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princessofprocrastination · 3 years

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Just A Bet (GeorgeNotFound)

MASTERLIST

pairing : georgenotfound / george x reader - dreamwastaken/dream / clay x reader

summary : you’re just a bet to him. that is, until he realizes that you’re someone with a title. he scrambles to pick up your broken pieces, but he doesn’t realise that he’s too late. (angst) (trigger warning) (happy ending)

a/n : here’s sorta a little AU for you guys, don’t take any of this seriously, some things in this are clearly made up. side note ; holy shit i have more than a 100 followers right now. thank you so so much.

everyone has probably dreamt of being a princess, a real one. for example, when the movie ‘the princess diaries’ came out, people wanted to be mia thermopolis and rule genovia.

sounds like a dream, that is, to be going to high school and have plenty of paparazzi’s chasing you, or to be able to be recognized everywhere.

in reality, it is the complete opposite of living the dream. you could barely walk out without being recognized if you didn’t cover up your face in some way. you were restricted to do many things, even to just hang out with your friends to grab lunch.

to other people, they might just tell you to suck it up, that in the end of the day, you’re royalty, and that these are only tiny problems.

you agreed, sure. but you did want to smell the fresh flowers outside. you wanted to be able to get food from wherever, with whoever without people’s prying eyes.

you just wanted freedom.

to whom might be reading this might be confused. you’re a princess. just like the movie, yes. princess of saudi arabia, you are.

you are fairly young, still in your twenties. most people your age are out having fun going on a girls night, or still studying for their degrees, or even working right now.

but you were prohibited to leave the castle. you were told to leave on the queen’s orders, only during meal times.

some days, you really liked it, being a princess. if you weren’t being egoistical, you would say that your face really did suit the royal title.

you didn’t have to leave your room to make stacks of money. but the problem with that was, what would you do with the money if you couldn’t leave the house?

so you went on the internet. you settled on the internet. with the queen’s permission, of course.

sure, she can be strict like all the time, but she tried her best to give you your freedom. so she let you have social media accounts. you being you, the public immediately found your accounts.

you couldn’t find new friends, they were too scared to come across you. so you just entertained yourself.

this isn’t bragging, but a lot of people knew who you were, but that doesn’t mean everyone does.

since you barely had a childhood, with being born and raised royal, you entertained yourself watching minecraft youtubers. for some reason, it calmed you.

dream team, as you called the group, caught your eye. you watched all of their videos, caught up with every single live streams of theirs, even followed their instagrams and twitters.

one morning, when you woke up, you found your instagram notifications fuller than other days. you were fairly confused. that is, until you realised that the whole of dream team had followed you back.

they definitely know who you are and what you do now, right? they have a large fanbase, surely, they would’ve told the boys.

your followers, since seeing the boys follow you, have told you to start playing games. you didn’t disappoint them. you asked your parents if you could and they granted you permission to do whatever you wanted.

they told you “this would entertain the public and love you even more.” and smiled at you. you thought maybe they hit themselves in the head today with the leniency they gave you. but you pushed that thought. maybe they thought you have grown old enough.

valkyrae, a streamer on twitch had reached out to you after knowing about your gaming desires. she asked if you wanted to join her and her group to play among us together.

you almost immediately agreed and the rest of her friends welcomed you in with opened arms.

your mum gave you one condition, that you had to follow in order to film yourself playing games. that is, if you kept yourself poised and respectable. you agreed to her shenanigans and started to play with rae.

playing with her meant that you met countless different content creators, such as corpse husband and pokimane. they all were super nice to you, even when you had told them that they didn’t have to be nice to you because of your title.

soon you had found yourself in an amazing group of friends and you felt great about yourself.

you and rae had sustained such amazing friendship that she had came over to your house multiple times for meals.

you’d text her “come over to my house, let’s eat lunch.”

and she’d reply with “your castle you mean?” she jokes around.

your friendship was loved by many people out there.

one thing you didn’t say was that not everyone was obligated to know who you are, which then happens to be funny to see when they did end up finding out who you are.

just the fact that they show such shock to their faces, and the tone in their voice changes.

“holy fuck, she’s royal.” toast says as he came back from googling your name to know more about how you came about in a game of among us.

“i’m so sorry for the past rounds.” he apologizes for the time he accuses you for no reason.

“please treat me the same way you used to, i’m just y/n when i’m playing games, definitely not a princess.” you told him.

you didn’t have a big ego, although your parents did. “they need to know that you’re important.” they told you, but it never stuck to you. you wanted to be respected as a person, for your personalities, not because of a stupid title you were born in.

sykkuno, rae and you had decided to make an smp, where you three would start building things for fun and stream it.

you three had enough fun until it got boring, for you to start asking your other friends to join. the first person you offered to tour your little world was corpse since you and him had clicked so well.

because you started playing minecraft and streaming it, it got the attention of minecraft youtubers. and for some reason, the seventeen year old, tommyinnit had found you interesting enough to talk to you.

with tommy being that close to you, you attracted tubbo and wilbur soot, as well.

“i am in a vc with a princess.” tommy had said on stream when you two decided to play minecraft along with tubbo and wilbur.

sure, the teenage boy got a little annoying at times, but you found it entertaining and funny. of course, tommy being tommy, he’d ask slightly personal questions about how royalty works in saudi arabia.

not that he knew how royalty works in general, anyways.

“the queen is still my favourite woman, but you come in close second.” he told you once. you laughed at that.

no big title could stop you from fangirling the moment the man, dream itself had sent you a donation, and then later sending you a direct message.

“let’s play minecraft together soon, seen me your discord.” he dmed you one day. of course you complied.

for some reason, you never had the chance to play with george, and you played minecraft with sapnap and dream separately, never together. not that you were complaining.

you decided on a more chill and laid back stream on that specific day, not really feeling like going on a minecraft server or play among us with your bestfriends when you got a text from an unknown number.

hey. they sent

who’s this? you sent a text back.

my bad, this is george. they sent a text back to you.

holy shit. why would george text you. sure, you have played minecraft and among us with him sometimes but he isn’t one to give out his number so this was weird to you.

although you consider to be close to the entirety to the dream team, you often tried to avoid texting them, especially outside of streaming. you didn’t want it to be awkward or tense.

surprisingly, as your conversation with george lengthened, it became less and less awkward. the more you two texted, the more you felt like you and him had been friends for the longest time.

being the princess, raised in a castle meant that you didn’t really have a social life. other than being put together with some prince of another country in hopes you’ll fall in love with them or marry them, you haven’t really had a legitimate boyfriend. not even a crush.

to you, the princes in the world can be arrogant, snobby. they act like they are the most important thing in the world, that if they walk in a restaurant, everyone was to drop all their work for other people to entertain them.

sure, this could just be the way that they were raised, but you didn’t want that in a man, a husband. it wouldn’t kill to be a little humble.

princes are also a bore. they live practically the same lifestyle as you. conversations were never interesting, always the usual.

to summarise this, since you and george have been talking and texting, you had fallen for him. hard. and it seems like he’s feeling the same way, just that the both of you hadn’t really said anything.

DREAM’S POV

being really close friends with someone, more than one person, bestfriends, that is, meant that we had a group chat together.

nothing constructive was ever said, only boys being boys.

nick was the one to bring it up. and since he is the youngest, he sure does say some stupid things.

dude, you should try to get in y/n’s pants. nick asked george in the groupchat.

there was a running joke between the nick and i. george lives under a rock, basically. when everyone was walking on eggshells around you, trying not to offend a princess, he never really cared.

and that was when nick and i found out that george had no clue you held such a title on your pretty little head.

you are a beautiful girl, no doubting that. i was sure that many people, even before you started streaming had a major crush on you. george definitely fits right in. he was practically vomiting hearts when he first saw you.

it was meant to be funny. it was never meant to go this far. nick didn’t mean for his little bet to break a heart, let alone a princess.

but he did. well, technically george did. he was so brutal with it. he toyed with your feelings, like he had no care in this world.

no one would’ve guessed that the little cute, short george would do something as bad as he did.

and now, no one can find you. no one.

you were there, smiling in front of your camera one day and you were gone the other. just gone. no one knew where you went.

granted, you are royal. it must not be hard to get people to hide you. but at the same time, you had major reporters trying to find you. and they couldn’t. what does that leave us?

where did you go?

come back.

and although i know you want to hear this from george instead of his friends, you won’t. because he probably doesn’t.

we miss you.

please just text us, we need to know you’re safe.

YOUR POV

you left. you had to. it had been extremely humiliating.

you didn’t think someone as sweet as george would do that, it all happened so quick.

you had flown to england to meet him. he encouraged you to. it felt amazing to leave your hometown, you’ve lived there all your life. you definitely needed to fresh air.

it took a lot of convincing your parents to let you fly to england. without a doubt, you knew that the only way you’ll get to leave is if you had a guard with you.

this isn’t that kind of cliche story, your guard could literally be your dad, get your head out of the gutter, you are utterly in love with george, and you were sure george knew that and that’s why he encouraged you to fly to him.

the first couple of days were fun. he brought you to all over brighton for you to experience what it’s like in england. he told you he wanted you to get your first real experience as a tourist, and that was what he did.

winding down for the night, you brought him to relax in your hotel suite. frankly, george was surprised that you could afford such a place. but he didn’t want to ask where you got the money from, he didn’t really care.

all he wanted to do was to complete his dare. his ego was too big to lose this time.

that night was when you decided to tell him about your feelings about him. you were pretty confident that it was going to go smooth sailing. just the way he treated you showed so much about his feelings.

so you did, you told him. while you told him that you love him, more than friends love each other, he looked you in the eyes. you weren’t sure what that meant.

but he smiled. or smirked, you weren’t sure.

and he kissed you. and the night didn’t end with you just kissing.

so you thought the night was amazing, that it couldn’t get any better than that.

that was, until you woke up the next morning.

you woke up, sun shining straight into your suite, curtains wide open.

although you didn’t really feel the presence of another person in the room with you, you brushed it off. you felt like something was off, that something was missing.

you rolled over in your hotel bed, to see if the british man was laying next to you.

he wasn’t. in fact, he was not in the hotel room at all. you checked the bathroom, the small little living room in your suite. he was found nowhere.

you tried to see if he had left traces of himself in your hotel room, a sign that he was indeed there and that you hadn’t been dreaming it all.

but the pain between your legs caused by the brit told you that it was all not a dream.

so you did what a logical person would, text him. maybe he left to get food.

but you knew that wasn’t the case the moment you had unlocked your phone.

texts flood in, your social media notifications seemed to not be stopping anytime soon.

you opened your texts messages. a couple from your parents, a lot from rae, multiple from some minecraft youtubers who you called friends.

besides your parents, they were asking if you were okay. they were telling you to stay safe and to lay off social media for a while.

your parents were practically screaming at you through texts. they called you a disgrace, not an honour to the family. you didn’t understand where this was coming from.

you opened twitter, knowing that it was going to be the easiest way for you to find out what had happened, and why were you involved in it.

you were trending. number one worldwide. you clicked on your name. your phone left your hand, falling hard to your hotel floor with a loud thud as you covered your mouth with both your hands, crying.

two pictures. two photos that said it all.

first photo was of you in bed, obviously naked under the hotel duvet. you were still sleeping. there was light coming from the windows, that showed that it had barely been sunrise when it was taken.

second photo was what hit you the hardest. you wanted the earth to swallow you from below. it was a photo of your back, very naked back. it was clear that it was a photo that had been taken during sex.

and it was obvious who you had it with, because he was the one who posted it all over twitter.

george.

that was why he left, with no traces of him ever being in the hotel room.

you weren’t sure what was his motive. but you sure did know that he had completely broke you.

crying, you picked up your phone from the floor, calling rae.

“oh my god, tell me you’re okay.” she was panicking on the phone.

“i need to leave.” you told her. you knew that she would immediately understand the severity of the four words you told her.

since then, you never came back. to the eyes of public, it was as if you never even existed. you were gone.

you moved with rae.

she had to leave her roommates to settle in with you. her roommates weren’t mad at her for leaving them. they completely understood, you needed the help.

although her roommates wanted to help you, they couldn’t. you needed to have the least amount of people to be with you.

it didn’t help that they were all content creators, too.

rae told people that she moved because she wanted her own space, so that she can make better videos. when she announced she was moving, not one person speculated that you had been the reason of her move.

you paid for the house, you needed to. you owed her. no matter the amount of times she told you that you owed her nothing, that she was just doing it because she loves you, you couldn’t let her pay for a single thing.

you needed to up your security, too. so you two had decided to get a house that was pretty big, somewhere in the mountains, with top security, away from other people.

your parents soon calmed down after that day. they told you to come back, the begged you to come back. but you told them that you needed the time alone at that moment, and assured them that you would be okay.

so they did what parents would. they made sure you were well taken care of. they sent you massive amounts of money, sent your their trusted guards to stay around the house.

they did this all for you without the knowledge of the public.

your parents told reporters that you were well safe, and would not be in the public eye, not until you were ready.

you helped rae film certain videos. well, not like there was anything good to do in the massive mansion, anyways.

all your social media pages were still up, just not updated. you left everything. you had created a more private one, for your close and trusted friends to follow.

and you thought that nothing could really top that eventful day in england.

but it did.

you’re sat on toilet in on of the bathrooms, rae rubbing your back.

pregnant. it was clearly written on the test.

no fucking way.

in no ways were you ready to be a mother.

as a little kid, you had dreamt of being a mum, alongside a successful man who took responsibility.

you never would have seen yourself to be a mother alone, with the help of your bestfriend.

you never thought that you would be a mother, whose dad is someone who clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you.

rae stayed with you all the time. even through the gross vomit sessions in the morning, or all the time, in your case.

but you were in no way shape or form ready for a child. you had to raise a child on your own. even the thought of that had emotionally drained you.

weeks after you found out you were pregnant, you were significantly getting more moody, and rae knew that.

she made sure you ate well, slept well and kept up with eating vitamins each day. that was until, you couldn’t take it all anymore.

maybe it was the stress. well, it was the stress.

you blamed it all on the emotional toll the pregnancy took on you. your body was practically screaming for help. help that you need, but you weren’t in the right head space to offer the help to yourself.

it was a typically normal day for rae and you. besides rae screaming in her gaming room while streaming, it had been pretty quiet.

you felt queasy, but you pushed it off. it was normal for you nowadays. everything almost made you throw up. the look of something, the smell.

but on that day, it was a different type of feeling in your stomach.

one second, you were walking into the kitchen, trying to get some water, and the other, you were on the floor, in pain.

you screamed. this was the worst type of pain you’ve felt in your life. you screamed for anyone who could hear you. you were sure that even rae’s stream could hear you, but you didn’t care.

soon you heard multiple footsteps. one of your guards came to your aid before rae did. he supported your head on his lap, him sitting on the floor.

he told the other guard who came soon after he did to call the ambulance.

that was when you finally found out what was happening.

“holy shit, she’s bleeding.” rae repeated to herself.

you were bleeding? that wasn’t good, right? that meant bad things, doesn’t it?

you felt like you were floating, like your limbs were as light as a feather. that was because you were losing consciousness.

you lost it. you lost it and found out it was a boy.

now the two boys you love more than your life aren’t here with you, forever.

you cried for weeks, rae next to you, making sure you were still alive and eating. she was the only one that stayed by your side in real life. sure, your online friends did care about you, but they just couldn’t be there with you.

clay and nick had always been texting you, sometimes calling to try their luck, clay mostly. you knew they cared about you, and they wanted to make sure that you’re okay. but you felt embarrassed. you didn’t want to face anyone, even if people kept saying that you did nothing wrong.

apparently rae’s stream heard your scream, and that was how rae found out that you were in danger. she couldn’t hear through her headphones, but her chat kept spamming her about it, and that raised alarms.

they kept asking about the ‘mysterious girl screaming’ in rae’s stream. it was short lived, though. rae told them that she had a friend over and that they were injured, and that rested the chaos for a little.

you were sure that some people knew you were living with her. most of them were almost like detectives, after all.

you didn’t blame the stans. it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that you would live with her, anyways.

since the awful day at the hospital, you have texted clay and nick. you wanted to tell them that you were okay, that you aren’t hurt, at least not physically anymore.

it didn’t take you long to start calling clay daily again. other than rae, you didn’t really have anyone. so you told clay.

it felt weird talking about a baby that used to be in you to someone whose bestfriend was the dad of. but he completely understood you. sure, he couldn’t say for experience, seeing as he clearly can’t get pregnant, but he supported you, made sure you let it all out to him.

you and clay grew close, almost bestfriends. although you and nick were close, he’s still in college, and that meant that he usually didn’t have time to talk to you as much as clay did, and you didn’t blame him. school can be a pain in the ass.

but you still made sure to never keep nick in the dark. as much as clay is one of your bestfriends, so is nick.

clay made sure never to talk about george to you, which deemed to be difficult since they had been friends for years. he had accidentally slipped his name out to you a couple times, but you were sure he didn’t meant to do that.

other than the usual “george has been sleeping like a log” and “he slept through the smp war.” you hadn’t heard anything else about him, but it seemed like he was doing well.

clay had told you about the bet.

“nick brought it up, but we didn’t think he was actually going to go through with it.” the floridian said.

you aren’t the type to hold grudges, not even if they did you really dirty, so you told clay that you were on the path of being fully healthy and that he didn’t need to apologise for his friend’s behaviour.

“are you ever going to come back?” he asks you in a facetime call. you knew exactly what he was talking about. he wanted to know if you’d ever come back on the internet.

you didn’t even know the answer yourself. you weren’t sure. so you told him that.

“maybe, maybe not. who knows.” and that was months ago.

you had plenty of time to heal, to get back on track. but nothing could top your pain of losing your child, that you never got to hold, to kiss, to spoil.

telling your mother about the loss of your baby was the hardest. she is a traditional woman, always telling you to get married before bearing children, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love the baby you were carrying in you.

she cried on the phone, sobbing, hiccupping. you wanted to hug her so bad, she even asked you when you’d come back, but you told her you needed time, but you’d be there soon.

for some reason, although you got maximum hours of sleep each day, you still felt exhausted. you consulted a doctor, but he told you that it was normal since your body is still fragile, but the exhaustion never really went away as months go by.

being bored at home, and hearing rae having fun made you feel lonely, it made you feel like you were left out. so you made the decision to come back. not to stream, but to appear in rae’s videos.

rae and the rest of the group welcomed you with open arms. they were caring and made sure you felt comfortable again, not stepping any boundaries. not that you cared, the public was bound to know everything soon enough.

so you did that.

you were playing proximity chat among us, with the usual people. at that point, you and the other nine people were still in the lobby, chatting, until corpse sounded out.

“what have you been doing nowadays?” harmless question, in your opinion.

you didn’t want to hide anything anymore, and rae knew what was about to happen.

“been having a lot of rest. doctor said that i’m still fragile.” you told corpse.

“are you sick?” toast asks. some people would’ve been offended at that question, or take it the wrong way, but you didn’t.

“actually, i suffered a miscarriage recently.” you told them honestly.

there was no awkward silence. immediately, everyone started apologising, saying “sorry for your loss.”

you brushed them off, telling them that it’s okay, that they didn’t offend you at all for asking that question.

“feels good to get it out my chest.” you told them, laughing at the end of that sentence.

“she hasn’t slept well at all, she really wanted to tell you guys.” rae told her

one by one, they all spoke to you, asked you if it was even okay that you all talked about it on streams. you told them that it had been your choice to tell people this way, and they had nothing to worry about.

on the other hand, it was tough for george. not at first, though. he thought it was going to be easy, having sex with a pretty, virgin girl and ditch her alone in a country she she hasn’t personally been to.

but that changed the moment she disappeared. the guilt never really hit george until people started bashing him on the internet.

at first, people were too focused on the girl. people discriminated you, called you a slut. they didn’t think that george was wrong at all, although he was the one who took the explicit photos and posted it.

but then, people, mostly woman had started to realise indeed how messed up it was.

george really couldn’t care that you “left.” but then people kept on commenting on his posts. specifically, they often left a comment saying “really bold of you to do that to a princess.”

at the start, he thought the comments meant that they couldn’t believe he did such terrible things to their princess, someone wholesome they cherished. he didn’t realise that his comments literally meant that you are a princess.

so he googled it. he wanted to know why people kept calling you ‘princess’ or ‘next on the throne’. he was curious, and he wasn’t expecting it all to be real.

when he googled your name, a huge google tab came out.

princess of saudi arabia.

this must be a typo, right? he couldn’t deny that you are indeed a pretty girl, he just couldn’t believe that he had done such things to someone so royal.

he never even thought that one day, he would score to talk to celebrities, let alone be able to be in bed with an actual princess.

so he doubted it.

but then he kept looking.

he looked at images of you. photos of you with a small tiara, next to what seemed to be the queen of saudi arabia, wearing a long, modest emerald gown. the photo was taken when the king had a birthday.

picture after picture, he started to doubt his thoughts even more.

he couldn’t lie, your face really fit the title. if he really thought about it, your existence screamed royalty. the way you spoke, your poise, the way you strut in a hallway and was able to wow a crowd without trying.

george always assumed that people only stared at you in public because of how beautiful you are. he never really realised it all until now.

usually, guys can be insecure when they hear rude comments about how a lanky man is able to get a beautiful, confident woman. but to george, he felt even more egoistical. he used you, truly like a trophy wife.

that was until he really realised.

now, he thinks that everything he did was just a plain asshole move, not saying it isn’t if he did it to any other normal girl.

