker than should have been. "get away from me, monster."
"damian," not-richard says. "it's me, you know me."
"no, you're just the thing wearing my brother's face," damian snarls. his voice wavers, and damian can't seem to get it under control.
ever-so adept at reading people, richard catches it in an instant. "c'mon, damian," he coos, sickly-sweet. "whatever happened to my little brother who wasn't scared of anything? you threw knives at the monster in your closet, there's no way you're scared of me."
and sure, he's scared. his father is dead, his siblings are dead; who knows what richard has planned next. nightwing has led almost every major superhero team in existence, and is a member of just as many more. an evil nightwing? a terrifying concept.
but he can't convince himself of that, he just can't. when richard's fangs glint, all damian remembers is a mouthful of hot pitha right out of the oil with abba vinyl spinning in the living room. when richard's sharp nails drag threateningly across the stitches on damian's neck, all he remembers are those same fingers juggling a few fridge magnets before pinning up one of damian's drawings. and when he catches sight of the blood soaked all over richard's escrima sticks, all damian remembers is richard teaching him how to use them, twirling the batons and throwing them to damian, trusting him with his own personal weapons.
damian wants to register this not-richard as a threat in his mind, he really does, but he—he can't.
"don't you want to stay, damian?" richard says. "clark is here, he'll call jon soon. and i'm here, i'm your family and i'm here. isn't that enough?"
"no," damian says, his voice toffee-brittle and broken. it's all he can manage, but he still forces it out.
richard's eyes turn all large and sad, an airy little half moon with enough power to change the tides. "you want to leave me?"
"no, i don't,,,," damian barely recognizes his own voice.
"you're scared," richard says softly. "it's okay, i was too. but i promise you, it's for the best. no more pain, no more loss, no more death. just us, your family, your friends. you can finally be happy, damian."
"i was happy," damian says, feeling the burning edge of tears at the corners of his eyes, only sheer willpower keeping them from falling. "i was happy before you ruined it."
"and i'll fix it," richard promises. he's cross-legged in front of damian now, like he always is when he wants to talk. "i'll make it better, you just have to drink."
damian can't bring himself to speak. he turns his head away.
"no, no, come on damian. look at me." richard ducks his head, catching damian's eye. "please, will you drink? for me?"
there's something calculating in his tone, but damian can hardly bring himself to care, not when there's a celestial spread of love in his gaze.
damian always thought his death would be some grand, histrionic thing. ephemeral, victorian, a masterclass performance. the type of death you'd read a novel just to revel in at the end. instead, he will die in a safehouse he once played charades in, with the chattering of vampires in the background as his brother, who'd once pulled a boy out of a monster, now turns him back into one.
it may not be the type of death he'd envisioned—oh god, damian thinks as he trembles, his father's furious voice in his head batted aside one final time as richard banishes his hesitation with one gold-filtered, incandescent hug, then raises his bleeding arm to damian's mouth, oh fuck, oh god—but it's poetic, it's most certainly poetic. damian drinks.
---
as @/batshit-birds so eloquently put it:
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tag list: @woahajimes @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @screennamealreadyused @clamityganon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical
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jawnlmablueorchid · 6 months
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No one asked for this (well, someone did in a discord chat, but no one here on tumblr I mean xD), but I guess I will put it here anyway.
So there's like very little we know about mxy and if the rumours as to why he was kicked out of the Jin are legit or not, therefore, I thought I would share my opinion on the matter of mxy and jgy's whole ordeal.
What we know about how much mxy was or not into jgy is told to us by jl or wwx, I can no longer remember who exactly says it, but the point is that we knew that mxy had been kicked out of the Jin for harassment, and then later we learn that harassment had been towards jgy (allegedly). What we also know is that he is seen as a lunatic homosexual.
So rumours are terrible things, that being said, a rumour tends to be born out of base layer of truth, and then with years or with how much people want to be mean, it gets distorted or amplified. But the basis for a rumour is that it has to be in a way believable, it's can't just be koo koo bonkers. So I do 100% believe that he was gay, or at least into men, and that he was a little eccentric in personality. If he genuinely falls into the 'lunacy' side of things tho, eh. I am 50/50 on that, maybe after he got kicked out of the Jin and was in ana abusive household, he can lean further into that role.