“i fucking messed up” he thought to himself, reading press conferences about your princess title.

if he thought he messed up then, wait till he found out you were pregnant, and then later losing it.

he felt like he was in a fever dream. it felt like a written book, not real life.

he kept slapping himself, pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. it all felt unreal. so many things were happening.

now, he’s more concerned than guilty. he wanted to know if you’re okay. even he felt like he can’t cope with the information he was given, how would you feel?

furthermore, he kept reading theories that the scream in the background of valkyrae’s stream was yours. had you lost the baby there? had you lost his baby there?

he called clay and nick. he wanted to double check. it was all a lot to handle, knowing you’re a princess and a mother in the same week.

nick screamed at him on discord for hours, literally. george knew clay was just as mad, just as disappointed. he just didn’t have the energy to say it all, even though all he wanted to do was fly to england and beat george up.

although it took george a while to realise everything he did was messed up, he came to. and he really did want to contact you. but really, anyone in your position wouldn’t even glance at his name twice after what he did.

he was happy that you were looking healthy on rae’s stream. although you weren’t really ready to stream on your own again and many people understood that, and never pushed you.

but whenever he saw you sometimes on rae’s facecam, he could see that pain, deeply hidden in your eyes. you were trying to cover up the fact that you were still trying to heal.

CLAY’S POV

it was infuriating to see george not really giving a shit at first, and then changing to a new man. it took you to tell the world about your lost child for him to own up to his mistakes.

nick and i had been friends with him for years, it takes a lot to just dump a friend, a close one at that. so we did what we could, help him wake up from this “dream” he’s in.

that didn’t mean we weren’t mad at him still.

if he didn’t want to own up, i will.

the subsequent years came by and went really quickly. people were starting to forget the drama that you and george were in. people soon became uninterested about it, but still stayed with you, encouraging you to heal slowly and take your time.

that was what you liked about the internet. granted, some people can be mean, but the people who supported you were the ones that helped you keep going, helped you find a reason to wake up in the morning.

no, you’d never forget that you lost a child, and you were reminded by the people on the internet who made it a pact to make sure george never forgot that too.

george did end up talking to you a couple years ago. you accepted his apology, but not him. you were sure he only wanted to apologise after knowing that you were the next in the throne.

speaking of throne, you were back in the castle. not permanently, but you visited often. you still lived with rae, and you had actually started streaming on your own again a few months before george reached out to you.

clay and nick had been supportive of you since the start, still clearly apologetic even though you told him that you had forgotten about it and that it hadn’t even been their fault in the first place.

but they were persistent, clay more than nick since nick was still very busy with college. you loved the two of them and considered them to be one of your best friends, aside from rae.

GEORGE’S POV

it was difficult. i felt like i had no shame to just text her one day after being gone for so long. but i actually felt bad. i know it was a rocky start.

i had been so focused on winning the bet and not wanting to be called a pussy from my friends that i disregarded you, your feelings.

i knew from the start that you had been a great girl. you were just so sweet to everyone you meet, even strangers. it warmed my heart, it made me feel safe to be around you all the time.

not that i can say that right now anyways, i didn’t have the right at all, after what i did to you.

i don’t know what love is, given the fact that multiple girls had left me before this. i asked myself often if what i felt for my exes were actually love, or had i just been desperate.

but i felt like when i was with you, it had been love, or close enough.

but i couldn’t just burst it out one day that i love you, we weren’t really even dating.

given that you had been pure, prior to me, it was shocking to see you so open, so welcoming to me. it was like you had known me forever, that you trusted me.

and i took advantage of that, and later i got the consequences.

i suffered the consequences. i see him with you. and i see that you’re happier with him. if it was any other guy, i think it would hurt less.

but it was my own best friend. it was clay.

all the instagram photos you post, his face blurred or covered, or when he posts a photo of you, it all hurt.

i started the fall for you, for your genuine heart, and when i finally decide to do something about it, someone else had done it before me.

deep down, i knew that clay would’ve been the better choice for you anyway. but it still hurt me. hearing his voice coming from behind you when you stream without your facecam.

everyone was so supportive of you and clay, they’re obviously happy that you found someone who treats you better, even i knew that.

i wished i hadn’t taken you for granted, i wish i hadn’t listened to the stupid voice in my head reminding that you were all just a bet, that i wouldn’t love you like you think i would.

i felt left out.

a while ago, you were in florida with nick and your boyfriend, clay. it stung to see nick and you streaming so happily, not remembering me.

but i deserved it. and i knew you deserve to be happy, after everything i did to you.

but that didn’t compare to the pain i felt now, a year later, seeing photos of clay and you, his face turned from the camera, facing you. he was down on one knee, proposing.

and although you were crying and your hands covered the bottom half of your face, i could see how happy you are, i could see the amount of love you held for clay.

how i wish i had done things a little more differently.

#georgenotfound #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound fanfic #georgenotfound imagine #georgenotfound imagines #dream imagine #dream imagines #dreamwastaken imagines

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

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DUNK SNOW

Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow are more similar than we thought...

A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms is a book full of Dunk and Jon parallels and hints of Jon Snow’s true parentage. Here is what I found in my last re-reading.

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is a collection containing the first three Dunk and Egg novellas by George R. R. Martin:

The Hedge Knight

The Sworn Sword

The Mystery Knight

It was indirectly confirmed that Brienne of Tarth is a descendant of Ser Duncan The Tall, and they share a lot of parallels. Some readers have also speculated that Ser Duncan The Tall is an ancestor of certain pair of tall brothers, and have also drawn parallels between those characters.

But while I was writing another meta, I was amazed by all the similarities between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow, and I wondered, why there was not metas about it?

Also, while reading the tales, you can find that Dunk and Egg, at some point, sound very much like all the Stark kids, even Rickon. Dunk and Egg can be romantics like Sansa, but they would also call “stupid” certain “feminine” or “romantic” things like Arya does, but at the same time they both dream of being knights of the Kingsguard like Bran, and always try to be fair and honorable like Jon Snow.

But, in this post I’m going to explore the parallels between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow.

DUNK AND JON

Thinking fast, we can say that,

Dunk and Jon are both orphans and presumed bastards.

Dunk defending Tanselle resemblances Jon defending Samwell.

Despite not being “proper knights” both are knights that remember their vows.

Their sexual awakening was with a red haired woman.

Both met Maester Aemon.

Despite the prejudice against their low status, both became Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard and Night’s Watch, respectively.

Both have connections with the North, Dunk visited Winterfell and scorted Maester Aemon to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, etc.

But there is much more.

THE HEDGE KNIGHT

This tale is full of Dragonflies and Dragons imagery. GRRM is telling us about dragons that don’t look like dragons, about Targaryens that don’t look like Targaryens, about princes in disguise and secret identities.

Dunk and Jon share the wish to prove the world they are worthy

Yet however fine their pavilions were to look upon, he knew there was no place there for him. A threadbare wool cloak would be all the shelter he had tonight. While the lords and great knights dined on capons and suckling pigs, Dunk's supper would be a hard, stringy piece of salt beef. He knew full well that if he made his camp upon that gaudy field, he would need to suffer both silent scorn and open mockery. A few perhaps would treat him kindly, yet in a way that was almost worse.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword. I must earn my place in that company. If I fight well, some lord may take me into his household. I will ride in noble company then, and eat fresh meat every night in a castle hail, and raise my own pavilion at tourneys. But first I must do well. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the tourney grounds and led his horses into the trees.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

There are a lot of hints of Jon’s true parentage in this tale, not only Egg being a Targaryen prince in disguise, but also a dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

He sat naked under the elm while he dried, enjoying the warmth of the spring air on his skin as he watched a dragonfly move lazily among the reeds. Why would they name it a dragonfly? he wondered. It looks nothing like a dragon. Not that Dunk had ever seen a dragon.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son.

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Don’t call me “My Lord”

Egg smiled.

"Yes, my lord."

"Ser," Dunk corrected. "I am only a hedge knight."

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?

"Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice. The boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the longsword back into its scabbard. "No,” he replied.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“So how do you like the taste of your victories now, Lord Snow?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. “I never … I didn’t think …”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what’s that big thing for?”

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

She wiped her hands on her skirt. “M'lord—”

“I’m no lord.”

But others had come crowding round, drawn by the woman’s scream and the crash of the rabbit hutch. “Don’t you believe him, girl,” called out Lark the Sisterman, a ranger mean as a cur. “That’s Lord Snow himself.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

“Rise. I have heard much and more of you, Lord Snow.”

“I am no lord, sire.” Jon rose. “I know what you have heard. That I am a turncloak, and craven. That I slew my brother Qhorin Halfhand so the wildlings would spare my life. That I rode with Mance Rayder, and took a wildling wife.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

“Words. Words are wind. Why do you think I abandoned Dragonstone and sailed to the Wall, Lord Snow?”

“I am no lord, sire. You came because we sent for you, I hope. Though I could not say why you took so long about it.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk thinks that Tanselle is prettier than the blonde Lady Ashford. Jon doesn’t compared the blonde Princess Myrcella with anyone, but there is an interesting contrast between calling Princess Myrcella “stupid” & “insipid” and then calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”

The banner-bearer was a tall knight in white scale armor chased with gold, a pure white cloak streaming from his shoulders. Two of the other riders were armored in white from head to heel as well. Kingsguard knights with the royal banner. Small wonder Lord Ashford and his sons came hurrying out the doors of the keep, and the fair maid too, a short girl with yellow hair and a round pink face. She does not seem so fair to me, Dunk thought. The puppet girl was prettier.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Talking about Tanselle and Lady Ashford, both girls share parallels with Sansa Stark:

Sansa Stark and Lady Ashford

Sansa and Lady Ashford are noble ladies.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are of the same age.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are associated with tourneys.

Lady Ashford was the reigning Queen of Love and Beauty during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, while Sansa was unofficially crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty during the Hand’s Tourney.

Lady Ashford’s original champions were Androw Ashford, Robert Ashford, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Ser Tybolt Lannister defeated Ser Androw Ashford, Ser Lyonel Baratheon defeated Ser Robert Ashford. A Lannister and a Baratheon defeating Lady Ashford’s older brothers remind us of Tywin Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon conspiring to kill Sansa Stark’s father (Ned) and brother (Robb).

The last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow were Ser Tybolt Lannister, Ser Lyonel Baratheon, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Sansa’s suitors surnames match the surnames of the last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow.

Sansa Stark and Tanselle Too-Tall

Sansa and Tanselle are tall girls.

Sansa and Tanselle are familiar with the tales of Florian and Jonquil.

Tanselle plays Jonquil in the puppets play, while a fat woman plays Florian.

Sansa saves Dontos Hollard’s life. Dontos was an old, fat, drunk knight turned fool.

Dontos calls Sansa Jonquil and plays to be Sansa’s Florian, Sansa also called Dontos her Florian, but she would prefer him to be younger, like the real Florian.

Dunk defended Tanselle from Prince Aerion Targaryen, a character with some similarities with Joffrey Baratheon.

Dontos, as a fool, try to distract Joffrey and defend Sansa while she was being beaten and later helped her to scape King’s Landing.

Dunk and Jon know how to treat a girl

(This could be nothing but I know a character that is called “good girl” and “sweet lady” a lot)

Also take note that by selling Sweetfoot, Dunk got his own armor.

It was cool and dim in the stables. An unruly grey stallion snapped at him as he passed, but Sweetfoot only whickered softly and nuzzled his hand when he raised it to her nose. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" he murmured. The old man always said that a knight should never love a horse, since more than a few were like to die under him, but he never heeded his own counsel either. Dunk had often seen him spend his last copper on an apple for old Chestnut or some oats for Sweetfoot and Thunder. The palfrey had been Ser Arlan's riding horse, and she had borne him tirelessly over thousands of miles, all up and down the Seven Kingdoms. Dunk felt as though he were betraying an old friend, but what choice did he have? Chestnut was too old to be worth much of anything, and Thunder must carry him in the lists.

(...)

Dunk stroked Sweetfoot’s mane and told her to be brave. “If I win, I’ll come back and buy you again, I promise.”

(...)

Dunk handed a few of the coppers right back, and nodded at Sweetfoot. “That’s for her,” he said. “See that she has some oats tonight. Aye, and an apple too.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy.

“Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Dreams of a highborn lady

While Dunk wishes to have sex with a highborn lady instead of paying a whore for sex, Jon wishes his mother were a highborn lady and not a whore

Dunk stopped to watch the wooden dragon slain. When the puppet knight cut its head off and the red sawdust spilled out onto the grass, he laughed aloud and threw the girl two coppers. "One for last night," he called. She caught the coins in the air and threw him back a smile as sweet as any he had ever seen.

Is it me she smiles at, or the coins? Dunk had never been with a girl, and they made him nervous. Once, three years past, when the old man's purse was full after half a year in the service of blind Lord Florent, he'd told Dunk the time had come to take him to a brothel and make him a man. He'd been drunk, though, and when he was sober he did not remember. Dunk had been too embarrassed to remind him.

He was not certain he wanted a whore anyway. If he could not have a highborn maiden like a proper knight, he wanted one who at least liked him more than his silver.

(...)

Wet to the knee, he trudged past the empty lists. Most of the pavilions were dark, their owners long asleep, but here and there a few candles still burned. Dunk heard soft moans and cries of pleasure coming from within one tent. It made him wonder whether he would die without ever having known a maid.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Words won't make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores."

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

A red-haired whore

The same way Dunk almost lost his virginity with a whore, the Jon Snow from the Show almost lost his virginity with a red-haired whore named Ros ¿Maybe the Show took inspiration for that scene from this passage to create Ros?

The winesellers and sausage makers were doing a brisk trade, and whores walked brazenly among the stalls and pavilions. Some were pretty enough, one red-haired girl in particular. He could not help staring at her breasts, the way they moved under her loose shift as she sauntered past. He thought of the silver in his pouch. I could have her, if I liked. She'd like the clink of my coin well enough, I could take her back to my camp and have her, all night if I wanted. He had never lain with a woman, and for all he knew he might die in his first tilt. Tourneys could be dangerous . . . but whores could be dangerous too, the old man had warned him of that. She might rob me while I slept, and what would I do then? When the red-haired girl glanced back over her shoulder at him, Dunk shook his head and walked away.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Sam: I’ve never… been with one. You’ve probably had hundreds. Jon: No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you. Sam: Yeah. Yeah, I… I find that hard to believe. Jon: I came very close once. I was alone in a room with a naked girl, but… Sam: Didn’t know where to put it? Jon: I know where to put it. Sam: Was she… old and ugly? Jon: Young and gorgeous. A whore named Ros. Sam: What colour hair? Jon: Red. Sam: Oh, I like red hair. And her, um… Her… (boobs) Jon: You don’t want to know. Sam: What, that good? Jon: Better. Sam: Oh, no. So why exactly did you not make love to Ros with the perfect? Jon: What’s my name? Sam: Jon Snow. Jon: And why is my surname Snow? Sam: Because… you’re a bastard from the North. Jon: I never met my mother. My father wouldn’t even tell me her name. I don’t know if she’s living or dead. I don’t know if she’s a noblewoman or a fisherman’s wife… or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes. But I couldn’t do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child, another bastard named Snow? It’s not a good life for a child.

—GOT S01E04 – Cripples Bastards and Broken Things

Complaining about getting bad seats

On the eastern verge of the meadow, a quintain had been set up and a dozen knights were tilting at it, sending the pole arm spinning every time they struck the splintered shield suspended from one end. Dunk watched the Brute of Bracken take his turn, and then Lord Caron of the Marches. I do not have as good a seat as any of them, he thought uneasily.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

"Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated."

"I remember."

"And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?"

Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

Dunk and Jon admire the same heroes

Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I?

Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall?

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Yet he saw the castle clear in his mind's eye, as if he had left it only yesterday; the towering granite walls, the Great Hall with its smells of smoke and dog and roasting meat, his father's solar, the turret room where he had slept. Part of him wanted nothing so much as to hear Bran laugh again, to sup on one of Gage's beef-and-bacon pies, to listen to Old Nan tell her tales of the children of the forest and Florian the Fool.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

A dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

The meadow was a churning mass of people, all trying to elbow their way closer for a better view. Dunk was as good an elbower as any, and bigger than most. He squirmed forward to a rise six yards from the fence. When Egg complained that all he could see were arses, Dunk sat the boy on his shoulders. Across the field, the viewing stand was filling up with highborn lords and ladies, a few rich townfolk, and a score of knights who had decided not to compete today. Of Prince Maekar he saw no sign, but he recognized Prince Baelor at Lord Ashford's side. Sunlight flashed golden off the shoulder clasp that held his cloak and the slim coronet about his temples, but otherwise he dressed far more simply than most of the other lords. He does not look a Targaryen in truth, with that dark hair. Dunk said as much to Egg.

"It's said he favors his mother," the boy reminded him. "She was a Dornish princess."

(...)

A few feet away, the Young Prince [Valarr Targaryen] sat at his ease in a raised camp chair before his great black tent. His helm was off. He had dark hair like his father, but a bright streak ran through it. A servingman brought him a silver goblet and he took a sip. Water, if he is wise, Dunk thought, wine if not. He found himself wondering if Valarr had indeed inherited a measure of his father's prowess, or whether it had only been that he had drawn the weakest opponent.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Fascinated by a Knight

Dunk was fascinated by a brown haired Targaryen Prince (Like Jon Snow) while Jon was fascinated by a Kingsguard that later became Lord Commander (Like Dunk)

The three challengers took their places as the three champions mounted up. Men were making wagers all around them and calling out encouragement to their choices, but Dunk had eyes only for the prince [Valarr Targaryen].

(...)

Farther away, Ser Joseth Mallister was being carried off the field unconscious, while the harp lord and the rose lord were going at each other lustily with blunted longaxes, to the delight of the roaring crowd. Dunk was so intent on Valarr Targaryen that he scarcely saw them.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back.

Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Not allowed

A hedge knight cannot challenge a prince. Valarr is second in line to the Iron Throne. He is Baelor Breakspear's son, and his blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and the Young Dragon and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and I am some boy the old man found behind a pot shop in Flea Bottom.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him.

He gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

A Death with Honor

He wondered if they expected him to saddle a horse and flee. He could, if he wished. That would be the end of his knighthood, to be sure; he would be no more than an outlaw henceforth, until the day some lord took him and struck off his head. Better to die a knight than live like that, he told himself stubbornly.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

It did not bear thinking about. Pain throbbed, deep in his fingers, as he clutched the reins. Jon put his heels into his horse and broke into a gallop, racing down the kingsroad, as if to outrun his doubts. Jon was not afraid of death, but he did not want to die like that, trussed and bound and beheaded like a common brigand. If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Warg imagery

I am Thunder and Thunder is me, we are one beast, we are joined, we are one.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

When he finally put the quill down, the room was dim and chilly, and he could feel its walls closing in. Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Self doubt

When his eyes opened he was on the ground again, sprawled on his back. The mud had all been knocked from his helm, but now one eye was closed by blood. Above was nothing but dark grey sky.

His face throbbed, and he could feel cold wet metal pressing in against cheek and temple. He broke my head, and I'm dying. What was worse was the others who would die with him, Raymun and Prince Baelor and the rest. I've failed them. I am no champion. I'm not even a hedge knight. I am nothing. He remembered Prince Daeron boasting that no one could lie insensible in the mud as well as he did. He never saw Dunk the lunk, though, did he? The shame was worse than the pain.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

A grim day. Jon Snow wrapped gloved hands around the bars and held tight as the wind hammered at the cage once more. When he looked straight down past his feet, the ground was lost in shadow, as if he were being lowered into some bottomless pit. Well, death is a bottomless pit of sorts, he reflected, and when this day's work is done my name will be shadowed forever.

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

It should have been you

Valarr, the Young Prince, stood vigil at the foot of the bier while his father lay in state. He was a shorter, slimmer, handsomer version of his sire, without the twice-broken nose that had made Baelor seem more human than royal. Valarr's hair was brown, but a bright streak of silver-gold ran through it. The sight of it reminded Dunk of Aerion, but he knew that was not fair. Egg's hair was growing back as bright as his brother's, and Egg was a decent enough lad, for a prince.

When he stopped to offer awkward sympathies, well larded with thanks, Prince Valarr blinked cool blue eyes at him and said, "My father was only nine-and-thirty. He had it in him to be a great king, the greatest since Aegon the Dragon. Why would the gods take him, and leave you?" He shook his head. "Begone with you, Ser Duncan. Begone."

* * *

"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly.

Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.

"I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence.

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."

Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. "Good-bye," he said.

He was at the door when she called out to him. "Jon," she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"Yes?" he said.

"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Old Gods

Sometimes I sit under that tree there and look at my feet and ask if I couldn’t have spared one. How could my foot be worth a prince’s life? And the other two as well, the Humfreys, they were good men too.” Ser Humfrey Hardyng had succumbed to his wounds only last night.

“And what answer does your tree give you?”

“None that I can hear.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Even now, he did not know if he was doing the honorable thing. The southron had it easier. They had their septons to talk to, someone to tell them the gods' will and help sort out right from wrong. But the Starks worshiped the old gods, the nameless gods, and if the heart trees heard, they did not speak.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

A Tree on a Shield

Dunk’s sigil was an elm tree with a shooting star above, while the Mystery Knight called The Knight of the Laughing Tree [Jon’s mother Lyanna Stark] was a weirwood tree with a laughing red face

“What color paint do you have?” he asked, hoping that might give him an idea.

“I can mix paints to make any color you want.”

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”

“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”

“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”

The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists.

Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.”

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.”

[...]

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

Dragonflies or Dragons

“That can be changed,” said Maekar. “Aegon is to return to my castle at Summerhall. There is a place there for you, if you wish. A knight of my household. You’ll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training.” The prince gave him a shrewd look. “Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt, but you still have much to learn.”

“I know, m'lord.” Dunk looked about him. At the green grass and the reeds, the tall elm, the ripples dancing across the surface of the sunlit pool. Another dragonfly was moving across the water, or perhaps it was the same one. What shall it be, Dunk? he asked himself. Dragonflies or dragons? A few days ago he would have answered at once. It was all he had ever dreamed, but now that the prospect was at hand it frightened him. “ Just before Prince Baelor died, I swore to be his man.”

"Presumptuous of you," said Maekar. "What did he say?"

"That the realm needed good men."

"That's true enough. What of it?"

"I will take your son as squire, Your Grace, but not at Summerhall. Not for a year or two. He's seen sufficient of castles, I would judge. I'll have him only if I can take him on the road with me." He pointed to old Chestnut. "He'll ride my steed, wear my old cloak, and he'll keep my sword sharp and my mail scoured. We'll sleep in inns and stables, and now and again in the halls of some landed knight or lesser lordling, and maybe under trees when we must."

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." The king set the cup aside. "You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? "My sword is sworn to the Night's Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

The Prince of Dragonflies

As you can see, The Hedge Knight is a tale full of Dragonflies and Dragons imagery around Ser Duncan the Tall. And this dichotomy repeated with Prince Duncan the Small.

Years later of his adventures as the Squire of Ser Duncan the Tall, Egg became Aegon V Targaryen, and named his first born Duncan Targaryen, probably in honor of Ser Duncan the Tall.

Prince Duncan Targaryen was the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, also known as Prince Duncan the Small. But since he gave up the throne for love in order to marry Jenny of Oldstones, he began to be known as the Prince of Dragonflies.

Prince Duncan Targaryen favored her mother’s Betha Blackwood features and had dark hair, like Jon Snow.

The Black Prince and the White Guardian

In my unfinished meta about the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, I argue that the two facets of Jon Snow: bastard and hidden prince, are represented in this tale by Dunk and Valarr.

This is one of my favorite findings since I started writing ASOIAF metas. I shared this one with some of you, the seven gods know this unfinished work has more than 3 years in the making... So here you go.

Valarr is called The Black Prince and the White Guardian:

Ser Joseth thumped on Ser Humfrey Hardyng's diamonds. And the black-and-white knight, Lord Gawen Swann, challenged the black prince with the white guardian.

—The Hedge Knight

And this is a clear reference to Jon Snow, the black prince, and Ghost, his white guardian:

Robb looked relieved. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

Jon forced himself to smile back. "It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?"

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

He was clad in black from head to heel; high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and tunic, sleeveless leather jerkin, and heavy wool cloak. His longsword and dagger were sheathed in black moleskin, and the hauberk and coif in his saddlebag were black ringmail.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey.

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

I have more reasons to believe that GRRM wrote Valarr as a representation of Jon Snow. George purposely created Valarr with certain features to make us think about Jon Snow. These reasons find solid ground in a particular work of literature that George has declared it served him as inspiration to write ASOIAF. Maybe One day I will finish this meta and I will show you all.

For now, lets go to the second tale...

* * *

THE SWORN SWORD

This tale is full of love, romance and marriage imagery, doomed romances, forbidden romances, unrequited loves, lost loves, platonic loves, sexual loves, marriages alliances, loveless marriages, unfruitful marriages and lovers farewells.

A Mysterious Red Lady

Rohanne Webber, Lady of Codlmoat, also known as the Red Widow, is a character that reminds us several women that crossed paths with Jon Snow

Dunk wanted no trouble with the Lady of the Coldmoat. At Standfast you heard ill things of her. The Red Widow, she was called, for the husbands she had put into the ground. Old Sam Stoops said she was a witch, a poisoner, and worse.

Two years ago she had sent her knights across the stream to seize an Osgrey man for stealing sheep. “When m’lord rode to Coldmoat to demand him back, he was told to look for him at the bottom of the moat,” Sam had said. “She’d sewn poor Dake in a bag o’ rocks and sunk him. ’Twas after that Ser Eustace took Ser Bennis into service, to keep them spiders off his lands.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

(...)

“Whenever she gives birth, a demon comes by night to carry off the issue. Sam Stoops’s wife says she sold her babes unborn to the Lord of the Seven Hells, so he’d teach her his black arts.”

“Highborn ladies don’t meddle with the black arts. They dance and sing and do embroidery.”

“Maybe she dances with demons and embroiders evil spells,” Egg said with relish. “And how would you know what highborn ladies do, ser? Lady Vaith is the only one you ever knew.”

(...)

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.”

—The Sworn Sword

The wicked reputation of the Red Widow, makes me think about another red haired woman with a wicked reputation, Danelle Lothston, Lady of Harrenhal, also known as Mad Danelle.

And talking about Harrenhal, Mad Danelle is probably an ancestor of Lady Minisa Whent, that later became Lady Minsa Tully, the mother of Lady Catelyn Tully, that later became Lady Catelyn Stark, the mother of Lady Sansa Stark, Jon Snow’s radiant and red haired half sister, another redhead with certain reputation:

He smiled at her. “Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

—AGOT - Sansa I

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—ASOS - Arya XIII

“May the Father judge him justly,” murmured a septon.

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—ASOS - Jaime VII

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.

—AFFC - Cersei IV

A man’s pride

“Common boys fight with wooden swords too, only theirs are sticks and broken branches. Egg, these men may seem fools to you. They won’t know the proper names for bits of armor, or the arms of the great houses, or which king it was who abolished the lord’s right to the first night…but treat them with respect all the same. You are a squire born of noble blood, but you are still a boy. Most of them will be men grown. A man has his pride, no matter how lowborn he may be. You would seem just as lost and stupid in their villages. And if you doubt that, go hoe a row and shear a sheep, and tell me the names of all the weeds and wildflowers in Wat’s Wood.”

The boy considered for a moment. “I could teach them the arms of the great houses, and how Queen Alysanne convinced King Jaehaerys to abolish the first night. And they could teach me which weeds are best for making poisons, and whether those green berries are safe to eat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

It is too cold for this mummer's show, thought Jon. “The free folk despise kneelers,” he had warned Stannis. "Let them keep their pride, and they will love you better." His Grace would not listen. He said, "It is swords I need from them, not kisses."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Dunk has dreams with dead Targaryen Princes while Jon has dreams with dead Stark Kings

You are dead, Dunk wanted to scream, you are all three dead, why won’t you leave me be? Ser Arlan had died of a chill, Prince Baelor of the blow his brother dealt him during Dunk’s trial of seven, his son Valarr during the Great Spring Sickness. I am not to blame for that. We were in Dorne, we never even knew.

(...)

“Begone with you, Ser Duncan,” Valarr said. “Begone.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Egg taught Dunk how to talk to a lady the same way Sansa taught Jon how to talk to a lady

“I don’t know how to talk with highborn ladies,” he confessed as they were pouring. “We both might have been killed in Dorne, on account of what I said to Lady Vaith.”

“Lady Vaith was mad,” Egg reminded him, “but you could have been more gallant. Ladies like it when you’re gallant. If you were to rescue the Red Widow the way you rescued that puppet girl from Aerion…”

“Aerion’s in Lys, and the widow’s not in want of rescuing.” He did not want to talk of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall was her name, but she was not too tall for me.

“Well,” the boy said, “some knights sing gallant songs to their ladies, or play them tunes upon a lute.”

“I have no lute.” Dunk looked morose. “And that night I drank too much in the Planky Town, you told me I sang like an ox in a mud wallow.”

“I had forgotten, ser.”

“How could you forget?”

“You told me to forget, ser,” said Egg, all innocence. “You told me I’d get a clout in the ear the next time I mentioned it.”

“There will be no singing.” Even if he had the voice for it, the only song Dunk knew all the way through was “The Bear, the Bear, and the Maiden Fair.” He doubted that would do much to win over Lady Webber.

(...)

“I thought how you should speak to Lady Webber, ser. You should win her to your side with gallant compliments.” The boy looked as cool and crisp in his chequy tunic as Ser Eustace had in his cloak.

Am I the only one who sweats? “Gallant compliments,” Dunk echoed. “What sort of gallant compliments?”

“You know, ser. Tell her how fair and beautiful she is.”

Dunk had doubts. “She’s outlived four husbands, she must be as old as Lady Vaith. If I say she’s fair and beautiful when she’s old and warty, she will take me for a liar.”

“You just need to find something true to say about her. That’s what my brother Daeron does. Even ugly old whores can have nice hair or well-shaped ears, he says.”

“Well-shaped ears?” Dunk’s doubts were growing.

“Or pretty eyes. Tell her that her gown brings out the color of her eyes.” The lad reflected for a moment. “Unless she only has the one eye, like Lord Bloodraven.”

“My lady, that gown brings out the color of your eye. Dunk had heard knights and lordlings mouth such gallantries at other ladies. They never put it quite so baldly, though. Good lady, that gown is beautiful. It brings out the color of both your lovely eyes. Some of the ladies had been old and scrawny, or fat and florid, or pox-scarred and homely, but all wore gowns and had two eyes, and as Dunk recalled, they’d been well pleased by the flowery words. What a lovely gown, my lady. It brings out the lovely beauty of your beautiful-colored eyes. “A hedge knight’s life is simpler,” Dunk said glumly. “If I say the wrong thing, she’s like to sew me in a sack of rocks and throw me in her moat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"Black brothers are sworn never to take wives, don't you know that? And we're guests in your father's hall besides."

"Not you," she said. "I watched. You never ate at his board, nor slept by his fire. He never gave you guest-right, so you're not bound to him. It's for the baby I have to go."

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?"

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Marrying a Lady

In another world, Dunk could get married with a lady, like Alysanne Osgrey or Rohanne Webber

“You are a good man, Ser Duncan. A brave knight, and true.” Ser Eustace gave Dunk’s arm a squeeze. “Would that the gods had spared my Alysanne. You are the sort of man I had always hoped that she might marry. A true knight, Ser Duncan. A true knight.”

(...)

“Ser Eustace said I was the sort of man he’d hoped to have his daughter wed. Her name was Alysanne.”

“She’s dead, ser.”

“I know she’s dead,” said Dunk, annoyed. “If she was alive, he said. If she was, he’d like her to marry me. Or someone like me. I never had a lord offer me his daughter before.”

“His dead daughter. And the Osgreys might have been lords in the old days, but Ser Eustace is only a landed knight.”

“I know what he is. Do you want a clout in the ear?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I’d sooner have a clout than a wife. Especially a dead wife, ser. The kettle’s steaming.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

"I'm not like to marry her. She's a highborn lady, and I'm Dunk of Flea Bottom, remember?" He frowned. "Just how many husbands has she had, do you know?"

“Four,” said Egg, “but no children.

(...)

“You wanted blood for blood.” He laid the dagger against his cheek. “They told you wrong. It wasn’t Bennis cut that digger, it was me.” He pressed the edge of the steel into his face, slashed downward. When he shook the blood off the blade some spattered on her face. More freckles, he thought. “There, the Red Widow has her due. A cheek for a cheek.”

“You are quite mad.” The smoke had filled her eyes with tears. “If you were better born, I’d marry you.”

“Aye, m’lady. And if pigs had wings and scales and breathed flame, they’d be as good as dragons.”

—The Sworn Sword

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because:

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne.

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it.

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister.

Silent Sisters wear always grey.

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger's wives.

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister.

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark.

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds.

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.

In another world, Jon also could get married Ygritte, without the cultural and social barriers that separate them.

A Lady Mother

In another world, Rohanne could be... Dunk’s mother?

“If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

—The Sworn Sword

The parallel with Jon wishing his mother were a highborn lady is plain, but it’s funny how Dunk was resented with Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, which reminds me of Jon being resented with “his father’s redhead wife”, Catelyn Stark.

Marrying a Sister / Bedding a Sister

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.”

Egg spoke as if such incest was the most natural thing in the world. For him it is. The Targaryens had been marrying brother to sister for hundreds of years, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. Though the last actual dragon had died before Dunk was born, the dragonkings went on. Maybe the gods don’t mind them marrying their sisters. “Did the potion work?” Dunk asked.

“It would have,” said Egg, “but I spit it out.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte pushed herself onto an elbow. “I am nineteen, and a spearwife, and kissed by fire. How could I be maiden?”

“Who was he?”

“A boy at a feast, five years past. He’d come trading with his brothers, and he had hair like mine, kissed by fire, so I thought he would be lucky. But he was weak. When he came back t’ try and steal me, Longspear broke his arm and ran him off, and he never tried again, not once.”

“It wasn’t Longspear, then?” Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways.

She punched him. “That’s vile. Would you bed your sister?”

“Longspear’s not your brother.”

“He’s of my village. You know nothing, Jon Snow. A true man steals a woman from afar, t’ strengthen the clan. Women who bed brothers or fathers or clan kin offend the gods, and are cursed with weak and sickly children. Even monsters.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Joining a celibate brotherhood

This conversation between Dunk and Egg resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon

I don’t want a wife, I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard and live only to serve and defend the king. The Kingsguard are sworn not to wed.”

“That’s a noble thing, but when you’re older you may find you’d sooner have a girl than a white cloak.” Dunk was thinking of Tanselle Too-Tall, and the way she’d smiled at him at Ashford.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

You’re not going...

Another conversation between Dunk and Egg that resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon

You will stay and help Bennis with the smallfolk, he told Egg. And don’t give me that sullen look. He kicked his breeches off and climbed into the tub of steaming water. Go on and get to sleep now, and let me have my bath. You’re not going, and that’s the end of it

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Three days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen men on a ranging into the haunted forest. That night he sought out his uncle in the great timbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. "This is not Winterfell," he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. "On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You're no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Warg imagery again...

This old master of yours, the knight of Pennytree…did he fight in the Blackfyre Rebellion? He did, m’lord. Before he took me on. Dunk had been no more than 3 or 4 at the time, running half-naked through the alleys of Flea Bottom, more animal than boy.

—The Sworn Sword

Dunk’s age and the line “more animal than a boy” reminds me of Rickon Stark, but it’s also another warg reference. And after coming back to life, Jon Snow will probably be more animal than man.

Usurping another’s place

Roger of Pennytree is to Dunk, what Robb is to Jon

“Ser Arlan never liked to speak about the battle. His squire died there too. Roger of Pennytree was his name, Ser Arlan’s sister’s son.” Even saying the name made Dunk feel vaguely guilty. I stole his place. Only princes and great lords had the means to keep two squires. If Aegon the Unworthy had given his sword to his heir Daeron instead of his bastard Daemon, there might never have been a Blackfyre Rebellion, and Roger of Pennytree might be alive today. He would be a knight someplace, a truer knight than me. I would have ended on the gallows, or been sent off to the Night’s Watch to walk the Wall until I died.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them . . . I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there's only me. All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do . . .

. . . was forswear his vows again.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk met Rohanne Webber the same way Jon met Ygritte, they confused them with another person. And Lucas Inchfield is the Orell of this tale

Nearby a squire was loosing shafts at the archery butts, while a freckled girl with a long braid matched him shot for shot.

(...)

…and one soft, fleshy lady of high birth, garbed in a gown of dark blue damask trimmed with Myrish lace, so long its hems were trailing in the dirt. Dunk judged her to be forty. Beneath a spun-silver net her auburn hair was piled high, but the reddest thing about her was her face.

“My lady,” Ser Lucas said, when they stood before her and her septas, “this hedge knight claims to bring a message from Ser Eustace Osgrey. Will you hear it?”

“If you wish it, Ser Lucas.” She peered at Dunk so hard that he could not help but recall Egg’s talk of sorcery. I don’t think this one bathes in blood to keep her beauty. The widow was stout and square, with an oddly pointed head that her hair could not quite conceal. Her nose was too big, and her mouth too small. She did have two eyes, he was relieved to see, but all thought of gallantry had abandoned Dunk by then. “Ser Eustace bid me talk with you concerning the recent trouble at your dam.”

(...)

“M’lady, could we continue our discussion in some…more private place?”

“A silver says the great oaf means to bed her!” someone japed, and a roar of laughter went up all around him. The lady cringed away, half in terror, and raised both hands to shield her face. One of the septas moved quickly to her side and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

“And what is all this merriment?” The voice cut through the laughter, cool and firm. “Will no one share the jape? Ser knight, why are you troubling my good-sister?”

“It was the girl he had seen earlier at the archery butts. She had a quiver of arrows on one hip and held a longbow that was just as tall as she was, which wasn’t very tall. If Dunk was shy an inch of seven feet, the archer was shy an inch of five. He could have spanned her waist with his two hands. Her red hair was bound up in a braid so long it brushed past her thighs, and she had a dimpled chin, a snub nose, and a light spray of freckles across her cheeks.

“Forgive us, Lady Rohanne.” The speaker was a pretty young lord with the Caswell centaur embroidered on his doublet. “This great oaf took the Lady Helicent for you.”

Dunk looked from one lady to the other. “You are the Red Widow?” he heard himself blurt out. “But you’re too—”

“Young?” The girl tossed her longbow to the lanky lad he’d seen her shooting with. “I am five-and-twenty, as it happens. Or was it small you meant to say?”

“—pretty. It was pretty.” Dunk did not know where that came from, but he was glad it came. He liked her nose, and the strawberry-blond color of her hair, and the small but well-shaped breasts beneath her leather jerkin. “I thought that you’d be…I mean…they said you were four times a widow, so…”

(...)

“I…I am sorry for all your losses, m’lady.” A gallantry, you lunk, give her a gallantry. “I want to say…your gown…”

“Gown?” She glanced down at her boots and breeches, loose linen tunic and leather jerkin. “I wear no gown.”

“Your hair, I meant…it’s soft and…”

“And how would you know that, ser? If you had ever touched my hair, I should think that I might remember.”

“Not soft,” Dunk said miserably. “Red, I meant to say. Your hair is very red.”

“Very red, ser? Oh, not as red as your face, I hope.” She laughed, and the onlookers laughed with her.

All but Ser Lucas Longinch. “My lady,” he broke in, “this man is one of Standfast’s sellswords. He was with Bennis of the Brown Shield when he attacked your diggers at the dam and carved up Wolmer’s face. Old Osgrey sent him to treat with you.”

“He did, m’lady. I am called Ser Duncan the Tall.”

(...)

“Ser Duncan, I should not have teased you in the yard, when you were trying so hard to be gracious. It was only that you blushed so red…was there no girl to tease you, in the village where you grew so tall?”

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see, Rohanne and Ygritte share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne was red haired, like Ygritte. Dunk and Jon liked their red hair.

Rohanne was small, like Ygritte.

Dunk confused Rohanne with her auburn haired good sister lady Helicent Uffering, like Jon confused Ygritte with a man. Point aside, Lady Helicent having auburn hair and wearing a silver hairnet makes me think of Sansa Stark. Also I have to laugh at the comment about Dunk wanting to bed Lady Helicent... This is too much George.

It seems that Rohanne was good with bow and arrow, like Ygritte.

Rohanne wasn’t wearing a gown but breeches, like Ygritte.

Rohanne was older, bolder and teased Dunk a lot, like Ygritte was to Jon.

Rohanne openly flirted with Dunk, like Ygritte did with Jon.

Dunk was sexually attracted to Rohanne, the same way Jon was sexually attracted to Ygritte.

Rohanne and Ygritte weren’t maids, while Dunk and Jon were virgins when they met both women.