Mxy gives up his body for wwx, in his letter he says he wants all those who have harmed him or something along those lines (I also can't remember the exact quote for this here) to be killed basically. And then he gets one cut on his arm for every person he has beef with. We learn that wwx's cuts are healed after he killed the entirety of the Mo family, which to me means that even though we know for a fact jgy kicked mxy out of the Jin, mxy hold no resentment against him.
The other important thing we most keep in mind for this is that jgy is a man who holds how people view him in very high regards. The way he acts and how people see him is carefully calculated so that people will like him. He was someone whose worth was always seen as inferior because not only was he one of jgy's bastards, he was also the con of a courtesan (which people then diminish to a whore). So jgy is out here playing life on hard mode, because he needs to make himself likeable enough that people can look past those things.
Another detail to keep in mind is that jgs brings mxy into the Jin mostly as a "fuck you" to jgy. I can't remember if he brings him before or after jzx dies, I will have to double check that, but I think it's after jzx dies.
And one last detail to keep in mind is that when mxy is kicked out of the sect, jgy was already married to qs, and therefore he already lived with the fact that she was his half sister, and the fear of being found out about the incest of their relationship.
There are all important details to keep in mind:
mxy is into men (something the jianghu is not very keen on)
mxy has no ill inted towards jgy (seeing as there was no cut for him)
jgy has will do anything to maintain his image
jgy is already involved in incest||
So you mind wonder, "Jon, why the essay on just if you believe if mxy was into jgy or not?", and to that I answer "You see my dear fellow, theses are all very important points because I believe the rumour is both truth as well as a lie."
-gasp- I know, how dare I have nuance and be complicated.
So see, I believe that when mxy joined the Jin, stuff was not easy for him. He was one of jgs' bastards, terrible position to be in. I think that based off what I know about jgy, jgy was very nice to him because a) he needs to be, and b) there would be some sympathy towards mxy's situation. We know that jgy is very nice and polite when interacting with other people, something we can assume is not something mxy experiences often, based off how the Mo family was abusive as well as him being a bastard in the Jin.
So I do believe mxy likes jgy. Jgy is his half brother who ACTUALLY treats him kindly. And also might I remind you, mxy is 14yo when he is brought into the Jin. He is just a kid, and jgy is family and nice. I too would enjoy hanging out with jgy!
The thing is right, I think the rumour started because mxy was also unapologetically into men. He acted as himself, which is a death sentence in the Jin, not even Jin Ling can run away from the bullying, mxy had no chance. So he is already labeled as a bit of a weirdo, and now he is always constantly hanging out with jgy? The son of a whore? Mmmm, me thinks there must be something fishy playing up.
So the rumours get amplified, they get out of control. And by that time, jgy is already actually engaging in incest. The last thing jgy needs right now as a new sect leader, as the chief cultivator, is to have people believe these rumours, believe he was do something that depraved, and then actually find out about the actual relation between him and his wife. Jgy is terrified of the actual thing being found out.
So he needs to put an end to the rumours. Rumours mxy is also aware of, and is aware would put a stain on jgy's image. And by this point mxy is much older, he is like between 16 or 18 yo. And jgy has given him no reasons to ever not like him.
So he leaves the Jin, because these rumours are getting out of control, they would damage jgy's image, as well as mxy's. And at this point mxy is a little bit obsessed with jgy but in that "You actually like me for me, I didn't know family could do that" sort of thing. To mxy jgy was probably the only family, so obvi he is not going to hate him for doing this when he could see how it would/was affecting him as well.
So tl;dr: Rumours need a basis to form, and they spiral out of control. Mxy's rumous of harassing jgy are not nonsensical lies, they were close, but it's not the truth either. They become even more powerful after mxy leaves the Jin, because people need to blame something/someone for something happening, and at this point jgy's rep is good enough, so mxy's is the one to suffer.
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bobbinalong · 6 months
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Little Jon and Osul snippet that I started for Jon week but isn't going anywhere now.