Later Dunk will have sex dreams with Rohanne, like Jon’s dreams with Ygritte.

In his dreams, Rohanne shoots arrows at Dunk, like Ygritte did to Jon.

Lucas Inchfield, almost as tall as Dunk, was jealous of him regarding Rohanne’s attentions. The same way, Orell, a warg like Jon, was jealous of him because he fancied Ygritte.

Later, a mentor figure will suggest Dunk to kill Rohanne, in a similar way that Qhorin Halfhand suggested Jon to kill Ygritte. Dunk and Jon have the same doubts about killing a woman.

Rohanne share some of the violence impulses and inclinations that Ygritte had. These details also links Rohanne with another women in Jon’s arc like Val, and eventually Daenerys. More about this later.

Dunk killed Lucas Inchfield, the same way Jon killed Orell.

The sexual tension between Dunk and Rohanne was instantly, both find each other attractive; in contrast, Jon finds Ygritte unattractive, but only at first...

The Red Widow looked Dunk over from his heels up to his head though her gaze lingered longest on his chest. “A tree and shooting star. I have never seen those arms before.” She touched his tunic, tracing a limb of his elm tree with two fingers. “And painted, not sewn. The Dornish paint their silks, I’ve heard, but you look too big to be a Dornishman.”

“Not all Dornishmen are small, m’lady.” Dunk could feel her fingers through the silk. Her hand was freckled too. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. His mouth was oddly dry. “I spent a year in Dorne.”

“Do all the oaks grow so tall there?” she said, as her fingers traced a tree limb round his heart.

“It’s meant to be an elm, m’lady.”

“I shall remember.” She drew her hand back, solemn. “The ward is too hot and dusty for a conversation. Septon, show Ser Duncan to my audience chamber.”

“It would be my great pleasure, good-sister.”

“Our guest will have a thirst. You may send for a flagon of wine as well.”

(...)

“M’lady,” Dunk called after her. “My squire was made to wait by the gates. Might he join us as well?”

“Your squire?” When she smiled, she looked a girl of five-and-ten, not a woman five-and-twenty. A pretty girl full of mischief and laughter. “If it please you, certainly.”

(...)

She smiled a smile that made him wish that she was plainer.

(...)

She was distracting him, with her snub nose and her freckles.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

A Suitor / A Husband

Despite Dunk being no Lord, there is a lot of talking about him being a suitor of Lady Rohanne. The same way the freefolk just assumed that Jon stole [married] Ygritte

Dunk snorted. “She has no need to poison me,” he whispered back. “She thinks I’m some great lout with pease porridge between his ears.”

“As it happens, my good-sister likes pease porridge,” said Septon Sefton, as he reappeared with a flagon of wine, a flagon of water, and three cups. “Yes, yes, I heard. I’m fat, not deaf.”

(...)

“She does like pease porridge,” the septon said, “and you as well, ser. I know my own good-sister. When I first saw you in the yard, I half hoped you were some suitor, come from King’s Landing to seek my lady’s hand.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

And when the Thief was in the Moonmaid, that was a propitious time for a man to steal a woman, Ygritte insisted. "Like the night you stole me. The Thief was bright that night."

"I never meant to steal you," he said. "I never knew you were a girl until my knife was at your throat."

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly.

(...)

"Craster's more your kind than ours. His father was a crow who stole a woman out of Whitetree village, but after he had her he flew back t' his Wall. She went t' Castle Black once t' show the crow his son, but the brothers blew their horns and run her off. Craster's blood is black, and he bears a heavy curse." She ran her fingers lightly across his stomach. "I feared you'd do the same once. Fly back to the Wall. You never knew what t' do after you stole me."

Jon sat up. "Ygritte, I never stole you."

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. You know nothing, Jon Snow." She gave him a shy smile. "You might be learning some, though."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

A Lady’s claim

Rohanne’s claim is coveted by many suitors

“And yet she must wed again, and soon.”

“Must?” said Dunk.

“Her lord father’s will demands it. Lord Wyman wanted grandsons to carry on his line. When he sickened he tried to wed her to the Longinch, so he might die knowing that she had a strong man to protect her, but Rohanne refused to have him. His lordship took his vengeance in his will. If she remains unwed on the second anniversary of her father’s passing, Coldmoat and its lands pass to his cousin Wendell.

(...)

Lord Rowan has upheld the will, so her ladyship has only till the next new moon.”

“Why has she waited so long?” Dunk wondered aloud.

The septon shrugged. “If truth be told, there has been a dearth of suitors. My good-sister is not hard to look upon, you will have noticed, and a stout castle and broad lands add to her charms. You would think that younger sons and landless knights would swarm about her ladyship like flies. You would be wrong. The four dead husbands make them wary, and there are those who will say that she is barren too… though never in her hearing unless they yearn to see the inside of a crow cage. She has carried two children to term, a boy and a girl, but neither lived to see a name day. Those few who are not put off by talk of poisonings and sorcery want no part of the Longinch. Lord Wyman charged him on his deathbed to protect his daughter from unworthy suitors, which he has taken to mean all suitors. Any man who means to have her hand would need to face his sword first.” He finished his wine and set the cup aside. “That is not to say there has been no one. Cleyton Caswell and Simon Leygood have been the most persistent, though they seem more interested in her lands than in her person. Were I given to wagering, I should place my gold on Gerold Lannister. He has yet to put in an appearance, but they say he is golden-haired and quick of wit, and more than six feet tall…”

“…and Lady Webber is much taken with his letters.”

(...)

“My first husband perished on the Redgrass Field. My father found me others, but the Stranger took them too. I no longer trust in men, no matter how ample they may seem. I trust in stone and steel and water. I trust in moats, ser, and mine will not go dry.”

(...)

She gave him back the ring. “I cannot return to Coldmoat empty-handed. They will say the Red Widow has lost her bite, that she was too weak to do justice, that she could not protect her smallfolk. You do not understand, ser.”

“I might.” Better than you know. “I remember once some little lord in the stormlands took Ser Arlan into service, to help him fight some other little lord. When I asked the old man what they were fighting over, he said, ‘Nothing, lad. It’s just some pissing contest.’ ”

Lady Rohanne gave him a shocked look but could sustain it no more than half a heartbeat before it turned into a grin. “I have heard a thousand empty courtesies in my time, but you are the first knight who ever said pissing in my presence.” Her freckled face went somber. “Those pissing contests are how lords judge one another’s strength, and woe to any man who shows his weakness. A woman must needs piss twice as hard, if she hopes to rule. And if that woman should happen to be small… Lord Stackhouse covets my Horseshoe Hills, Ser Clifford Conklyn has an old claim to Leafy Lake, those dismal Durwells live by stealing cattle… and beneath mine own roof I have the Longinch. Every day I wake wondering if this might be the day he marries me by force.” Her hand curled tight around her braid, as hard as if it were a rope, and she was dangling over a precipice. “He wants to, I know. He holds back for fear of my wroth, just as Conklyn and Stackhouse and the Durwells tread carefully where the Red Widow is concerned. If any of them thought for a moment that I had turned weak and soft…”

(...)

Ser Lucas Inchfield looked at Lady Rohanne, his face dark with fury. “You will marry me when this mummer’s farce is done. As your lord father wished.”

“My lord father never knew you as I do,” she gave back.”

—The Sworn Sword

And as you can see, Rohanne Webber and Sansa Stark also share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne and Sansa are red haired.

Rohanne and Sansa have a “wicked” reputation.

Rohanne and Sansa are ladies with a claim to their paternal lands and rights.

Rohanne’s and Sansa’s succession rights has been put in a difficult position in their father’s and older brother’s will, respectively.

Rohanne and Sansa have a long list of suitors that covet their claims.

Rohanne and Sansa have suffered forced marriages.

Rohanne and Sansa have become disillusioned with men.

Rohanne asked Dunk to swear his sword to her, but he rejected the offer. Brienne, Dunk’s descendant, has already sworn her sword (made of Ice) to Sansa Stark.

Jaime Lannister, Rohanne’s descendant has also sworn a vow for Sansa Stark: “Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” [A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX]

Later, Rohanne married Gerold Lannister and became Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, she was the mother of Tytos Lannister and grandmother of Tywin Lannister. Sansa was betrothed with Tywin Lannister’s grandson Joffrey, and later married Tywin Lannister’s son, Tyrion Lannister. Point aside, Stannis Baratheon tried to convince Jon to accept his Winterfell offer, calling Sansa, Lady Lannister.

Rohanne physically hurt Dunk / Ygritte physically hurt Jon

Lady Rohanne’s face was stone. “Come closer.”

He did not know what else to do, but to obey. The dais added a good foot to her height, yet even so Dunk towered over her. “Kneel,” she said. He did.

The slap she gave him had all her strength behind it, and she was stronger than she looked. His cheek burned, and he could taste blood in his mouth from a broken lip, but she hadn’t truly hurt him. For a moment all Dunk could think of was grabbing her by that long red braid and pulling her across his lap to slap her arse, as you would a spoiled child. If I do, she’ll scream, though, and twenty knights will come bursting in to kill me.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

He lay on the ground afterward, clutching his prize and bleeding quietly, too weak to move. After a while, he realized that if he did not make himself move he was like to bleed to death. Jon crawled to the shallow stream where the mare was drinking, washed his thigh in the cold water, and bound it tight with a strip of cloth torn from his cloak. He washed the arrow too, turning it in his hands. Was the fletching grey, or white? Ygritte fletched her arrows with pale grey goose feathers. Did she loose a shaft at me as I fled? Jon could not blame her for that. He wondered if she'd been aiming for him or the horse. If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. "A lucky thing my leg got in the way," he muttered.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Bastards

"The old High Septon told my father that king's laws are one thing, and the laws of the gods another," the boy said stubbornly. "Trueborn children are made in a marriage bed and blessed by the Father and the Mother, but bastards are born of lust and weakness, he said. King Aegon decreed that his bastards were not bastards, but he could not change their nature. The High Septon said all bastards are born to betrayal . . . Daemon Blackfyre, Bittersteel, even Bloodraven. Lord Rivers was more cunning than the other two, he said, but in the end he would prove himself a traitor, too. The High Septon counseled my father never to put any trust in him, nor in any other bastards, great or small."

Born to betrayal, Dunk thought. Born of lust and weakness. Never to be trusted, great or small. "Egg," he said, "didn't you ever think that I might be a bastard?"

"You, ser?" That took the boy aback. "You are not."

"I might be. I never knew my mother, or what became of her. Maybe I was born too big and killed her. Most like she was some whore or tavern girl. You don't find highborn ladies down in Flea Bottom. And if she ever wed my father . . . well, what became of him, then?" Dunk did not like to be reminded of his life before Ser Arlan found him. "There was a pot shop in King's Landing where I used to sell them rats and cats and pigeons for the brown. The cook always claimed my father was some thief or cutpurse. 'Most like I saw him hanged,' he used to tell me, 'but maybe they just sent him to the Wall.' When I was squiring for Ser Arlan, I would ask him if we couldn't go up that way someday, to take service at Winterfell or some other northern castle. I had this notion that if I could only reach the Wall, might be I'd come on some old man, a real tall man who looked like me. We never went, though. Ser Arlan said there were no hedges in the north, and all the woods were full of wolves." He shook his head. "The long and short of it is, most like you're squiring for a bastard."

For once Egg had nothing to say.

—The Sworn Sword

I’ve never knew my mother?

Maybe I killed my mother at birth?

After reading this passage it’s impossible not to think about Jon Snow. The parallels here don’t need major explanation...

The Ice Dragon

There were stars in the sky as well, more stars than any man could ever hope to count, even if he lived to be as old as King Jaehaerys. Dunk need only lift his eyes to find familiar friends: the Stallion and the Sow, the King’s Crown and the Crone’s Lantern, the Galley, Ghost, and Moonmaid. But there were clouds to the north, and the blue eye of the Ice Dragon was lost to him, the blue eye that pointed north.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

So many stars, he thought as he trudged up the slope through pines and firs and ash. Maester Luwin had taught him his stars as a boy in Winterfell; he had learned the names of the twelve houses of heaven and the rulers of each; he could find the seven wanderers sacred to the Faith; he was old friends with the Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of the Morning. All those he shared with Ygritte, but not some of the others. We look up at the same stars, and see such different things. The King's Crown was the Cradle, to hear her tell it; the Stallion was the Horned Lord; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Thief.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Rohanne was called a whore / Ygritte was called a whore

Osgrey’s eyes grew narrow. “Did that woman offer to take you into service? Are you leaving me for that whore’s bed?”

“I don’t know that she is a whore,” Dunk said, “or a witch or a poisoner or none of that. But whatever she may be makes no matter. We’re leaving for the hedges, not for Coldmoat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I suppose it was also the Halfhand who commanded you to fuck this unwashed whore?" Ser Alliser asked with a smirk.

"Ser. She was no whore, ser. The Halfhand told me not to balk, whatever the wildlings asked of me, but . . . I will not deny that I went beyond what I had to do, that I . . . cared for her."

"You admit to being an oathbreaker, then," said Janos Slynt.

Half the men at Castle Black visited Mole's Town from time to time to dig for buried treasures in the brothel, Jon knew, but he would not dishonor Ygritte by equating her with the Mole's Town whores. "I broke my vows with a woman. I admit that. Yes."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon IX

Rohanne Vs Tanselle

Dunk has an internal debate between his platonic and romantic feelings for Tanselle and his sexual desires for Rohanne

And she was there as well, the Red Widow, Rohanne of the Coldmoat. He could see her freckled face, her slender arms, her long red braid. It made him feel guilty. I should be dreaming of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall, they called her, but she was not too tall for me. She had painted arms upon his shield and he had saved her from the Bright Prince, but she vanished even before the trial of seven. She could not bear to see me die, Dunk often told himself, but what did he know? He was as thick as a castle wall. Just thinking of the Red Widow was proof enough of that. Tanselle smiled at me, but we never held each other, never kissed, not even lips to cheek. Rohanne at least had touched him; he had the swollen lip to prove it. Don’t be daft. She’s not for the likes of you. She is too small, too clever, and much too dangerous.”

—The Sworn Sword

This internal debate is somehow similar to Jon Snow, due his bastard status, repressing his deep and true wishes to love and be loved by a highborn lady, and settle himself with his own notion of a warrior woman, or to be more precisely, a woman from a warrior culture, or simply, not a lady.

Sex Dreams

Drowsing at long last, Dunk dreamed. He was running through a glade in the heart of Wat’s Wood, running toward Rohanne, and she was shooting arrows at him. Each shaft she loosed flew true, and pierced him through the chest, yet the pain was strangely sweet. He should have turned and fled, but he ran toward her instead, running slowly as you always did in dreams, as if the very air had turned to honey. Another arrow came, and yet another. Her quiver seemed to have no end of shafts. Her eyes were grey and green and full of mischief. Your gown brings out the color of your eyes, he meant to say to her, but she was not wearing any gown, or any clothes at all. Across her small breasts was a faint spray of freckles, and her nipples were red and hard as little berries. The arrows made him look like some great porcupine as he went stumbling to her feet, but somehow he still found the strength to grab her braid. With one hard yank he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Killing a woman

Dunk faced the possibility to kill Rohanne / Jon faced the possibility to kill Ygritte

“Ser Duncan, do you remember the story that I told you?”

“I might, ser,” said Dunk. “Which one?”

“The Little Lion.

“I remember. He was the youngest of five sons.”

“Good.” He coughed again. “When he slew Lancel Lannister, the westermen turned back. Without the king there was no war. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Aye,” Dunk said reluctantly. Could I kill a woman? For once Dunk wished he were as thick as that castle wall. It must not come to that. I must not let it come to that.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon's grasp. On the ground the sleeper sat up beneath his furs. Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—

His hand froze. "A girl."

"A watcher," said Stonesnake. "A wildling. Finish her."

Jon could see fear and fire in her eyes. Blood ran down her white throat from where the point of his dirk had pricked her. One thrust and it's done, he told himself. He was so close he could smell onion on her breath. She is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't?

"I yield." Her words steamed in the cold air.

"You're our captive, then." He pulled the dirk away from the soft skin of her throat.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

Killing a Royal Child

Rohanne told Dunk about the possibility to kill Egg, despite knowing he was a Targaryen Prince / Val told Jon about the possibility of killing Princess Shireen

“Lady Rohanne’s fingers closed around it. She glanced at Egg and old Ser Eustace. “You took a great risk in showing me this ring, ser. But how does it avail us? If I should command my men to cross…” “Well,” said Dunk, “that would mean I’d have to fight.” “And die.” “Most like,” he said, “and Egg would go back where he comes from, and tell what happened here.” “Not if he died as well.” “I don’t think you’d kill a boy of ten,” he said, hoping he was right. “Not this boy of ten, you wouldn’t.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Another similarity between Rohanne and Val is their braided hair. Like Rohanne, Val sometimes is described to have “reddish” hair and she also wears it in a long braid.

The Wall

“Where will you go?” The septon was panting heavily. Even with Dunk on a crutch, he was too fat to match his pace.

“Fair Isle. Harrenhal. The Trident. There are hedges everywhere.” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

(...)

“Which way is south?” he asked Egg. It was hard to know, when the world was all rain and mud and the sky was grey as a granite wall.

“That’s south, ser.” Egg pointed. “That’s north.”

“Summerhall is south. Your father.”

“The Wall is north.”

Dunk looked at him. “That’s a long way to ride.”

“I have a new horse, ser.”

“So you do.” Dunk had to smile. “And why would you want to see the Wall?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I hear it’s tall.”

—The Sworn Sword

Once again the Wall is mentioned as a place Dunk always wanted to see. Maybe in hope to find his long lost unknown very tall father there, or maybe because he wants his adventure to never ends...

Fire and Blood

Curiously enough, we can find similarities between Rohanne and certain mother of dragons...

“Osgrey can keep his silver. Only blood can pay for blood.”

(...)

“It is Bennis I want, and Bennis I shall have.”

(...)

“...and she breeds the finest horses in the Reach. We have a dozen mares about to foal.”

(...)

Go, or I will find a sack large enough for you if I have to sew one up myself. Tell Ser Eustace to bring me Bennis of the Brown Shield by the morrow, else I will come for him myself with fire and sword. Do you understand me? Fire and sword!

(...)

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see we can find Targaryen and Dothraki references in Rohanne Webber. Who woulda thought?

Like a certain Mother of Dragons, Rohanne is determined to get what she wants, even if it has to be under threat of “Fire and Sword”.

Like a certain Khaleesi with a horse called “Silver” for the resemblance of her own hair, Rohanne had a horse called “Flame” for the resemblance of her own fiery hair. There is also the issue with Rohanne’s long braid, like the Khal’s braids that remain untouched until they are defeated.

Dunk cut Rohanne’s long braid with his dagger tho...

Something To Remember Me By

Rohanne presented Dunk a fine horse as a farewell gift, but Dunk rejected the horse and TOOK something else that wasn’t offered...

He did not see her till the day they took their leave.

(...)

“She was waiting for him inside the stables, standing by the yellow bales of hay in a gown as green as summer. “Ser Duncan,” she said when he came pushing through the door. Her red braid hung down in front, the end of it brushing against her thighs. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

You never saw me on my back, he thought. “M’lady. What brings you to the stables? It’s a wet day for a ride.”

“I might say the same to you.”

“Egg told you?” I owe him another clout in the ear.

“Be glad he did, or I would have sent men after you to drag you back. It was cruel of you to try to steal away without so much as a farewell.”

She had never come to see him while he was in Maester Cerrick’s care, not once. “That green becomes you well, m’lady,” he said. “It brings out the color of your eyes.” He shifted his weight awkwardly on the crutch. “I’m here for my horse.”

“You do not need to go. There is a place for you here, when you’re recovered. Captain of my guards. And Egg can join “my other squires. No one need ever know who he is.”

“Thank you, m’lady, but no.” Thunder was in a stall a dozen places down. Dunk hobbled toward him.

“Please reconsider, ser. These are perilous times, even for dragons and their friends. Stay until you’ve healed.” She walked along beside him. “It would please Lord Eustace too. He is very fond of you.”

“Very fond,” Dunk agreed. “If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

For half a heartbeat Lady Rohanne looked as though she was going to slap him again. Maybe she’ll just kick my crutch away.

“You are angry with me, ser,” she said instead. “You must let me make amends.”

“Well,” he said, “you could help me saddle Thunder.”

“I had something else in mind.” She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. “How well do you know horses?”

“I ride one.”

“An old destrier bred for battle, slow-footed and ill-tempered. Not a horse to ride from place to place.”

“If I need to get from place to place, it’s him or these.” Dunk pointed at his feet.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over. Too large for most palfreys. They’d look like ponies with you perched upon their backs. Still, a swifter mount would serve you well. A big courser, with some Dornish sand steed for endurance.” She pointed to the stall across from Thunder’s. “A horse like her.”

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

He turned back to Thunder. “I cannot take her.”