--
The boy looked small in Jon's favourite shirt.
When he had returned home and they had gone through his closet only to realize that of course none of the clothes he'd worn at twelve fit him four lonely years later, a part of him had wanted to just throw them all out, stuff them in a plastic bag and let his father haul them into space. But a quick glance at his mother, frozen with a red hoodie in her hands, and then one down at the tee in his own, soft and worn and so familiar made him reconsider.
So instead they had packed them up carefully, folded them gently, and stored them in the guest room with the toys nobody would ever play with again and the shoes he'd outgrown and the homework left unfinished before his life had ended.
His father never would've gotten rid of them like he'd imagined, anyway.
Looking at them alone made the Man of Steel tear up.
None of them had stepped into the room much after it was made into a shrine to a lost little boy.
Until two different children had moved in, lost in such a different way, not much younger than he had been, and they had never seen toys like the ones stuffed into the guest room closet, worn anything but chains.
Now they lived in Jon's old clothes.
Now the faded tee hung loosely from Osul's skinny shoulders.
It was a startling sight.
It was …
Osul flopped down on the sofa next to him, in his hands the star-shaped puzzle box Jon's father had made for him.
He didn't look up from it when he said: "I have a question, Jor-El."
Jon paused his game.
"I told you, Osul. Jon is fine. Or … just Jor, if we must stick with Kryptonian names."
The child nodded slowly.
"Can I still ask my question?"
"Of course. Always."
Jon tilted his head in curiosity, watching Osul fiddle with the box, avoiding his eyes for a moment longer, until he looked up and grabbed his shirt to pull the wrinkles from the half-gone image and asked: "Who is this man?"
And Jon couldn't help but snort.
Osul furrowed his brow.
"I'm sorry, kid. It's … it's just sometimes I forget that you're not exactly from around here, y'know? I'm sorry. Most people know who that is, is all."
"Well, who is he?" "He's a character, from a comic book. Well, manga more specifically. And an anime! That's a bit like Looney Toons. I mean … not in content. It's just also animation. His name's Naruto. He's one of my favourite characters."
"I've seen him on your clothes, too", Osul acknowledged, nodding again. "Why are we wearing him, though?"
"'cause", Jon said, shrugging. "'cause he's cool. Because I like him. Because you're in my old clothes."
It stung, just a little bit.
"You wanna check out the anime with me? I have it all on DVD, my best friend got them for my last birthday. So you know about who you're wearing."
Osul chewed his lip.
"I think … I would like that. If you have time. I didn't mean for you to stop playing your game."
"Oh, buddy. I always have time for Naruto."
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lil-tachyon · 1 year
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Recommend dinosaur media besides Jurassic Park?
Dinotopia: All the books are super fun, but the first and last are the best. Just some rambling, cozy journeys through an imagined land of prehistoric beasts and eclectic architecture. The middle two books are still great in terms of visuals, but they lean too much into narrative stuff and I don't think that's Gurney's strong point. The writing feels a lot more like a child's first chapter book. Maybe that's what he was going for, I'm not sure.
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Xenozoic Tales: Long time fans of the blog will at this point be tired of me recommending it, but I'm not going to stop because most people I talk to (even other terminally-online SFF artists) still haven't read it. It's obviously super pulpy but it really grows into itself toward the end and is able to handle some more mature ideas without ever taking itself too seriously. Highly recommend.
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An Alphabet of Dinosaurs: Just a great collection of Wayne Barlowe's paleoart. It's a 10-minute read and it's aimed at kids but you're buying it for the art and its one of the only Barlowe books you can reliably pick up for less than $10 so I'd say it's worth it. Good chance your library may have it, too.
Dinosaurs by Thomas R Holtz Jr: Very accessible non-fiction work on dinosaur biology and cladistics. It's probably a bit dated now (came out in 2007) and the art is very hit-or-miss (about half the illustrations are obvious products of the era of early digital art when everyone was photobashing and throwing these awful digital textures onto everything, ugh...) but it remains a fun and informative read. If anyone has a more contemporary but similarly thorough dinosaur book, please let me know! I know there have been a lot of huge discoveries, especially from China, since this book came out.
C. M. Kosemen's (keep track of how many times that name appears on this list) and @simon-roy 's Dinosauroids: This was a HUGE influence on what I wanted to draw and what kind of stories I wanted to tell when I first found it and middle school and it still totally holds up. Check it out here!
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Walking With Dinosaurs: Huge, multi-part BBC documentary from 1999 that presented stories about Mesozoic fauna as if it was a contemporary nature documentary. The CGI for which it was initially so famous is very dated now but the practical effects are great and it's honestly the narration and presentation that sells it anyway. Also recommend Walking With Monsters which is the same thing but for the Paleozoic. People routinely upload both series on youtube, they're not hard to find.
All Yesterdays by Jon Conway, C. M. Kosemen, and Darren Naish: Unique and outrageous reconstructions of dinosaurs and other paleofauna that challenge our preconceptions and highlight the limits of our understanding of their appearance and behavior. Also really cool for me personally because in my lifetime I've seen this book go from a neat project by people I followed on deviantart to being (rightly) considered a landmark in paleoillustration.
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Dino Run: This game bangs and I pity the kids who weren't around in 2008 when this took over the internet for a brief but wonderful period
The Rite of Spring segment from Fantasia: From the big bang to the climactic end of the Mesozoic, all set to Stravinsky. Apparently the only Disney media I enjoy is stuff that The Mouse just does not give a shit about because this one's also on youtube.
That's some stuff off the top of my head, should be enough for now. I may add more if I think of it. Some parting thoughts:
C. M. Kosemen's youtube channel is great for learning about what I'll call "esoteric paleontology" for lack of a better term. Also he just does lots of weird, eclectic videos that I find interesting.
I don't hesitate to recommend Genndy Tartakovsky's Primal because he's literally never disappointed me and everyone I know says it's great, but I personally have not yet gotten around to watching it.
I don't promote pseudoscience, but I do think David Peters is a funny guy with weird, neat ideas. TLDR this one guy has a bunch of fringe theories about pterosaur biology and believes that because literally no one else agrees with him that he must be being censored by "mainstream science." Don't believe any of it, just enjoy the weirdness.
Any time you can pick up a dinosaur or other paleofauna book secondhand, I recommend you do it. Tons of outdated and cheap books that nonetheless contain great illustrations. That kinda stuff is a constant source of inspiration for me.
The Land Before Time is probably still great. It's been over a decade since I last watched it, but I have fond memories. Maybe time for a rewatch...
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laurellerual · 1 year
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I, someone who knows everything about asoiaf, gasp at your posts.
How can you possibly think that Arya will not triple shag the Night's King and produce the future world-ending abomination right before she travels to infinity and beyond and after Jon rejects her for Sansa! Even after she took Bran and Rickon out because she's a bad, bad assassin but she's alright with it because she cleared the way for Jon to be her forever and ever KitN!
Fr tho, I know this question was probably asked half a million times, but what is the worst theory to ever grace your feed?
Sorry if that pissed you off lol, but I legit saw a similar theory (minus the night's king baby) recently and I had to share my misery.
Omg there are so many bad ones. But today I'm gonna present you: everything that Quinn's Ideas ever said on her. My wost-favourite I think is 'The terrible purpose' in which a handful of decontextualized and/or purposely misinterpreted quotes lead to the conclusion that Arya will destroy King's Landing with wildfire. There's also the creepy tune in the background and more than 6 thousand likes.
If you are a masochist check out the "discussion" that it has started on westeros.org: Arya, the Darkheart. Here I leave you a preview:
Darkheart is worse.  Arya will show no mercy but dark also means evil.  Arya is insane to be sure.  But being insane does not mean she is without guilt. 
The Ghost of High Heart associates the tragic past of Summerhall to present day Arya Stark.  Wildfire was involved at Summerhall.  The woman saw an accurate vision of Arya's dark future.  Arya has a lot of blood on her hands.  She will soon be covered in many layers of blood.  Arya will commit a mass murder which will result in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent people.  I have seen posted predictions of her methodology of choice.  I do not think Arya will employ poison.  She is too small to attack a crowd directly.  Arya will use Wildfire to commit mass murder.  It is impossible for Arya to ever be normal again.  The future for her is very, very dark.  And she will become the darkest, most evil, of the main characters. 