“Why not?”

“She is too good a horse for me. Just look at her.”

A flush crept up Rohanne’s face. She clutched her braid, twisting it between her fingers. “I had to marry, you know that. My father’s will…oh, don’t be such a fool.”

“What else should I be? I’m thick as a castle wall and bastard-born as well.”

“Take the horse. I refuse to let you go without something to remember me by.”

“I will remember you, m’lady. Have no fear of that.”

“Take her!”

Dunk grabbed her braid and pulled her face to his. It was awkward with the crutch and the difference in their heights. He almost fell before he got his lips on hers. He kissed her hard. One of her hands went round his neck, and one around his chest. He learned more about kissing in a moment than he had ever known from watching. But when they finally broke apart, he drew his dagger. “I know what I want to remember you by, m’lady.”

Egg was waiting for him at the gatehouse, mounted on a handsome new sorrel palfrey and holding Maester’s lead. When Dunk trotted up to them on Thunder, the boy looked surprised. “She said she wanted to give you a new horse, ser.”

“Even highborn ladies don’t get all they want,” Dunk said, as they rode out across the drawbridge. “It wasn’t a horse I wanted.” The moat was so high it was threatening to overflow its banks. “I took something else to remember her by instead. A lock of that red hair.” He reached under his cloak, brought out the braid, and smiled.

—The Sworn Sword

OMG I have so many things to say about Dunk and Rohanne Farewell... I will make a summary, if not, this would be too long, and this post is already too long...

This passage is full of innuendos:

She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over.

¡¡¡SEVEN GODS!!!

Dunk resented Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, despite knowing she did it to keep her claim. Despite knowing a marriage between them was impossible.

Dunk called himself a bastard and a fool. Florian the Fool you say?

Rohanne offered Dunk a Dornish sand steed, telling him it would be a better mount for him. Tanselle was also Dornish. But Dunk rejected the horse anyway.

Dunk kissing Rohanne and then cutting her long braid with his dagger is giving me a lot of Jon killing his aunt vibes...

But the fact that Dunk rejected Rohanne’s original gift and took what he wanted instead, also gives me heavy non con vibes and I hate it, I really hate it. Cutting a woman’s hair without her consent, is not romantic, less if said braid was something Rohanne was clearly proud of and was always touching it as a way of reassurance. I really don’t get George’s morbid fascination with non con undertones all over his ASOIAF works...

* * *

THE MYSTERY KNIGHT

This tale is full of dragons, red dragons, black dragons, albino dragons, disguised dragons, hidden dragons, dragon eggs and hatching dragons.

A New Tree on a Shield

I think this little detail foreshadows Jon’s death...

Dunk had beggar’s blood himself…or so they used to tell him back in Flea Bottom, when they weren’t telling him that he was sure to hang.

(...)

Dunk unslung his shield and slipped it onto his arm. It was an old thing, tall and heavy, kite-shaped, made of pine and rimmed with iron.

He had bought it in Stoney Sept to replace the one the Longinch had hacked to splinters when they fought. Dunk had not had time to have it painted with his elm and shooting star, so it still bore the arms of its last owner: a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree. It was not a sigil that he would have chosen for himself, but the shield had come cheap.

(...)

“I am a hedge knight, seeking service.”

“Every robber knight I’ve ever hanged has said the same. Your device may be prophetic, ser…if ser you are. A gallows and a hanged man. These are your arms?”

“No, m’lord. I need to have the shield repainted.”

“Why? Did you rob it off a corpse?”

“I bought it, for good coin.” Three castles, black on orange…where have I seen those before? “I am no robber.”

(...)

“Enter me as the Gallows Knight.” The smallfolk loved it when a mystery knight appeared at a tourney.

Egg fingered his fat lip. “The Gallows Knight, ser?”

“For the shield.”

“Yes, but…

“Go do as I said. You have read enough for one night.” Dunk pinched the candle out between his thumb and forefinger.”

(...)

“My shield,” Dunk said to Egg. The boy handed it up. He slipped his left arm through the strap and closed his hand around the grip. The weight of the kite shield was reassuring though its length made it awkward to handle, and seeing the hanged man once again gave him an uneasy feeling. Those are ill-omened arms. He resolved to get the shield repainted as soon as he could. May the Warrior grant me a smooth course and a quick victory, he prayed, as Butterwell’s herald was clambering up the steps once more. “Ser Uthor Underleaf,” his voice rang out. “The Gallows Knight. Come forth and prove your valor.”

(...)

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dunk’s Elm and Shooting Stark Shield was destroyed so he buys a new one with a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree.

Hanging is the stablished punishment in the Night’s Watch, that’s why in the first draft of Jon’s Chapter in ADWD, GRRM wrote Jon commanding his men to hang Janos Slynt as punishment for disobedience.

And in certain way, Dunk will be dead in this tale, but just for a little while. In fact, Dunk is about to die three times during this tale.

Jon’s death by the hidden daggers is also foreshadowed in the books by Melisandre’s visions and one of Littlefinger’s lessons to Sansa. But there are also prophecies about him coming back to life, and in this tale a dragon’s birth is prophesied.

Egg revealing his Targaryen identity could also foreshadows Jon knowing the truth about his origins and Targaryen lineage after coming back to life.

A Bastard Prince in Disguise

Dunk and Egg meet Daemon II Blackfyre in disguise as Ser John the Fiddler

...a young man lean and lithe, with a comely clean-shaven face and fine features. Black hair fell shining to his collar. His doublet was made of dark blue silk edged in gold satin. Across his chest an engrailed cross had been embroidered in gold thread, with a golden fiddle in the first and third quarters, a golden sword in the second and the fourth. His eyes caught the deep blue of his doublet and sparkled with amusement.

(...)

“I am a vagabond hedge knight like yourself. Ser John the Fiddler, I am called.”

That was the sort of name a hedge knight might choose, but Dunk had never seen any hedge knight garbed or armed or mounted in such splendor. The knight of the golden hedge, he thought. “You know my name. My squire is called Egg.”

—The Mystery Knight

Wait!

A bastard dragon in disguise?

With dark hair?

Called John?

Also the Fiddler?

Fiddles and Swords as his sigil?

Like a musician and a warrior? Somet like Florian the Fool? Someone like Rhaegar?

Ser John the Fiddler could also work as foreshadowing for Young Griff, the alleged Aegon VI Targaryen, Jon’s half-brother.

Like Young Griff dying his silver/golden hair blue, Daemon Blackfyre has silver/golden hair dyed black.

Like Young Griff having Jon Connington, a man in love with Rhaeger, by his side, Daemon Blackfyre has Alyn Cockshaw, a man in love with him, by his side.

Gormon Pyke

Dunk meets the man that killed Roger of Pennytree

Three castles, black on orange. “I remember now. Ser Arlan never liked to talk about the Redgrass Field, but once in his cups he told me how his sister’s son had died.” He could almost hear the old man’s voice again, smell the wine upon his breath. “Roger of Pennytree, that was his name. His head was smashed in by a mace wielded by a lord with three castles on his shield.” Lord Gormon Peake. The old man never knew his name. Or never wanted to.

—The Mystery Knight

Roger of Pennytree was Ser Arlan’s squire, he died at the Redgrass Field, that’s why Ser Arlan needed a new squire and took Dunk under his tutelage.

This encounter somehow reminds me of Jon meeting Donald Noye, the man that forged Robert Baratheon’s warhammer, the weapon that killed Rhaegar, Jon’s biological father.

Dunk and Egg meet three very interesting hedge knights... in a weirwood grove

Before long the trees opened up, and they found themselves in what must once have been a weirwood grove. Only a ring of white stumps and a tangle of bone-pale roots remained to show where the trees had stood, when the children of the forest ruled in Westeros.

(...)

“I am Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor. Under yonder chestnut sits Ser Glendon, ah, Ball. And here you have the good Ser Maynard Plumm.”

Egg’s ears pricked up at that name. “Plumm…are you kin to Lord Viserys Plumm, ser?”

“Distantly,” confessed Ser Maynard, a tall, thin, stoop-shouldered man with long, straight, flaxen hair, “though I doubt that his lordship would admit to it. One might say that he is of the sweet Plumms, whilst I am of the sour.” Plumm’s cloak was as purple as his name, though frayed about the edges and badly dyed. A moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg fastened it at the shoulder. Elsewise he wore dun-colored roughspun and stained brown leather.

—The Mystery Knight

So many things to say about these three hedge knights.

First, Egg mentioned Lord Viserys Plumm because he was a Targaryen, son of Princess Elaena Targaryen.

Second, these three knights reminds me a lot of another trio of interesting hedge knights that we met in one of Alayne Stone’s chapters in AFFC:

Alayne laughed. "Are you louts?" she said, teasing. "Why, I took the three of you for gallant knights."

"Knights they are," said Petyr. "Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . with whom I must needs confer, if you will be so good as to excuse us."

The three knights bowed and withdrew, though the tall one with the blond hair kissed her hand before taking his leave.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

So we have these hedge knights in Dunk and Egg tales:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor, ginger whiskers.

Ser Glendon Ball (Glendon Flowers/the Knight of the Pussywillows), dark brown hair, bulbous nose.

Ser Maynard Plumm, flaxen hair.

And we have these hedge knights in ASOIAF:

Ser Byron the Beautiful, blonde hair.

Ser Morgarth the Merry, salt-and-pepper beard, a red, bulbous nose.

Shadrich of the Shady Glen also known as the Mad Mouse, orange hair.

Then we can associate them this way:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor / Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse of Shady Glen, both with similar names and red hair.

Ser Glendon Ball / Ser Morgarth the Merry, both with bulbous noses.

Ser Maynard Plumm / Ser Byron the Beautiful, both blondes and... under disguise?

Third, and this is a widely known theory, I’m convinced that Ser Maynard Plumm is Brynden Rivers aka Bloodraven in disguise, thanks to a glamor with the moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg. That moonstone is working like Melissadre’s ruby at the wrist of Mance Ryder disguised as Rattleshirt (*).

(*) Here I have to mention the existence of two theories about Ser Byron the Beautiful. The first one says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory. The second theory is an addition to the first one, it says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise, using the face of Tyrek Lannister, under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory as well.

Is Ser Byron someone else in disguise? I have no idea if the parallels will be 100% accurate and we will only know when the Winds of Winter come.

Dragon Eggs

The protagonists of this tale are eggs, a dragon egg and a dragon called Egg

“The dragon’s egg? Is that the champion’s prize? Truly?” The last dragon had perished half a century ago. Ser Arlan had once seen a clutch of her eggs, though. They were hard as stone, but beautiful to look upon, the old man had told Dunk. “How could Lord Butterwell come by a dragon’s egg?”

“King Aegon presented the egg to his father’s father after guesting for a night at his old castle,” said Ser Maynard Plumm.

“Was it a reward for some act of valor?” asked Dunk.

Ser Kyle chuckled. “Some might call it that. Supposedly old Lord Butterwell had three young maiden daughters when His Grace came calling. By morning, all three had royal bastards in their little bellies. A hot night’s work, that was.”

(...)

“Lord Butterwell will have the egg well guarded, I’m sure.” Dunk scratched the midge bites on his neck. “Do you think he might display it at the feast? I’d like to get a look at one.”

“I’d show you mine, ser, but it’s at Summerhall.”

“Yours? Your dragon’s egg?” Dunk frowned down at the boy, wondering if this was some jape. “Where did it come from?”

“From a dragon, ser. They put it in my cradle.”

“Do you want a clout in the ear? There are no dragons.”

“No, but there are eggs. The last dragon left a clutch of five, and they have more on Dragonstone, old ones from before the Dance. My brothers all have them too. Aerion’s looks as though it’s made of gold and silver, with veins of fire running through it. Mine is white and green, all swirly.”

“Your dragon’s egg.” They put it in his cradle. Dunk was so used to Egg that sometimes he forgot Aegon was a prince. Of course they’d put a dragon egg inside his cradle. “Well, see that you don’t go mentioning this egg where anyone is like to hear.”

“I’m not stupid, ser.” Egg lowered his voice. “Someday the dragons will return. My brother Daeron’s dreamed of it, and King Aerys read it in a prophecy. Maybe it will be my egg that hatches. That would be splendid.”

“Would it?” Dunk had his doubts.”

Not Egg. “Aemon and I used to pretend that our eggs would be the ones to hatch. If they did, we could fly through the sky on dragonback, like the first Aegon and his sisters.”

“Aye, and if all the other knights in the realm should die, I’d be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. If these eggs are so bloody precious, why is Lord Butterwell giving his away?”

(...)

“Are we going to go to Whitewalls, ser?”

“Why not? I want to see this dragon’s egg.” Dunk smiled. “If I win the tourney, we’d both have dragon’s eggs.”

Egg gave him a doubtful look.

“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I could tell you, ser,” the boy said solemnly, “but I need to learn to hold my tongue.”

—The Mystery Knight

If Dunk and Valarr represented Jon in the first tale, in this one, Jon is represented by Dunk and Glendon as bastards, Daemon as bastard/prince in disguise and our little Egg as a dragon coming to life / revealing his Targaryen identity.

Indeed, Egg will be the dragon egg that hatches in this tale, and later he will be King and Dunk will be his Kingsguard’s Lord Commander one day.

And the sad note is that both, Dunk and Egg, will died years later while trying to hatch dragon eggs. Be careful what you wish for...

Winterfell

Dunk frowned. “Egg and I have a long journey before us. We’re headed north to Winterfell. Lord Beron Stark is gathering swords to drive the krakens from his shores for good.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dun and Egg will be at Winterfell during the fourth tale, The She-Wolves of Winterfell, a tale that is supposed to explore House Stark Succession issues...

At some point, Dunk asked Ser Glendon Ball, another bastard, that joined them in their journey to Winterfell, an offer to start a new life in a land when they will be judge by their own worth and not by their social status and low origins.

Florian the Fool imagery

“The wine had colored Ser Glendon’s cheeks and inflamed his pimples. “Who are you, to make such boasts?”

“They call me John the Fiddler.”

“Are you a musician or a warrior?”

“I can make sweet song with either lance or resined bow, as it happens. Every wedding needs a singer, and every tourney needs a mystery knight.”

—The Mystery Knight

As I mentioned before, John the Fiddler sounds like some version of Florian the Fool, a musician and a knight/warrior. Ser Glendon Ball pointed out this detail.

Jon is surrounded by Florian the Fool imagery. From “You know nothing, Jon Snow” to all the singers linked with him like his biological father Rhaegar Targaryen, Mance Ryder and Bael the Bard.

Having a Thirst during a Feast

Both Dunk and Jon get hammered and think about girls...

Dunk remembers Tanselle and Rohanne and Jon thinks about insipid and stupid and blonde Princess Myrcella and his radiant half-sister Sansa...

Dunk had not intended to drink so much, with the jousting on the morrow, but the cups were filled anew after every toast, and he found he had a thirst. “Never refuse a cup of wine or a horn of ale,” Ser Arlan had once told him, “it may be a year before you see another.” It would have been discourteous not to toast the bride and groom, he told himself, and dangerous not to drink to the king and his Hand, with strangers all about.

(...)

The other hedge knights, fine fellows all, had begun to talk of women they had known. Dunk found himself wondering where Tanselle was tonight. He knew where Lady Rohanne was—abed at Coldmoat Castle, with old Ser Eustace beside her, snoring through his mustache—so he tried not to think of her. Do they ever think of me? he wondered.

(...)

He had another cup of hippocras, since the first had tasted good. Then he lay his head down atop his folded arms and closed his eyes just for a moment, to rest them from the smoke.When he opened them again, half the wedding guests were on their feet and shouting, “Bed them! Bed them!” They were making such an uproar that they woke Dunk from a pleasant dream involving Tanselle Too-Tall and the Red Widow. “Bed them! Bed them!” the calls rang out. Dunk sat up and rubbed his eyes.

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring.

(...)

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

A Bedding

Before Dunk quite realized what was happening, John the Fiddler had dragged him to his feet. “Here!” he cried out. “Let the giant carry her!”

The next thing he knew he was climbing a tower stair with the bride squirming in his arms.

(...)

Dunk had no notion where Lord Butterwell’s bedchamber was to be found, but the other men pushed and prodded him until he got there, by which time the bride was red-faced, giggling, and nearly naked, save for the stocking on her left leg, which had somehow survived the climb. Dunk was crimson too, and not from exertion.

His arousal would have been obvious if anyone had been looking, but fortunately all eyes were on the bride. Lady Butterwell looked nothing like Tanselle, but having the one squirming half-naked in his arms had started Dunk thinking about the other. Tanselle Too-Tall, that was her name, but she was not too tall for me. He wondered if he would ever find her again. There had been some nights when he thought he must have dreamed her. No, lunk, you only dreamed she liked you.

(...)

When Dunk finally plopped the bride onto her marriage bed, a dwarf leapt in beside her and seized one of her breasts for a bit of a fondle. The girl let out a squeal, the men roared with laughter, and Dunk seized the dwarf by his collar and hauled him kicking off m’lady. He was carrying the little man across the room to chuck him out the door when he saw the dragon’s egg.

(...)

Dunk dropped the dwarf and picked up the egg, just to feel it for a moment. It was heavier than he’d expected. You could smash a man’s head with this, and never crack the shell. The scales were smooth beneath his fingers, and the deep, rich red seemed to shimmer as he turned the egg in his hands. Blood and flame, he thought, but there were gold flecks in it as well, and whorls of midnight black.

—The Mystery Knight

A dwarf fondling the breast of a lady during her wedding night reminds me of Tyrion groping his child bride Sansa during their wedding night. So I would really like that one day someone seized Tyrion by his collar and hauled him liked Dunk did with that dwarf as punishment for his unwanted advances with Sansa.

Another Prophetic Dream

In Ashford, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a dead dragon. In Whitewalls, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a hatching dragon

He was feeling dizzy from the wine, so he leaned against a parapet. Am I going to be sick? Why did he go and touch the dragon’s egg? He remembered Tanselle’s puppet show, and the wooden dragon that had started all the trouble there at Ashford. The memory made Dunk feel guilty, as it always did. Three good men dead, to save a hedge knight’s foot. It made no sense, and never had. Take a lesson from that, lunk. It is not for the likes of you to mess about with dragons or their eggs.

“It almost looks as if it’s made of snow.”

Dunk turned. John the Fiddler stood behind him, smiling in his silk and cloth-of-gold. “What’s made of snow?”

“The castle. All that white stone in the moonlight. Have you ever been north of the Neck, Ser Duncan? I’m told it snows there even in the summer. Have you ever seen the Wall?”

“No, m’lord.” Why he is going on about the Wall? “That’s where we were going, Egg and me. Up north, to Winterfell.”

(...)

He gave Dunk an enigmatic smile. “I dreamed of you, Ser Duncan. Before I even met you. When I saw you on the road, I knew your face at once. It was as if we were old friends.”

Dunk had the strangest feeling then, as if he had lived this all before. I dreamed of you, he said. My dreams are not like yours, Ser Duncan. Mine are true. “You dreamed of me?” he said, in a voice made thick by wine. “What sort of dream?”

“Why,” the Fiddler said, “I dreamed that you were all in white from head to heel, with a long pale cloak flowing from those broad shoulders. You were a White Sword, ser, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you lived for no other purpose but to guard and serve and please your king”. He put a hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “You have dreamed the same dream, I know you have.”

He had, it was true. The first time the old man let me hold his sword. “Every boy dreams of serving in the Kingsguard.”

“Only seven boys grow up to wear the white cloak, though. Would it please you to be one of them?”

“Me?” Dunk shrugged away the lordling’s hand, which had begun to knead his shoulder. “It might. Or not.” The knights of the Kingsguard served for life and swore to take no wife and hold no lands. I might find Tanselle again someday. Why shouldn’t I have a wife, and sons? “It makes no matter what I dream. Only a king can make a Kingsguard knight.”

“I suppose that means I’ll have to take the throne, then. I would much rather be teaching you to fiddle.”

(...)

“I hope you will put more faith in what I tell you when you see the dragon hatch.”

“A dragon will hatch? A living dragon? What, here?”

“I dreamed it. This pale white castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams.”

“Dunk was remembering another tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with another princeling. I dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg’s brother Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large they could cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous ground on which to build. “As you say, m’lord,” he told the Fiddler. “Pray excuse me.”

“Where are you going, ser?”

“To my bed, to sleep. I’m drunk as a dog.”

“Be my dog, ser. The night’s alive with promise. We can howl together and wake the very gods.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Your sword. I would make you mine own man, and raise you high. My dreams do not lie, Ser Duncan. You shall have that white cloak, and I must have the dragon’s egg. I must, my dreams have made that plain. Perhaps the egg will hatch, or else…”

—The Mystery Knight

Daemon’s dream was proven right since Egg hatched there in Whitewalls and years later Dunk became Lord Commander of Aegon V Targaryen’s Kingsguard.