I know that there is bad stuff on reddit and tumblr but you can find much worst.
Enough! too much negativity for a single day.
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magnuscomedybracket · 3 months
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Semifinals Match 1
087 Uncanny Valley vs. 042 Grifter's Bone
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Propaganda under the cut!
087 Uncanny Valley
Guy cleans out flesh from a drain without a blink and nikola has to invite him back again with Jude because he wasn’t scared enough the first time because of obliviousness
Besides the obvious bit of Guy who Doesn’t Realize He’s In A Horror Story, imagine this from Nikolas perspective. Like “oh shit lol this guys name is “skinner” I’m gonna mess with him for shits and giggles… Ok he didn’t notice any of my spooky bullshit, wild! I threatened to butcher him and he was Not Paying Attention! Jude! Hey! Come check out this idiot man!”. Also implication that Jude and nikola hang out being shitty together. I support women’s wrongs.
"Megan" tries to expose this guy to The Horrors and he's so focused on his job that he just doesn't notice. She's so shocked by this that she calls him back and still has to literally force him to notice
The world's most oblivious plumber somehow doesn't notice all the creepy stuff going on and just does his job like normal. It only gets funnier when you consider it from the Stranger avatar's point of view.
Nikola Orsinov trying so hard to scare the least observant man you've ever seen. Whispering in his ear about flencing while he hums noncommittally and pulls a wad of meat from the drain of her spooky factory in the middle of fuck-all nowhere and then he just gives her the invoice and walks out??? Like it's a normal job? And when she calls him to come back the next day she has to dress up in a clown costume to get his attention and grab his head to make him look at The Atrocities that he just entirely missed the day before. I love Sebastian Skinner so much and I wish only the best for him
#I really just want to point out that they're trying to scare a plumber. #A plumber!! #do you think this is the first time this man has had to clean skin and hair out of a drain? #do you think he's never seen blood before? #like yeah it's objectively funny from the Horror's point of views but for him? It's a tuesday #Like that isn't even the weirdest thing he's seen that week #'oh they threatened to butcher him' yeah? what makes them special? #this guy probably deals with 20 different avatars a week by necessity #no amount of 'his name is skinner let's fuck with him' is going to be worse than service work in people's homes (via @/childoferebus)
#the only reason we know what's happening for half the episode is taht we know this is an horror story #and how things usually go. #dude spends half the episode going 'just a normal job. #house in the middle of nwohere. weird smells and textures #*shrugs* just anotehr day on the job* (via @/monstersqueen)
042 Grifter's Bone
A band so bad it kills people
"I've been watching Martin. He's been very attentive to my needs and recovery since I returned to work, almost to the exclusion of his own tasks. [...] Is he playing the fool? Purposefully failing in his tasks to delay or hinder my investigations? [...] I’m glad he’s moved out of the Archives, as it gives me a chance to work here without his constant presence. [...] if his style wasn't so obviously enamoured with Keats,[...] I will keep my eye on Martin." the keats part included because wow jon. strong opinions on martin's poetry here (via @/monstersqueen)
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bellysoupset · 10 months
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was jonah working when luke had to get his appendix out?
He was! This is not really a fic, more just a teeny tiny drabble about when they got there. No emeto.
Jonah had seriously considered skipping work that day. With Leo curled up on his side, leg thrown over his hip and overheated face pressed to his neck, Jon had felt that type of comfy that made you never want to move again.
Except that skipping work, in his case, meant people getting hurt and he couldn't bring himself to do it. So despite the fact that the wind was howling outside and his bed was warm, he had gotten up and gone to work.
Early morning shifts tended to be slow. Things picked up around lunch and then calmed down until 9 PM, when every poor fucker out there decided to have a domestic accident.
Jonah was surrenptiously playing wordle on his phone, waiting for the next patient, when the voices down the hall piqued his interest. He stepped out of the office to snoop and as he walked closer to the waiting room, the more he recognized who was speaking.
The head nurse Marjorie was crouched down holding a cup of water to a girl Jonah would recognize anywhere.
"Bella?"
Her head snapped up and he cringed as he realized she had been crying. Dread settled in his gut, "Bells, what are you doing here?"
"They- Lucas..." she sniffed pitifully, "they won't let me-"
"Luke's here?" his heart started to hammer away and Jonah stubbornly pushed the emotion down, "whatever for? Nurse Marjorie?"
He was transported to that awful night they had brought in Luke with alcohol poisoning. Jonah quietly prayed it wasn't anything half as bad this time, but he doubted, with Bella being this shaken up.
"Appendicitis, doctor," the head nurse explained and Jonah breathed out, so relieved that he felt dizzy.
"Appendicitis?" he walked closer, then took the cup that the nurse was holding, "I got her, Marjorie, thank you."
The nurse threw him a relieved glance and then promptly walked away, seeing as she probably was up to her neck with other things to do than console Bella.
Jonah sat down next to the ginger, frowning, "Bells, hey... Why are you crying? It's just appendicitis... You know he'll be fine-"
"He was..." she sniffled, wiping the tears angrily, "he was a mess and he was- He didn't tell me anything and- and I had to- to check so-"
She wasn't making any sense. Jonah gingerly planted a hand on her shoulder and pushed the cup of water in her hands, ushering her to drink and calm down. Again Bella wiped the tears, looking up at the ceiling to compose herself.
"He didn't tell me he was in pain since yesterday..." her voice was all choked up, "and I had to check if it was appendicitis and it hurt him-"
"Oh sweetheart, Luke's a drama queen," Jonah rolled his eyes, "he'll be fine." He better be fucking fine.
"No one will tell me anything," Bella whimpered, "I'm not family and his father put on a formal complaint... And last time he almost died, Jon..."
"He's not dying from appendicitis, Bells" Jonah rolled his eyes, "get up. C'mon, let's see if he's back in the room already."
Bella's whole face lit up as if he had just told her that Christmas was coming early. Jonah let out a fond snort.
"Whatever were you doing with Luke anyway?" he asked, guiding her down the hallways, much to the security guard's chagrin at allowing her in the doctor's area, "I thought you didn't want to see him ever again."
Her face turned red and Jonah raised his eyebrows, "Oh, I see..." he couldn't help but tease, elbowing her side, "that's an awful taste you got there."
Bella wrinkled her nose, "shut up."
"No, I can't, I'm legally obligated to never let either of you live this down," Jonah smiled back, then even wider as he saw Wendy walking down the hall, clipboard in hand and not paying them any mind, "Hey! Marshall!"
Her head snapped up and then she smiled, before her eyes slid down to Bella and Wendy quickly approached.
"What are you doing here? Are you sick? What's happeni-"
"I'm fine-"
"Lucas got appendicitis and his girlfriend here tagged along-" Jonah said cheekily, leaning over the doctor's check ins computer, all the while Wendy let out a squeal.
"His girlfriend!? When did this happen?! Why didn't you tell me anything?!"
Vaguely Jonah noticed he had no idea when these two had become close enough to share gossip. As far as he was concerned, they didn't hang out. However, the way that Bella blushed and smiled told a different story.
"We can talk later."
"We will be talking later, " Wendy said sternly, "and you-" she poked Jonah's side, "owes my boyfriend fifty bucks."
Bella squinted at them, "did you bet about me and Luke?"
"Not me," Wendy grinned, "Jonah and Vince did though. Jonah bet you wouldn't get back together until Christmas break."
"And Vince?" Bella scoffed, crossing her arms, "what did he bet on?"
"That it would be before," Jonah shrugged, closing the tab on the computer, "Luke's surgery just ended twenty minutes ago. He should be going up to the room in an hour."
The bet completely slipped her mind and Bella opened a relieved smile, "and can I go to the room too? Can I see him?"
"Yeah of course," Wendy smiled, "c'mon, I'll take you-" she looped her arms with Bella's, causing Jon to roll his eyes.