But what if the dragon hatching in a castle made of snow was a dream for the long future as well as Dunk wearing the white cloak many years later?

That part of the dream could be foreshadowing Jon’ resurrection in a castle made of snow. That castle made of snow could be Winterfell? Maybe, but it also could be the Wall, since Daemon himself mentioned the Wall in this passage, the castle there is called Castle Black but it is certainly covered by snow.

This could also be foreshadowing of Jon’s true parentage revelation, as a Targaryen; and that could happen in Winterfell, that is a grey castle certainly, but also covered by snow.

Also, the white cloaks of the Kingsguards are often compared with snow and called snowy white.

I also read some theories about New Castle in White Harbor as the castle made of snow of Daemon’s dream.

Better with a Sword

Dunk watched a server fill his wine cup. “I am better with a sword than with a lance,” he admitted, “and even better with a battle-axe. Will there be a melee here?”

(...)

“You're better with a sword than with a lance,” Egg said. “With an axe or a mace, there's few to match your strength.”

(...)

“Ser Tommard, this man is the prince’s sworn shield. He’ll kill you!”

“Only if he falls on me.” Black Tom showed his teeth in a hard grin. “I saw him try to joust.”

“I am better with a sword,” Dunk warned him.

(...)

“Black Tom reeled back a step and stared down in horror at his forearm flopping on the floor beneath the Stranger’s altar. “You,” he gasped, “you, you…”

“I told you.” Dunk stabbed him through the throat. “I’m better with a sword.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Warg imagery once again...

A trumpet sounded.

Thunder started forward at a slow trot. Dunk swung his lance to the left and brought it down, so it angled across the horse's head and the wooden barrier between him and his foe. His shield protected the left side of his body. He crouched forward, legs tightening as Thunder drove down the lists. We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very interesting passage because Dunk lost that joust and he kind of died for a while (he got unconscious for hours). Dunk fell to the ground after his opponent lance struck him on the head. Later that said opponent, that was drinking with Dunk the night before during the feast, confessed to Dunk that he was paid for killing him.

This is very similar to Jon being killed by his own brothers at the Wall, being alive for a while inside of his direwolf Ghost, and his future resurrection.

Coming back to life

Dunk woke upon his back, staring up at the arches of a barrel-vaulted ceiling. For a moment he did not know where he was, or how he had arrived there. Voices echoed in his head, and faces drifted past him; old Ser Arlan, Tanselle Too-Tall, Bennis of the Brown Shield, the Red Widow, Baelor Breakspear, Aerion the Bright Prince, mad, sad Lady Vaith. Then all at once the joust came back to him: the heat, the snail, the iron fist coming at his face. He groaned, and rolled onto one elbow. The movement set his skull to pounding like some monstrous war drum.

(...)

“Tell me. What’s happened?”

“The same foolishness that always happens in these affrays. Men have been knocking each other off horses with sticks. Lord Smallwood’s nephew broke his wrist and Ser Eden Risley’s leg was crushed beneath his horse, but no one has been killed thus far. Though I had my fears for you, ser.”

(...)

“How long have you been tending me?” Dunk flexed the fingers of his sword hand. All of them still seemed to work. Only my head’s hurt, and Ser Arlan used to say I never used that anyway.

“Four hours, by the sundial.”

Four hours was not so bad. He had once heard tell of a knight struck so hard that he slept for forty years and woke to find himself old and withered. ”

(...)

“A passing groom told him where to find the nearest well. It was there that he discovered Kyle the Cat, talking quietly with Maynard Plumm. Ser Kyle’s shoulders were slumped in dejection, but he looked up at Dunk’s approach. “Ser Duncan? We had heard that you were dead, or dying.”

Dunk rubbed his temples. “I only wish I were.”

—The Mystery Knight

"Four hours was not so bad.” Dunk was four hours unconscious after his murder attempt. Maybe Jon will be dead for four days and it won’t be “so bad”, he won’t lost much of his memories.

Honor

Better a beggar than a thief. He had been both in Flea Bottom, when he ran with Ferret, Rafe, and Pudding, but the old man had saved him from that life. He knew what Ser Arlan of Pennytree would have said to Plumm’s suggestions. Ser Arlan being dead, Dunk said it for him. “Even a hedge knight has his honor.”

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

I will kill him if I must. The prospect gave Jon no joy; there would be no honor in such a killing, and it would mean his own death as well. Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved. If Jon must slay a man he half admired and almost liked to save them from the mercies of Rattleshirt and Harma Dogshead and the earless Magnar of Thenn, that was what he meant to do.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Even if she was a whore... I want to know

"His Lordship said that I had no right to put a fireball upon my shield. He told me my device should be a clump of pussywillows. His Lordship can go bugger himself." Dunk could not help but smile. He had supped at that same table himself, choking down the same bitter dishes as served up by the likes of the Bright Prince and Ser Steffon Fossoway. He felt a certain kinship with the prickly young knight. For all I know, my mother was a whore as well. "How many horses have you won?"

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"One of the guards overheard Clydas reading the letter to Maester Aemon." Pyp leaned close. "Jon, I'm sorry. He was your father's friend, wasn't he?"

"They were as close as brothers, once." Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as the King's Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont's permission. It would be good to see Arya's grin again and to talk with his father. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he told me. Even if she was a whore, I don't care, I want to know.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

True Identities and Targaryen Names

Inside, the Fiddler turned back to Dunk. “I knew Ser Uthor had not killed you. My dreams are never wrong. And the Snail must face me soon enough. Once I’ve unhorsed him, I shall demand your arms and armor back. Your destrier as well, though you deserve a better mount. Will you take one as my gift?”

“I…no…I couldn’t do that.” The thought made Dunk uncomfortable. “I do not mean to be ungrateful, but…”

“If it is the debt that troubles you, put the thought from your mind. I do not need your silver, ser. Only your friendship. ”

(...)

“You are no hedge knight.”

“No.” The Fiddler’s smile was full of boyish charm. “But you knew that from the start. You have been calling me m’lord since we met upon the road, why is that?”

“The way you talk. The way you look. The way you act.” Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall. “Up on the roof last night, you said some things…”

“Wine makes me talk too much, but I meant every word. We belong together, you and I. My dreams do not lie.”

“Your dreams don’t lie,” said Dunk, “but you do. John is not your true name, is it?”

“No.” The Fiddler’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

He has Egg’s eyes.

“His true name will be revealed soon enough, to those who need to know.” Lord Gormon Peake had slipped into the pavilion, scowling. “Hedge knight, I warn you—”

“Oh, stop it, Gormy,” said the Fiddler. “Ser Duncan is with us, or will be soon. I told you, I dreamed of him.”

(...)

“I never did you any harm.”

“And never will. Daemon’s mine. I will command his Kingsguard. You are not worthy of a white cloak.”

“I never claimed I was.” Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

—The Mystery Knight

These passages give me hope about Aemon being Jon’s Targaryen name:

Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

Aemon. The name rang in Dunk’s (?) head. Not Jon. Aemon, after his father uncle.

Who will discover Jon’s true parentage and Jon’s Targaryen name? My bet is on Sansa since she unbeknownst helped Ned to discover that “Prince” Joffrey were a bastard. So it would be a full circle if she discovers by herself that the bastard Jon Snow is a true prince.

The Redhead Lady of the Tale

Mad Danelle Lothston herself rode forth in strength from her haunted towers at Harrenhal, clad in black armor that fit her like an iron glove, her long red hair streaming.

—The Mystery Knight

There is always a redhead woman with a wicked reputation. In the first tale a red haired whore is mentioned; in the second tale Rohanne Webber is a protagonist; and in this third tale Mad Danelle Lothston makes a triumphant entrance riding all armored next to Bloodraven to put an end to the Second Blackfyre Rebellion. Such a powerful image...

An Elm Tree again!

The Hand’s pavilion was half a mile from the castle, in the shade of a spreading elm tree. A dozen cows were cropping at the grass nearby. Kings rise and fall, Dunk thought, and cows and smallfolk go about their business. It was something the old man used to say.”

—The Mystery Knight

Bloodraven put his pavilion in the shade of a spreading elm tree. This is a reminiscence of the first tale:

On the outskirts of the great meadow, a good half mile from town and castle, he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall, leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight’s banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts.

(...)

“There’s my pavilion.” Dunk swept a hand above his head, at the branches of the tall elm that loomed above them.

“That’s a tree,” the boy said, unimpressed.

“It’s all the pavilion a true knight needs. I would sooner sleep under the stars than in some smoky tent.”

—The Hedge Knight

Dunk took that elm tree as his sigil the same way Lyanna took a weirwood as his sigil as a Mystery Knight.

Dunk also took a shooting star as part of his sigil and when Jon’s was born, there was a shooting star symbol around him, Ser Arthur Dayne’s sword, Dawn, made of a falling star, and House Dayne’s sigil is also “a white sword and falling star crossed on lilac”.

So Dunks sigil is really telling us about Jon Snow’s birth story, about the identity of his mother and the place when he was born, that was named by his biological father and was guarded by a knight with a sword made of a falling star.

Roger of Pennytree

Flanking the entrance, the severed heads of Gormon Peake and Black Tom Heddle had been impaled on spears, with their shields displayed beneath them. Three castles, black on orange. The man who slew Roger of Pennytree.

Even in death, Lord Gormon’s eyes were hard and flinty. Dunk closed them with his fingers. “What did you do that for?” asked one of the guardsmen. “The crows’ll have them soon enough.”

“I owed him that much.” If Roger had not died that day, the old man would never have looked twice at Dunk when he saw him chasing that pig through the alleys of King’s Landing. Some old dead king gave a sword to one son instead of another, that was the start of it. And now I’m standing here, and poor Roger’s in his grave.”

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very sad scene where we can see how Dunk still feels guilty for all the men that had to die for him to live the life he is living. Jon shares the same guilt along his arc and is heartbreaking.

Tower of Joy imagery

Bloodraven ordered Whitewalls to be pulled down stone by stone, the same way Ned Stark pulled down the Tower of Joy

“And Whitewalls?” asked Butterwell, with quavering voice.

“Forfeit to the Iron Throne. I mean to pull it down stone by stone and sow the ground that it stands upon with salt. In twenty years, no one will remember it existed. Old fools and young malcontents still make pilgrimages to the Redgrass Field to plant flowers on the spot where Daemon Blackfyre fell. I will not suffer Whitewalls to become another monument to the Black Dragon."

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

“It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory’s father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

As you can see, Whitewalls, the castle where Egg “hatched” and revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, is ordered by Bloodraven to be pulled down stone by stone. And after reading this it’s impossible not to think about the Tower of Joy, the place where Jon was born, being pulled down by Ned Stark.

A Dragon Rises

“We had some help, m’lord,” Dunk added.

“Hedge knights.”

“Aye, m’lord. Ser Kyle the Cat, and Maynard Plumm. And Ser Glendon Ball. It was him unhorsed the Fidd…the pretender.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that tale from half a hundred lips already. The Bastard of the Pussywillows. Born of a whore and a traitor.”

“Born of heroes,” Egg insisted. “If he’s amongst the captives, I want him found and released. And rewarded.”

“And who are you to tell the King’s Hand what to do?”

Egg did not flinch. “You know who I am, cousin.”

“Your squire is insolent, ser,” Lord Rivers said to Dunk. “You ought to beat that out of him.”

“I’ve tried, m’lord. He’s a prince, though.”

“What he is,” said Bloodraven, “is a dragon. Rise, ser.”

Dunk rose.

“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest,” Bloodraven said, “so we should not be surprised if from time to time a Blackfyre displays the gift as well. Daemon dreamed that a dragon would be born at Whitewalls, and it was. The fool just got the color wrong.”

Dunk looked at Egg. The ring, he saw. His father’s ring. It’s on his finger, not stuffed up inside his boot.

(...)

“My place is with Ser Duncan. I’m his squire.”

“Seven save you both. As you wish. You’re free to go.”

“We will,” said Egg, “but first we need some gold. Ser Duncan needs to pay the Snail his ransom.”

Bloodraven laughed. “What happened to the modest boy I once met at King’s Landing? As you say, my prince. I will instruct my paymaster to give you as much gold as you wish. Within reason.”

—The Mystery Knight

And finally, the dragon egg that actually hatched in Whitewalls was Egg, a Targaryen Prince in disguise that revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, a future king, that will also died while trying to hatch dragon eggs, next to Dunk at Summerhall, the place when another human dragon hatched, Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon’s biological father.

GRRM really likes his full circles...

This has been a long ride. I hope you enjoy it.

THE END.

#Dunk #Ser Duncall The Tall #Jon Snow #is this jonsa?#jonsa #a knight of the seven kingdoms #the hedge knight #the sworn sword #the mystery knight #egg #aegon v targaryen #prince duncan targaryen #valarr targaryen #brynden rivers #bloodraven #tanselle too-tall #rohanne webber #mad danelle #danelle lothston

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sun-is-a-square · 3 years

Text

First go of posting some writing on this acct! I love c!Dream and I wanted to play around with writing him, so I wrote this drabble because Quackity’s last stream is living in my head rent-free lmao. Not my best writing, but I had fun!

((Also @dreamsclock I sent you an anon saying you inspired me to do some writing and you said to tag you so hi! Thanks for all your godtier writing <3))

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of torture, injuries, cycle of abuse, c!Quackity and c!Sam critical, general dark themes & content

They say that when Pandora’s box was opened, the only thing left inside was hope. People tell the myth as if that were inspiring, special; a promise that despite all the evils in the world, you could always hold on to hope. No one mentions that “hope” was an incomplete translation of the original Greek story. An ironic mockery of the truth. No, what was left in the box of evils was not quite hope, but “deceptive expectation.”

False hope.

How fucking hilarious was it, how morbidly perfect, that this inescapable prison was called Pandora’s Vault. Any strangled threads of hope that could live there were just lies to tell yourself when sleep wouldn’t come. And it was poetic justice, wasn’t it? Disgustingly, torturously perfect.

Dream had grown to accept the punishments from the Warden. By now, he found himself almost looking forward to them as much as he dreaded them. It was hellish—a pickaxe meant for breaking rock could easily splinter bone, ripping open bloody gashes in flesh and muscle, wounds that had to be cauterized in the lava in order to keep from bleeding out. To be broken and beat, defenseless for the first time in his life, it was like living a nightmare. But Dream could live with that.

It was fine if he thought he might choke on his own blood, it was fine if he suffered under the hands of a man who’d been his friend in another life, all of it was /fine/. He was punished for breaking the rules, for causing a ruckus, for the crimes that had brought him here to begin with. At least there was a reason, at least he could somehow twist the suffering to feel justified.

But despite it all, the routine of punishment meant that for just a few moments, Dream wouldn’t be alone. Because hell, it was one thing to be alone because you’d ruined all your friendships and broken all your bonds, but it was another thing /entirely/ to be trapped in a stone box for months on end, without so much as a glimpse of another human face. Even if the Warden only came to punish Dream, even if it was agonizing in so many ways, for a few hours he wouldn’t be drowning in silence.

He couldn’t depend on a visit from Sapnap, or Bad, and especially not George—they first two had come once each, with no sign of George at all. Though he’d never admit it, the way they looked at him—anger, betrayal, guilt, pity—it hurt Dream. Despite all his best efforts to cut off attachments, he was still human. He still loved them, whether he wanted to or not. And he knew it was his own fault, that he could only blame himself, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

But he could depend on being punished. Hell, he could even control it to an extent, acting up and causing trouble if he was that desperate to see another person. And in some ways, it hurt less than having visitors, because there was no pity in the Warden’s eyes. It was cause and effect. It was justice. And deep down a part of Dream was convinced he really did deserved this this, that he’d earned this hollow mockery of living, that this was always how his story had to end.

It’s a lie, a little scrap of false hope that all at least the pain is justified.

Quackity is what proves him wrong.

Dream lays on the floor, forcing himself to breathe. Every breath is shallow, strained, because even the rise and fall of his chest hurts. He shudders, face wet with tears, throat raw from screaming. Only a few months ago he would have never considered himself pathetic enough to let his weaknesses show, but the dam has been torn open with a bloody axe.

“Last chance to tell me about the resurrection book, Dream,” Quackity said, his voice smooth and charismatic; as if he were greeting an old friend, as if he weren’t soaked in blood. He smiles. Cold, impassive. “If you don’t, I’ll be back tomorrow, and we can pick this back up where we left off.”

Dream shuts his eyes, focusing on his breathing, unsure he could still speak even if he wanted to. Even so, he wouldn’t give up the book. He couldn’t tell them how to bring people back to life. It was too important, too powerful, too useful—and it was the only thing keeping him alive. Once other people had the secret, they’d have no use for Dream, no reason not to kill him. He’d already lost his family, his power, his freedom; he couldn’t lose his life too.

(Then again, maybe death would be a mercy compared to this.)

He’s dragged out of the darkness by pain, the wooden hilt of the axe grinding against an open wound. Dream chokes on a sob, shuddering, curling in on himself. If the sound of suffering bothers Quackity, he hides it behind an expert poker’s face. He pulls his axe back, his hostile smile turning to annoyance. “Are you going to say anything or what?”

Dream takes a staggered breath, the taste of blood bitter in his tongue. He forces himself to speak, if only out of fear that silence would drag out the pain. “No,” he says, his voice weak and unsteady. “I won’t... won’t tell.”

Quackity scowls, turning his back on Dream. Once, no one would have dared let their guard down around him, all too aware of how powerful he was. But lying on the floor, bloody, bruised, broken, he was a threat to no one.

And Quackity was saying goodbye, promising to be back tomorrow, but Dream didn’t have the life left in him to beg to be left alone.

His hands were cold—he hadn’t felt cold since being locked in the prison. A symptom of blood loss, Dream realized faintly, letting his eyes fall shut again. He didn’t understand how Quackity had smuggled in those weapons, how he’d been able to slip each blade in past the countless security measures the Warden enforced. It just wasn’t possible.

Not without help.

Not without broken rules.

Not unless Sam /knew./

Dream whimpers, glad to be alone, glad to have no one see how pitiful he’s become. He knew that Sam, /the Warden/, was not his friend. Any bond they’d had died a long time ago, in large part because of Dream’s own actions. But he still trusted Sam, to an extent, believed his former friend acted with good intentions. After all, wasn’t it the duty of a warden to punish the prisoner? Wasn’t it justice?

Sam had broke the prison rules to let Quackity torture Dream. He’d refused to break the rules to let Tommy out, but he had broken them to make Dream suffer.

And this wasn’t punishment. This wasn’t justice, or karma, or anything right. He was already locked up, he was already beat within an inch of his life, he was already paying for his crimes. If it wasn’t payment enough, if they still thought he deserved worse, they should have taken his third life.

Dream felt hot tears running down his cheeks, but he was too weak to wipe his eyes, too broken to hold them back. He’d thought if what he did was for the good of the server, then the ends justified the means; that no matter how much bad he did it could be forgiven if it was meant selflessly. But that depended on the idea that what was good for the server /was/ good.

There was no part of this Hell worth protecting.

This whole server was corrupt and cruel. Wasn’t Dream himself just further proof of that? Another example of a good person turned into a monster? There were no heroes among them. There was no happy ending waiting at the end of the road, not for Dream, not for the server, not for any of them. None of them deserved as much anyway.

A fire sparked in Dream’s chest, feeding on his pain like kindling, roaring like an inferno. It’s burning him alive, a hate so hot and painful it mirrors the agony wracking his body.

He will never tell them how to get the resurrection book. He will never break. Some day, somehow, he’ll escape the vault. Forget power, forget revenge, none of it holds a candle now. It’s not enough, it was /never/ enough. Maybe that was how Wilbur had felt towards the end. Maybe Dream would ask the other man personally.

A world so bleak and cruel had no right to exist. No one came out unscarred, free of corruption or hate. It had to come down. /All of it./ He’d see the whole server burn, purging it of every war, every betrayal, every broken hateful soul. He would live, if only to see to it that all of this would end.

Hell, maybe that was the closest Dream would ever come to redemption.

#my writing #tw torture #tw abuse #tw physical abuse #tw blood #c!quackity critical #c!sam critical

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cat-26 · 4 years

Text

Okay so I basically wrote down all my impressions as I was watching Techno’s stream for MCC 9 (this is basically me commenting to the void)

My main takeaways were:

- Techno is so relaxed and calm!? This is great. Also he is getting back in contact with his friends, yes please. No need for pressure Techno.

- F1nn is awesome! (Also, the cosplay??)

- Techno has played too many Skywars game; even without knowing what is happening, he dominated Skybattle

- Techno might join them for Among Us tomorrow?!

- Apparently next MCC is different? (And Techno doesn’t know if he wants to sign up?)

Now, for all the void-screaming:

~Start of the stream~

F1nn5ter cosplayed as Techno!! I heard he would but this is awesome!