"She just wants the gossip," he warned Bell, "I'll stop by later to check on the idiot."
"Thank you!" Bella squeaked, before being practically dragged away by Wendy, whose eyes were shinning with curiosity.
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lycanlovingvampyre · 11 months
Text
MAG 177 Relisten
Activity on my first listen: cutting the French tamarisk in my garden.
MARTIN: "Look, this is ridiculous, Basira. Can we please just talk?" BASIRA: "No." MARTIN: "Why not?" This perfectly shows that people deal differently with what they've been through. Martin is the talkative one, while Basira is rather be left alone.
JON: [Softly] "Martin, leave it. Trust me. She’s been through a lot more than we have." MARTIN: "I-It’s not a competition! Christ! I just wanted to talk. That’s all." Yeah, there will never be winners when misery is turned into a competition. We can still be considerate of others who have also been suffering. So both are right here in my opinion. Not to be dismissive of Martin saying "Haven't we all had a hard time" and Jon answering "no, we haven't" in MAG 176 . It’s a bit more of an answer with the subtext of "be considerate of Basira. Check where you might have not had that much experience with and don’t dismiss that."
MARTIN: "You might not care but it is good to see you Basira. It has been a long time since we saw a friendly face." BASIRA: "Friendly wasn’t what I was going for." I do understand Basira to be bitter after everything. But it's still super hurtful.
BASIRA: "You caused this, didn’t you? Don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Did you mess up the world? Yes or no. JON: "… Yes." So Jon still kind of thinks it's his fault? He could have said no, explain that Elias "possessed" him (I mean, he did?)
JON: "I didn’t mean to. Elias was… We were all playing out this big ritual for him. With me as the lynchpin, the gate. BASIRA: "Oh you didn’t mean to! Oh that’s all right then." Well Basira, you also didn't mean to help Elias to cause all this? Is that all right then? Basira went to Elias, she believed his half-truths, she got the idea to go to Norway from him...
BASIRA: "I should’ve just let Daisy take you out at the start." MARTIN: "You don’t mean that." BASIRA: "No? [Exhales] I don’t know. Maybe. If I had… it would have stopped all this, wouldn’t it?" JON: "Perhaps. Perhaps not." Probably not, Elias would have had everyone of the old Archives crew killed and just moved to a new Archivist. The Web would have probably also approved because it wanted the Eyepocalypse... Also huh, Basira faltering there for a moment...
MARTIN: "He can’t do hypotheticals." BASIRA: "And if I killed you now?" MARTIN: "What did I just say?" Martin's priority are a bit... ehhhhh? xD (I know it's comedic relief)
JON: "You couldn’t. And even if you could, it wouldn’t be enough to undo what’s happened to the world." BASIRA: "So… what? You’re the immortal god of this messed up little hellscape now?" JON: "‘God’ might be stretching it. [Deep breath] But I am more powerful now, yes." It is so good to hear Jon confident. 
BASIRA: "I was still in the Institute when everything went to hell outside, so I guess that protected me from the first wave." Oh, a tiny bit of information what it was like when the Eyepocalypse hit. So it rolled out in waves.
JON: "I’m, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, but then I-I got distracted and… then we were within earshot of him, and I couldn’t say anything and… I-I mean, you would have agreed, right?" MARTIN: "That’s not the point, Jon." JON: "I’m sorry." MARTIN: "… It’s okay. I understand." [FABRIC RUSTLES] [BASIRA'S EXHALE MAKES IT CLEAR SHE'S ROLLING HER EYES] BASIRA: "You done?" JON: "Can we not have a moment?" So wholesome and funny XD
BASIRA: "What’s it like? Being with someone who can see the inside of your head?" MARTIN: "Hm? Oh. Oh no, he doesn’t. I told him not to, and so he tries to… look away." BASIRA: "And you trust him to do that." MARTIN: [Certain] "Yes. I do." Thank you, Martin! And in your face, Basira! It's actually not that difficult of a concept. It's like, don't look into another person's screen. Don't go through your partner's phone. Those things would be very easy to do, but just because you could doesn't mean it's a okay thing to do.
MARTIN: "It’s, it… he needs to make a statement." It actually sounds super funny if you put it that way XD
"Hi. How are we doing? You can call me Doctor David. I’ll be here to help you out for the duration of your stay with us. Do you have a name? Hm. Hm. Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you there. That’s not your name at all." That was a low blow. It reminds me of what my first ever contact with a mental health professional looked like. In the first five minutes so many red flags (which I know can identify, I’m still afraid I encounter them because they do upset me, big surprise).  So when I was on my first listen of TMA and this statement started like this I was like "Oh no, this is going to hurt me on so many levels..."
"We’re a small residential mental health facility here to help people like you come to their senses. And to protect the world from all your self-indulgent nonsense in the meantime." Holy fuck...
"I’m here to help you, to treat you, to make it so you’re less of a… burden to everyone." Holy fucking fuck...
"You’re the biggest victim of… whatever little game you’re playing here." Holy fucking fucking fuck...
"I understand, it’s a distressing time, but there’s really nothing to be gained from… acting out." Right... Acting out... Just get it together, right?
That statement does luckily have section where you very well notice it's dialed up by 10. Calling names, saying "I wonder what it was" to the meds he just gave the patient (I mean, I had doctors not being able answer my question regarding meds. So that could be referencing something like this). Or that absolutely cruel but cheery little laugh. (Not to forget Dr. David literally tearing his face off in the end.)
"You made it all up, didn’t you? What was it? A plea for attention, trying so desperately to make the world notice you? Some childish attempt to feel special? Or were you just looking for an excuse for the fact that you’re a lazy, unlikeable waste of air?" At every doctor's appointment I am stressed to hell they’ll think I'm making it up to get some kind of personal gain... Or that they think, that I shouldn't be here and that there are patients with far more serious problems and I'm taking their spot which they need so desperately more than I do and I should just get it together.  
"Because here’s the interesting thing: you are completely sane and rational. Everyone legitimately does hate you. It’s not your brain making up lies, don’t be stupid. No, you’re just a horribly unpleasant person to be around." Really cramming every possible horrible thing in this statement... I am very lucky to have found a handful of very sweet people and everyone else can fuck right off (it gets complicated when such a person is in a position of power though. A boss at work for example. *inhale* Capitalism!!!)
"No wonder people talk about you behind your back." Yeah thanks, I still hate that. Mostly because it’s lies. If people hate me, I want them to hate me for facts about me. Does that make sense? xD
"That chemical safety blanket whispering to you ‘Oh don’t worry you’re just mad. You don’t need to take responsibility for anything.’" I think it's time to go back to holy fucking fuck!
"You seem fine, though, so I’m sure whatever that silly little imagination of yours concocted, it can’t have been all that bad." Masking is a thing and it’s not fun...
JON: "Satisfied?" BASIRA: "Fuck." Yeah, that sums it up quite well.
BASIRA: [Angry] "I told you not to look in my head!" JON: "I didn’t. And I won’t. But you can’t hunt a monster that you refuse to see." It's a brief one, but I like Basira and Daisy last arc.
Of course Helen wants to help Basira killing someone, even if it's a promise made to that person. And Helen promotes it in a way so Basira cannot properly deal with her own demons.
JON: "You just heard what The Spiral does to people. You can’t trust her." HELEN: "Nonsense! Martin can vouch for me. You and.. what’s-his-name went through Michael’s door, right? And he was rubbish compared to me." Speaking for others so they can't tell their experience because it wouldn’t be that positive. Helen's character really is all about twisting words.
MARTIN: "We were in there for two weeks." HELEN: "Exactly! And you’re just fine! Better than fine! Flourishing!" Oh, also very typical Spiral-shit. Being dismissive of what others went through. That’s literally the same thing as the “it can’t have been all that bad” in the statement. (Or Basira at the beginning to Martin...)
Hm, don't know what I find more dangerous about Helen. Her deal's now a lot more in a way where we can definitely see the antagonistic side, so it's more misunderstandably direct blows. But there is something very sinister to those attacks that made me also laugh. When the damage it's doing is more easily missed.
@a-mag-a-day
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