Also poor Techno he can’t breathe Game 1: sky battles "Weeellllcooome guyys to another episode of Skywars!!" - YESSS Techno was so lost but thousands of skywars videos made him invincible Techno to F1nn: "Dress for the job you want, and you dressed as Technoblade!" Game 2: TGTTOSAWAF I actually like that Techno seems not to have so much pressure this time. Like, of course he wants to win but he seems more relaxed. I like the dynamic in this team. Techno has mentioned Tubbo multiple times. I really want to see them interact. (I would love a Tommy/Techno/Tubbo team next mcc, but it probably can’t happen) Decision dome: They get 4 crossbows to kill chickens? I thought it was 1/team, 4 is kinda too much? Game 3: parkour Pete is not doing well? Techno is on 8-1 and Pete just completed stage 6... I wonder what happened.I’ll see why in his VOD I guess. "Believe in the me that believes in myself" - Techno He was so happy to be tied for 1st in parkour hahaha Making fun of people for practicing: "they could have watched anime like me like a real winner" Game 4: HITW “What's battle box?" "It's PvP" "Now I really want to play hole in the wall" Tubbo won!!! GO TUBBO!!! The leafblower guy really knows Techno's schedule! (Please tell us Leafblower man, we would like to know) (Let's hope he's a good omen) TUBBO GOT TOP 5!!! Break time/audience takeover Tubbo is trending hahaha of course he is, he’s in Dream’s team

The whole discussion on the duel hahaha “How could we determine who is a better player? What if...” I definitely like this team dynamic

About his chat calling him bad: "My viewers know that I have the potential to be the best ... This is not a coping mechanism." TECHNO WON AUDIENCE TAKEOVER!!! HOW? The duel really was for who stayed on youtube Game 5: Battle Box "We might not win but it's fun" YES TECHNO PLEASE KEEP THIS MINDSET, HAVE FUN, NO PRESSURE!! The made it so you can't see the power ups hahaha Once again, Techno broke the game They destroyed the Blue Bats (poor fruit) Techno: “Good job Finn” F1nn: “Someone clip that so I can hear it at night”

Techno is DESTROYING F1nn killed Dream!!! You go, Finn!! "Killing Dream is a lucrative business model" - Techno Techno dragging Scoot for stealing his team/friends. Tommy killed Techno hahaha he’ll never hear the end of it They lost to Green and Red! Did Red only win against them? I am amazed at Techno relaxed attitude. I really hope this stays the same.

Techno is truly too good at 1.16 PvP now Game 6: Ace Race He did so well. He is being suppotive :')

All of them making fun of F1nn pfff hahaha Game 7: Survival Games Calvin "you have me!" when Techno is stressed about doing SG Blue bats are GOOD they’re winning this Awww he went to spectate Phil specifically (before realizing he killed him hahaha) I love how people thought the Blue Bats were underdogs HAHAHAHA BUT 7000 POINTS? Game 8: Sands of Time Techno: How much sand do we have? Finn: A lot? Techno: How much!? I NEED A NUMBER Finn: 7, I have 7 Techno: Oh, ok, that's good"

Techno and his chat have a chaotic relationship Did Dream get the coal dispenser trap? The one Pete’s team got (~2 MCCs ago?) I'm so mad at MrBeast about how he treats Techno... (I don't hate him, just his treatment of Techno) Dodgebolt: Techno is being so petty hahaha but honestly good for him, he’s had way too much hate and salt "Last time I dropped out of the top 5 because Dream died in Sand of Times - to be fair he did really good in the rest of the tournament" - even when he is making fun of him he stays nice Dream fans: don't be mean to Techno! Dream is the 1st Techno fan, so hating him is dumb. Long monologue vs Dream, go Techno! You deserve the love "For at the people that always cite MCC individual rankings: now they have to cite speedrunning!" I'm so surprised than Cyan didn't do better BLUE BATS!!!! What a comeback!!!! Also HBomb won 3 times now, right? He deserves it! He takes this championship so seriously, and he believed in his team from day 1 End of the stream: Okay I am so happy for Techno! He is so happy and relaxed and he deserves not having all the pressure in the world. Like, I know he wanted a good individual placement and that's pressure but that is nothing compared to usual. He seems way better now Techno joined Reeeed He is so confused by George-simping hahaha I feel so bad for himm he can't talk to his friendsss

He left. Honestly, I would have done the same I really feel the jumping from call to call by Techno, that's me at parties He really wants to keep streaming, it seems like?

I hope we get a Techno-HBomb team one day. It would be great

Philzaaaa So many screenshootss hahahaha

DreamSMP CAMEO???!!!! YES PLEASE it would really funny Bannerlord got murdered by the the training arc "my wife, abandonned"... poor Sora and Dora Haha the screenshot bm to Clavin Among us YEAH "I feel like I've changed over the years (...) I just want to be a good guy that find the TRUTH" Philzaaa joined!!! Dream is so mad (Techno is so nice because he is really trying to not be too mean) "That reddit is going to rot your brain" - Philza, that is why I don't go there I love this chat with Philza. Yes I really want Techno playing Among Us! (And he wants to start playing tf2 with them again! Yes Techno be healthy and happy!) They are talking tf2, I understand nothing. But they are happy so good! Oh they didn't know he was still live hahaha typical Oh Tommy is here now, it'll be fun. Tommy: “I breathe good air” Techno: “That is one of your most admirable qualities” I can't, everything he says is gold "This is a hostile takeover of the Sleepy Bois" - Techno to Scott Tommy is part of the sleepy bois!! Hahaha but RIP vlog gun They are negotiating Philza hahaha (maybe a Phil-Techno team next time?) Tubbo is in the same call as Techno... good enough I guess? Among us tomorrow?? Yes please Okay Tommy is really the little brother to Wilbur Techno is so uncomfortable with the Shubbles conversation, he just wants to beat up people with his knockback stick but no one is there

~this is the end of me screaming into the void!~

#mcc 9 #technoblade #minecraft championship #mc championship

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wrctings · 4 years

Text

Bill Guarnere x Reader | Not without you

i really wanted to write about bill (of course all my respect goes to the real veteran, this is only based on the show) ❣️ warnings: cursing, strong language

It is with an irritated grunt that you hoist yourself upon one of the stools facing the bar, the heavy sigh that erupts from the depths of your irked mood shattering the frisky and overly-joyful atmosphere that came with off-duty nights of such kind. Under different circumstances, you were certain to have wholeheartedly relished in whatever celebration your friends were engaged in, either joining a heated game of darts — always resulting in the trade of many packs of cigarettes before a crowd of sprightly figures —, or partaking in an often drunken yet dedicated rendition of a song you do not always know the precise lyrics of. But on that evening, even as you recognise many bright faces that you trusted unquestionably and would be sure to spend a good time with among the swarm of uniforms, the exuberant force that would have pulled you straight to them had been receding due the very cause of your acrimony. Namely, Bill Guarnere.

Even though the black-haired man has not yet noticed your coming in, busy downing a beer to Joe Toye and Babe Heffron’s cheering, you had made sure to pinpoint his exact location so as to contrive better ways to escape from the Sergeant’s attention. If you weren’t going to enjoy your night as plentifully as you would have without the incident that had caused your rancour, at least you would rather do so out of sight from the one who ruined it for you.

“Why the long face, Sergeant?”

You dismally swing around your stool, meeting George Luz’s playful grin. As he takes a better look at your indeed disheartened expression, your friend sits beside you, repeating in his best Cpt. Sobel voice:

“Sergeant, if you disobey a direct order by not telling me what’s going on, I’ll cancel all of your weekend passes. Forever.”

With George’s sudden materialisation and comforting humour, your spirits raise slightly and you even crack a smile, catching the gleeful twinkle in the soldier’s eyes. And yet, even with the effervescent talking pounding against your eardrums and the strong wafts of alcohol intertwined with smoke inundating the room from all parts, synonymous to the parties you took such delight in after days of combat and agonising battling against your own fear and torment, you still don’t feel like leaving your corner. In addition to this, Luz’s casual kindness only increases your resentment toward Guarnere.

“What the hell is a weekend pass anyway?” you shoot back, half-amused. Ever since Easy Company made their jump in Normandy, weeks ago, Toccoa Camp and Captain Sobel’s tantrums have seemed so far away. ‘Going back’ now refers to Albourne, which, although not quite being home, nonetheless became a place whose name resonated with a sense of warmth that is always welcome after days of duty.

George makes his pint of beer slide toward you on the surface of the bar counter, as though attempting to cheer you up differently as he notices that your state of mind hasn’t grown much merrier. “Drink up, Y/n. What’s the matter with you? Go get shit-faced while you still can,” he encourages you in a manner not at all subtle.

“Thanks, George.” You comply, thankful, and take a gulp from his drink — the stream of alcohol prickles the inside of your mouth, its hardly-resistible appeal already enticing you to take another sip. “I won’t give this back to you, you know that, right?”

“How dare you, Sergeant, this is United States army property!” The man doesn’t lose an occasion to impersonate Sobel again, this time succeeding in extracting a laugh from you.

“There you are!”

Your attention then gets drawn by another silhouette emerging from the mass of clustered soldiers, striding toward Luz and you while clutching an empty pint of beer in each hand.

“Hey, it’s Joe Toye himself!” George heartily pats his friend on the back. “Coming back for more?”

“Hell yeah,” the other man approves, slamming his load of glasses upon the piece of furniture before him. “Get me another drink, will you?” He shouts toward the man behind the bar, signaling for the private to get him a refill, before turning to you. “So, what are you doing here?” he inquired, bemused. “Why aren’t you out there partying? By that time of the night we’re usually third-wheeling for you and Garno.”

“What?” you almost choke on your beer, staring at Toye in bewilderment.

“Cut the crap, Y/n, we all know about you and Bill,” Joe rolls his eyes, smiling slyly. “He won’t stop looking around any chance he gets, so you better get your ass up there before he loses it.”

“Well why don’t he? If he likes replacing me so much, why don’t he j*rks himself off on his own.” Your stark reply startles both your friends, though Luz interrupts the bitter trail of thoughts that is already running through your mind again.

“What the hell happened back there?” he asks incredulously, taken aback by the sharpness of your tone.

“Shit, I think I know what this is about,” Joe sighs, even ignoring the beers that were just delivered to him. He frowns, trying to piece back together what he thinks may be the reason for your tartness. “Last time we were out fighting Guarno went outta his way to do something Y/n was ordered to. He got yelled at by Lipton for that. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you with us ever since. Not when Bill was around, at least. Is that what’s going on?”

“I—”

“Y/n,” George cut you off insistently, having payed attention to the story. “We already got Krauts tryina kill us, it ain’t gonna make it any easier if some of us turn against each other. Let’s go have fun, okay?” he beseeches you and Toye, glancing at the bustling room.

“Fine, but he ain’t off the hook,” you consented on reflection, seizing the pint that you’ve monopolised from Luz as you hopped off your chair. Now that your friends are by your side, the prospect of facing Bill doesn’t seem as tedious — wickedly tempting, even. You want to come clean with him, to spit out every ounce of anger you’ve been harbouring in his face, or simply ignore him until he isn’t able to take it any longer. Either way, you want to hurt him as much as he hurt you, belittling you in the line of duty without an explanation, without a single word to explain what was going on. If he can push you around this easily, making you look like you aren’t able to handle the situation on your own, then you have nothing to do with him anymore.

“Just try not to kill him right away,” Joe swiftly turns around to give you a quick smile as you follow the two men through the room to the clinking of glass. “We still need men to fight the war, remember?”

Alongside Toye and Luz, you find your way toward the table Babe, Guarnere and Johnny are established at, drinking and talking loudly while their sentences are punctuated by sniggers and exclamations.

“I found some friends of ours who got lost, had to show ‘em the way,” Joe announces humorously as your party stops in its tracks, greeting your fellow paratroopers. You act carefully as to ignore Bill’s gaze, only giving Johnny and Babe a pleased smile, and keep on standing by Luz without coming any closer to Guarnere.

Though a small part of you is itching to witness the puzzled look that makes its way upon the Sergeant’s face when you don’t return his salutation, you refuse to yield to further temptation and join George and Babe’s discussion instead. You hope to make Bill understand that as long as he doesn’t apologise — or at least tries to vindicate his action, if it is possible —, you are going to act as if nothing had ever gone down between you two. But the truth is, some things have gone down between the two of you, which makes it even harder to stifle the painful feeling that you’ve been carrying around ever since your return to England. The faded touch of Guarnere’s lips still haunts yours, the dimmed feel of his hands still runs along your back. Yet the desire to feel them again is checked by the flashing picture of him departing on the double as you and Carwood exchanged a dismayed look, Bill shouting that he could take care of it just as you were about to obey Lipton’s command. Does he really deem you unable to manoeuvre NT? You don’t know how to else construe his gesture — he must have known what he was doing, because you have never ever since anyone else behave this way on the front line. In the field, you do as you are ordered to, without questioning whom your CO delegates tasks.

“Hey, Y/n! D’you remember how that song Babe was hummin’ in his sleep went? When we were in the truck.” Guarnere’s voice however reaches you at last, and this time you have no choice but to finally set your eyes upon him with a glare, sparing him none of your displeasure.

“No,” you answer curtly, shifting your attention back onto whatever Luz is saying. But you do recall how the song went, and your heart falters a little when you imagine Bill’s optimism dying out, the man’s speech growing quieter. If only you could resent him as intensely as he upset you.

You keep your interactions with Bill’s corner of the table to a minimum throughout the evening. Although you have eventually relaxed enough to actually take an active part in the chattering all around you, mostly laughing along and sharing anecdotes with Babe and Luz — who are further away from Guarnere —, your pride is still hurt from the latter’s lack of account for his actions. You had confided in Bill how arduous it had been for you to find a place in the army, let alone rise through the ranks, so his carelessness digs particularly deeply into your sensitivity. He, of all people, should have known how hard you tried, and yet he had disregarded it by treating you as if you weren’t capable enough.

“Well, boys, some people care about a good night’s sleep, so I’m heading off,” you finally declared after finishing your second pint of bear, stretching your arms out before you depart.

“Already, Sarge? Who knows when we’ll get another night like this,” George tries to change your mind, slightly wavering from tipsiness and exhilaration. “C’mon, we ain’t gotta jump tomorrow.”

“Yes, George, but I feel like you’ll end up jumping from tables in a few hours, and I don’t wanna break my neck joining ya,” you joked, patting your friend on the back. “Good night boys, take it easy.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Babe chuckled, contradictorily taking another sip from his drink. “Good night, Y/n. Don’t let the drunks hook up with you on the way.”

“There’s no chance.”

You spin on your heels after wishing your friend to have a good end of night, then heading toward the exit the room while navigating between the tables and inebriated groups of soldiers stumbling by, and disappear inside the corridor meant to lead you outside the building. As the English family that you are quartered with lives nearby, sneaking into their house this late at night isn’t a problem as long as you remain discreet.

When the door closes on you, the buzzing sound of the bubbling men you left behind is still ringing in your ears and the faint smell of smoke hasn’t quite dispersed yet, echoes from the on-going party reverberating in the empty corridor. The aftertaste of alcohol is still burning your tongue, but you shiver, away from the warmth of the packed room where elation is chasing the Battalion’s fears and concerns away — far, far away.

However, you don’t get much time by yourself as the thumping of footsteps arising from the direction you left draws your attention, making you turn around to get yourself acquainted with whoever else is roaming the hallway. You cannot help but scowl as you recognise the man: you didn’t know whether you expected anything from Bill, but now seems to be the time to find out.

“Y/n, wait,” he calls out for you, so you stop — now could be the time to finally get everything off your chest. As he levels with you, Guarnere’s expression appears defensive, worked up. “What the hell is going on with you?” he asks abruptly, and your eyes anchor into each other’s at last. Your anger swells, enlarged by his unawareness.

“What the hell is going on with me?” You snap in response, the muscles of your body stiffening as you attempt to keep yourself steady.

“Yes, what’s your fucking problem!” he immediately retorts, eyebrows severely knitted together. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m sorry Bill, I thought you were too busy trying to prove everyone how tough you are and how good you are and doing other people’s jobs!” you bite back, unable to quench your outburst of rage. “If you think I’m only worth fucking, you better get the hell out of here immediately. Go get laid with someone else, because I was clearly mistaken about you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You can see that Bill is still mad, but confusion mixes in with his aggressive comeback as he tries to make sense of your answer. “I don’t fucking get it!”

“Oh, cut the crap. Like doing my job in my place is not a clear message! I’m perfectly capable of getting TNT on my own, Guarnere,” you stated in a more controlled, but deadlier tone. “I don’t need you to think of me as someone in need of your assistance.”

“Fuck, this is why you’ve been acting so weird?” He understand with a movement from the head, jaw clenched tightly, but his gaze then sets back onto your face.

“Yes, that’s precisely why,” you start again before he gets the chance to defend himself. “If you really think that I can’t handle things on my own in the field, then you’re wrong.”

“I didn’t do it because I thought you couldn’t!” The dark-haired man exclaims indignantly, the modulation of his voice stronger.

“Then what is it? Why the fuck is it, Bill, because I don’t understand!”

“I didn’t go out there because I thought you couldn’t handle it!” He repeats, driven by a virulent impulse. “I did it because that field was brimming with Kraut artillery, and I couldn’t stand the goddamn thought of seeing you collapse among all the other dead bodies!”

His words hit you so forcefully that your next sentence gets caught in your throat, leaving you speechless for the first since Guarnere has joined you. I couldn’t stand the goddamn thought of seeing you collapse among all the other dead bodies.

“That’s right,” The Sergeant continues less harshly, catching his breath. “I ran for that TNT instead of you because I didn’t want you to get killed. There, are you happy now?” Too taken aback to come to your senses right away, you process what Bill is saying. You’ve never heard him confess that he cared about you this much before, though your affection and attachement toward each other have been undeniable. “Don’t ever think that I might consider you a lesser soldier than any of the men in this company,” he goes on, intensely looking into your face. “I damn well know what you’re worth. And...” he hesitates, somewhat flustered, but finally opens his mouth again. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

As Bill speaks, the violent emotions that had previously got a hold of you evolve into something else — something even stronger. Something that drives you to him, that makes you want to stand by his side before the entire world, that reminds you more than ever of all the times you have looked at him, and seen a form of reassurance that you never found anywhere else. He takes a step toward you.

“You can’t die for me, Bill. You can’t. I don’t want to lose you either. But we’re done being stupid now, okay?” you whisper, unable to yell anymore while tears are threatening to well up as you cup his face in your hands. All that you feel at once completely throws you off balance, seemingly both emotionally and physically. “There’s enough fighting out there already.”

“We’re done being stupid.” Guarnere’s voice is now barely more audible than yours, and his comforting touch is soothing you down when he feels like it is safe enough to get closer. “I don’t want to do this without you,” he says.

You kiss, his hands running through your hair as you let yourself go to him, pressed against the comforting steadiness of his chest, the fabric of his uniform filled with the warmth of his body. After such a tumultuous night, exhaustion doesn’t take long to descend upon you, but what hits you most is another sudden realisation — you are falling in love with Bill Guarnere. You have been for days.

The dark-haired man takes you into his arms after your lips break apart, hugging you tightly as he kisses the top of your head, and holds you closely. “Do you wanna go to sleep?” he murmurs, feeling you fully lean into him. “I can walk you to your house, or I know a spot where no one will walk on us.”

“Let’s do that,” you approve against his torso, before adding: “I want to be with you.” You want him to know how much you care about him too.

“Okay, then come with me. No one should be able to find us.” He takes your hand, leading you through the dark, and is cautious to make sure that you aren’t seen.

Later that might, when you finally fall asleep, it is by Bill’s side. And, long after your eyes are shut and sleepiness has taken you both into its realm, you can still unconsciously feel the man’s heart beating inside his chest, pressed against your back.

#bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #bill guarnere imagine #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #BoB #writing #bandofbrothers #band of brothers imagines #my writing

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malarkeys-beanie · 4 years

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hi luv! may i have a ship? 🥺 i’m so fucking short like- (5’2) it’s a shame, i have bleached blonde hair and darkish green eyes. i value friendship so much, and protect the ones I have with my life. I can be really sarcastic and bold, and then other times I can be really shy. I enjoy archery, acting or entertaining people, and sewing/mending things. I tend to be the “mom friend but also could get herself killed from throwing caution to the wind” thank you so much luv!!

ok i feel a bit sacrilegious shipping you with anyone but a certain cab driver but hear me out: i ship you with George Luz!

you two meet at Toccoa. everyone’s in the mess hall, and particularly pissed off about Sobel’s latest spree of weekend pass revocations. Luz starts doing a spot-on Sobel impression, and ofc everyone loses it. he is undoubtedly the impression king. until you join in. a huge grin spreads Luz’s face and he continues. the two of you bounce impressions off each other until everyone around you is practically rolling on the floor. Sobel comes over and you all hastily try to cover up your snickers. Luz turns to you and introduces himself. you guys had ofc been aware of each other but had never really talked. (Luz had been eyeing the cute private with the soft-looking blond hair and deep green eyes). he’s over the moon to realize that you’re just as much of an entertainer as he is.

after that you guys are practically inseparable. Luz loves to tease you about your height but it’s all in good fun. he really finds it really frickin adorable. he likes to prop his elbow up on your head and lean on you. you pretend to hate it (but we all know you don’t!) you guys get pretty protective of each other. one time Sobel yells at you for having “unshined shoes” and Luz looks like he’s having a stroke in his efforts to keep from slugging the guy. Luz gives you a big hug after you get your jump wings (and gets mercilessly teased for it). you make the trip from Toccoa to Aldbourne, and the two of you are the main source of entertainment the ride over the Atlantic. once in Aldbourne, there is a lot of hanging out at the nearby pub. one time you are at said pub and Luz is being his typical comedic self and some private that you don’t know makes some rude comment along the lines of “just shut up” (but more douchey) and before Luz even has the chance you are all up in this private’s face. the guy learns his lesson and does not mess with Luz or you again. and speaking of Luz, he just about proposes right then and there.

then D-Day comes around. when you first land you are split off from everyone else but you are able to find Talbert and Grant. you guys make it through the night, meeting up with more soldiers from various divisions. you regroup at the rallying point and your relief at seeing that Luz is there and ok hits you like a truck. that’s the moment you realize you’re in trouble. at first you think maybe you can avoid him, but the more war you’re exposed to the more you need him.

you two manage to keep up your goofiness through Holland. in addition to your usual comedy and impressions you learn more about Luz and get to know him and how he’s more than just the “class clown” if you will. he tells you about his family and life back home in Massachusetts. he tells you about his nine siblings and their adventures growing up. he uses his humor as a coping mechanism, and it was also a way to stand out among 10 siblings. those conversations always feel sweet but scarily intimate. you tell him about your life. he thinks the fact that you do archery is so badass. he gets to know your shyer, quieter side. he has a more tender side to him too, especially when he talks about the way his life used to be. by the time you realize that you’ve completely and utterly fallen for George Luz it’s too late.

then Bastogne comes along. it takes an emotional and mental toll on everyone. Luz is just about the only thing keeping you sane. then Muck and Penkala are killed. he disappears after that. you find him behind a rock a little bit from his foxhole. you sit down next to him and he just breaks down. you hold him for a little bit and let him get out at least a bit of what he’s carrying. what you’re all carrying. you notice a rip in his shirt from when he was crawling to the foxhole. you pull your little sewing kit out of your pocket and start to sew it up. Luz gives you a look, a tender, heartbroken, loving look, and suddenly everything is thrown out the window. you grab his face and roughly kiss him. Luz makes a muffled, surprised sort of sound for a second, and then tenderly cups your face and kisses you back. you pull away and then it all comes rushing back. you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this. if Luz. . . you couldn’t even bear the thought of it. the two of you stare at each other for who knows how long, and then you make your decision. “i’m sorry”, you say, and walk away.

the hell that is Bastogne comes to an end. Easy goes to Hagenau, then Germany. you keep away from Luz, but it hurts likes nobody’s business. watching him crack his old jokes, you see a weight in his eyes that wasn’t there before. part of it is the war. part of it is you. you know the war is coming to an end, but you can’t let yourself hope and picture a future in which the two of you can be together. not after all the soldiers you’ve seen die for no reason. no reason.

Easy captures Eagle’s Nest. you almost let yourself begin to hope. but then you see the footage of the battles in the Pacific. you still can’t. you prepare to ship out to fight. neither you nor Luz have enough points to return home. the prospect of more fighting looks over you, a heavy cloud weighing down on your shoulders.

finally the day comes. Winters announces the end of the war. the end. period. not temporary. it’s all over. you look at Luz. he’s looking you. you both know. as soon as he’s able Luz tracks you down alone. you just stare at each other (just kiss already jesus) then he cracks a grin. “is now a good time?” you can’t help but grin back. tears start to stream down your face. “now’s a good time.”

holy shit this is the angstiest thing i’ve ever written. i swear i did not plan for that jesus. i hope you enjoyed! ❤��

#band of brothers #george luz #malarkeys beanie ship requests

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starspatter · 5 years

Text

WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments. (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.) I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right? Don’t worry, it’s really simple. One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh? A ‘demon’? But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear. Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within. She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then? Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others. It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time. (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~) For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes. The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars. With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for. ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building. His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table. Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair. That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi. The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another... Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself. (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love. But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this. This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates. I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be. In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters. For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it. As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes. Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright. The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat. The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao. I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger. “In all this time, why didn’t you come back? You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child. But he wasn’t a child. Children were forgiven for their mistakes. And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s the way this town works. We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world. Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia. She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry. It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze. Over 10 years, huh. But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering. It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend). *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories. (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;() What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all). I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training. I mean that in an intuitive sort of way. Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else. Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about. Perhaps not. Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this. As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards. It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly. She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes. She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze. She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know. This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL). In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher. So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again. However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence. As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*). So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference. (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now. They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below. The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought. I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real. The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this. I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage. I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic. I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia. The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend. I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right. I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun. The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved. This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted. However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag. One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead. Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It. Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch? It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her. Twice she nearly caught one. Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands. The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone.

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol. I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting). I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination. Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East. She knew about the Light that came from Outside. There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through. She had always done well to avoid them. The brightness was like poison to her skin. But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely. He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream. She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was. Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”. In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn. But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway. She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread. I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference. (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

#Kagerou Project #Tateyama Ayano #Mekakushi Trio #Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu #ItsuHaru #ItsuYuki #Pokemon #Gary Oak #Molly Hale #fanfiction #starstories #astrologista #atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine #benditlikegumby #cryptoriawebb #ibmiller #iceperialprincess #otherwise uncolonized

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sosation · 3 years

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Volume is Power

The following is a transcript of my "Audio Liner Notes" for Volume is Power, the album I released earlier this year under the project titled Temporal Distortions.

The album can be purchased for free on my bandcamp here: https://temporaldistortions.bandcamp.com/

and it is available on all streaming services:

-https://open.spotify.com/album/3983Bepp9uxIv1pb9qaEwY?si=qWpTAozTS2ujMQ79R_FZZg&utm_source=copy-link

-https://music.apple.com/us/album/volume-is-power/1557283830?uo=4

and music videos are up on the Local Famous Records Youtube page: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRIjOlGfx0M

Volume is Power

Transcript of Audio Liner Notes and Recommended Readings

Hi. My name is Anthony Sosa and you have just listened to Volume is Power. I hope you enjoyed it. I began actively writing for this record in December of 2019. Some of the musical ideas were written in previous bands going back as far as 2009 and others were written after I had started working on the record. As you know, 2020 was an insane year. So, as you can imagine, it affected the writing and conception of what we were working on. When I began writing lyrics it was the middle of the democratic primaries for President. I was a Bernie Sanders volunteer. I wanted to talk about issues in the US and around the world. But then COVID happened and George Floyd happened, and I had to talk about those things as well--If anything, to document this moment in time. Honestly, those events backed up what I already wanted to say with this record: Our system is broken.

Sonically, Volume is Power has a lot of specific influences that influenced specific songs. For each track I tried to lean into whatever influences were present at the time and treat each piece almost as a genre study, though the genres span a narrow spectrum along the “rock” continuum. Time -- was, and will continue to be, an important aspect of the project. Temporal Distortions are happening all around us all the time. This record is essentially a series of distortions, or songs, that span, temporally, from the mid 1990’s to the late 2000’s. There are also audio clips from the 1950’s and 60’s as well as from this historic summer of 2020. Songs from my past still inspire me in the present to create an album for the future which is now here. Now, this album will exist in the past for me but for you this is your present. Maybe, if I did my job right, and you are so inclined, it will inspire you to create something in your future.

I had intended to make this album available for free everywhere, but youtube and bandcamp are the only platforms where I can achieve that. You can always email [email protected] and we will send you a free digital copy.

In this Audio Liner Notes track I intend to give credit to all of the amazing artists who helped me create this record. I am honored and privileged to know and have the pleasure of working with so many amazing people and to all of you thank you for giving me your time and energy. Chief among these is Dale Brunson, my colleague and compatriot. I met Dale in 2009 when he was playing in Werewolf Therewolf and I was playing in Housefire and The Raven Charter. We’ve been friends ever since and in 2012 we started a Top 40 cover band called Sweetmeat who is still together as of this recording. Dale mixed and co-produced this record with me and without his patience, insight and guidance this record would have been impossible. I definitely threw him some curveballs throughout this process and he has handled all of it graciously.

I, now, am going to give a track by track breakdown of the record but I am not trying to spend too much time explaining or discussing lyrics. Those are for you to interpret how you will. I’m not great at insinuation, anyway, so I’m sure you get the point. I’d rather discuss the people on the tracks and the musical influences behind them. So:

Track 1 is titled Our Streets and begins with the voice of Rod “Teddy” Smith whom I met on the streets of Fort Worth during the protests this May-July. Rod and I, as well as Defense Attorney Michael Campbell, Christopher Rose and my wife, Amber, started a non-profit organization in the wake of these protests called The Justice Reform League with the goal of advocating for evidence based socio-economic and criminal justice policies at the municipal, state and federal levels and to empower impacted communities through civic education. I, personally, believe that there needs to be more effort put toward educating our community on how local politics actually works, how it impacts us, and how we can get involved and change things. So that is what we are trying to do. I also feel that music, or art in general, can be an educator and is one of the reasons I was inspired to write this record.

In regards to the opening clip with Rod, I actually have hours of footage from weeks of protests in May and June but this clip stuck out to me particularly because it evokes Fort Worth and the particular sentiment I was wanting to express with this record. The piano was played by me, recorded here at my house. At the end of the track are protest chants from one of the larger protest-days this past summer here in Fort Worth. My wife, Amber, and I marched for about 3 weeks before actually beginning to organize. On those later days of the protests I started carrying a battery powered PA speaker on my back in a doggie backpack with a mic and using that for chants and to further project those giving speeches. The album cover is a photo by local photographer Zach Burns capturing me doing just that. Zach being another awesome person I met this past summer. Before I move on, the real first voice (and last) you hear on the album, and multiple times throughout, is of Jordan Buckly of Every Time I Die- my favorite band. Early in the pandemic I paid Jordan $30 on Cameo to say “Temporal Distortions” and to “purchase” a shitty riff idea. I didn’t use the riff, it was god awful like he said, but I made some clips of him because it made me smile.

Track 2 is Daring Bravely.

This song was intended to be a The Raven Charter song and was introduced to the band near the very end of our time together. For those who don’t know, The Raven Charter is the most serious project I have ever been a part of. It was the most important thing in my life for many years. I am not going to use this time to give a history lesson on TRC, though that would be fun. Go check out our stuff if you’re into Prog Rock. So this thing kicked around on my hard drive since 2015, I recorded multiple demos with guitar, bass and drums, over the years and finally settled on a bridge. I didn’t actually write the lyrics until I began working on this album proper in Dec of 2019.

I had the awesome pleasure of doing this song with my boys Daniel Baskind and Erik Stolpe of TRC. Daniel wrote a beautiful solo for this track. It was exactly the energy the song needed and also sounds quintessential Daniel. As I stated at the beginning, I was leaning into the genre for each track and the genre on this track was “Ravencharter” and Daniel nailed it. And Erik, I truly feel, did an amazing job in making this song more than it was. The orchestration and production aspects of his writing for this track are spot on. He really got the vibe I was going for and took it even further. It was great to get to work with both of them again to recreate some of that magic we used to make. The audio clips are from Dr. Brené Brown and her TED Talk “The Power of Vulnerability” from Jan 3, 2011. Funny story about that. When my wife Amber and I first saw Brené’s TED Talks we really enjoyed the concepts she covered. We both came away from watching those remembering the phrase “Daring Bravely,” which is why I named the song that. I like those two words together and the concept they elicit. However, when researching for these Liner Notes I discovered that all along she was saying “Daring Greatly.” She even has a book with that title. So, we’ve been saying it wrong the whole time. Regardless, I prefer “Daring Bravely” because it requires bravery and courage to dare greatly and have confidence and believe in yourself. So be brave. Dare Bravely.

Track 3 is titled Division of Labor.

What radicalized me? Working in the service industry and learning history. This song is essentially an amalgamation of that. The line in the bridge is an Oscar Wilde quote. This was just a rando idea on the guitar that I recorded into my phone on new year's day 2019. Musically, the main guitar riff seemed to me Every Time I Die influenced but when I put drums and bass to it it ended up sounding more like At the Drive In or something, to me. My demo leaned into that a lot more than the finished product. This song definitely ended up in a different place than when I started working on it which is always fun and surprising. Workers rights are very important to me and I tried to put that into this song.

Track 4 is Pay for your own Exploitation.

This is another relatively recent idea recorded into my phone on the acoustic in October 2019. I remember when I did it because my friend and fellow musician/producer Randall C. Bradley from Delta Sound Studios came over and before we could even really greet each other I had to stop and say “hold on I have to record this idea before I forget.” It kinda had an Aerosmith vibe to me when I put it all together in the demo process for the record. Like 90’s Aerosmith. I dunno. I guess really the 90’s are smeared all over this album. Another temporal distortion. And then from the bridge on it goes all ETID. The “sex organs of the machine world” line at the beginning of the song is a Marshall McLuhan quote. The bridge vocals “Politics is war without bloodshed. War is politics with bloodshed,” I heard from Adolf Reed Jr. but I don’t know if he was quoting someone else.

I had the pleasure of working with Double Bear on this song - my Local Famous Records brethren. The gang vocals in the song are myself, Michael Garcia, Brandon Tyner, Garrett Bond, Matt Bardwell, Glenn Wallace, and Dale Brunson and we’re having a lot of fun, if you can’t tell. It makes me happy that we got to work together on this project and I imagine there will be more collabs down the road.

Track 5 is We Make the Past.

This song is essentially a Bush song, or was when I wrote it. Very Pixies influenced. Dale’s production took this a lot further than I imagined in the best way possible. I also showed up to the studio thinking my lyrics were finished but realized I was missing a second verse. The demo version was just like a minute and a half and I extrapolated the rest and got it wrong. Once that started I essentially re-wrote all the lyrics on the spot. The lyrics are meant to be scattered and random, like Gavin Rossdales’, though they come from a book by the late Hatian anthropologist and historian Michel-Rolp Trouillot. Bush was one of my favorite bands growing up in the mid-late 90’s and early oughts. I’ve always liked their raw energy and lyrical strangeness. (The same could be said for my love of The Mars Volta.) So this was my homage to Gavin, Nigel, Dave and Robin and shitty guitar playing. Also, I pronounced “His-tor-icity” wrong. I said histori-ocity and I don’t know why I didn't notice it until really late in the process. Same with “commodozation” instead of “commoditization” Oh well. Making up words is fun too.

Track 6 is Serve-Us Industry. This song was fun. It originally was going to be a new Huffer song. I had the pleasure of being a part of Huffer from 2015-2018 with Chea Cueavas and Jeremy Nelson, and we were working on a new album in 2017. Between Chea and myself we had about 10-13 ideas kicking around. This was one of the ones I had thrown out there. To me it had a Foo Fighters vibe, which makes sense because Chea and I were also playing in The Foo, our Foo Fighters cover band, a lot around that time. I just thought it would be fun to sing about all the mistakes that happen while working in the service industry and having to deal with customers. These lyrics made me laugh and sometimes that’s all you can do.

Track 7 is an interlude titled Employer vs Employee. This is a clip of David Griscom from the Michael Brooks Show episode 145 - Police & the ANC & We Need a Liberation Theology ft. William Shoki & Ronan Burtenshaw recorded on June 23, 2020. I really enjoy David and even though at the time of recording he has been living in Brooklyn for several years he has never forgotten Texas. His insight on economic issues and worker’s rights is immensely important. The underlying music on this track is just myself playing bass and guitar. A bass riff I had laying around for almost a decade.

The Michael Brooks Show has greatly impacted and influenced my life since I became a Patron in Dec of 2019. I wanted to take what was I learning from Michael, David and Matt and their guests and put it into music. Since Michael’s passing in July 2020, David and Matt Lech have gone on to create their own show Left Reckoning. Check them out for leftist theory and international news and analysis regarding the global left. As Americans, we all need a lot more international and historical perspectives.

Track 8 is titled Class Struggle.

This song was influenced by Silverchair's 1997 and 1999 albums Freakshow and Neon Ballroom. At least that’s kinda what I was going for tonally. The quote being shouted by Karl Marx from his Communist Manifesto, with a slight edit. In hindsight I probably should have use “their” instead of “his or her,” but it was an effort to use more inclusive language. I feel like most people hearing this will know that that was Marx, but if you don’t now you do. This track was originally written and proposed to Huffer as an idea in July 2017 but didn’t make it further than that. Dale plays the double stops in the middle of the song.

I suppose I should take this moment to say that this album is my first lyrical endeavor. I have written personal things in the past but never anything for any of the various bands and projects that I have been a part of, save one short lived hip-hop project back in 2010 I did with Aaron Anderson which was never released. So any idea that I “proposed” to any previous band was just music not lyrics. When trying to decide what to write lyrics about it became clear to me that politics and history was what I felt I needed to talk about. As a History teacher, and someone who studied history at the graduate level, I understand that not everyone learns history by reading historical monographs--but rather through pop-culture. So this is my contribution to pop-culture and I hope some people do learn some things by listening to this. And perhaps, then inspired to do some of their own research.

Track 9 is the Stoop Romans interlude.

These are 2 clips from two different performances of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. The first is from the 1970 film and the second, I believe, is from the 1953 production. I got them from youtube and you ideally, got this for free, so hopefully no harm no foul. The piano is a repetition of the piano at the beginning of the album. And these clips, to me, summed up the sentiment of many in America in 2020.

That is another thing I want to take a moment to say. The creation of this record and the method of its release is a statement. I do not want to profit from this. That is not why I made it. I made it for the message and I want this message spread as much as possible and the best way to do that is to make it free. So it was a labor of love and I tried to reject the capitalistic game of “the hustle” that most musicians, and artists, are forced to play with their creations as much as possible. It is my gift to you and example that things can be done differently.

Track 10 is Imperialism get Fucking Bent.

Soooo I was reading a lot of Noam Chomsky at the time, what can I say. If you don’t know who that is look him up. He is an important intellectual whose perspectives on recent American history and economics are invaluable. This song was heavily influenced by ETID, though a lot more simple, and was written on the guitar in 2018.

Initially, when I began writing lyrics I wrote stuff about Magic the Gathering, of which I am an avid Commander player, at least before the pandemic. But the tone of the song didn’t match the lyrics so I scrapped them and started over. The clip in the middle of the song I got from the Congressional Dish Podcast hosted by Jen Briney, of who I am a Patron. She got it from the Senate Hearing: United States Strategy in Afghanistan, United States Senate Armed Services Committee, February 11, 2020. The two men speaking are Sen. Angus King (Maine) and Jack Keane: Chairman of the Institute for The Study of War who was appointed by John McCain when he was Chairman to the Congressional Committee on the National Defense Strategy.

If you want to know what congress is up to, which you should, then you should listen to that podcast, it is invaluable. The point of the clip is to demonstrate that these men acknowledge that we will be at war “indefinitely.” They said the quiet part out loud in an untelevised hearing of which at the end of they say essentially “let's not discuss this again publicly.” I’m not a journalist but this is me trying to do my part of getting this information out there. We, the American People, shouldn’t want “preventative war,” eternal war. IMO we should want no war unless all other options have been exhausted. Take those trillions of dollars of our money and give it back to us in the form of Medicare for All, a Green New Deal and free college. Then there will be plenty of money left over to rebuild our infrastructure and provide Universal Basic Income. I believe a healthy and educated populus is crucial to a democracy. We need that in America, desperately. And it would be a lot easier to pay for all of that if we weren’t in Somalia, Yemen, Libya, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan. And that is just for drone strikes. The U.S. military currently operates in 40% of the world’s nations including most of Africa and Central Asia. Check out the Smithsonian Magazine website for info on this. And read Chomsky. Book Recommendations are at the end.

Track 11 is Ka’s Dance. This is a straight up Stephen King love song. He wrote all the words and it’s the 2nd, 5th, and 8th stanzas from Song of Susannah, the 6th book in the Dark Tower series. The clip is from the audiobook narrated by George Guidall (gwidell). This song was another one that was influenced by ETID. Energetically, it reminds me of Jefferson Colby--the band I was in with Matt and Danny Mabe from 2010-2013. Those two have absolutely influenced the way I play and view music, as well as their father Mark Mabe-who taught me how to play bass. Anyway, that is a story for another day, I hope to collaborate with them again in the future. The clip at the end is Captain Janeway and Chekote from Star Trek Voyager.

Track 12 is You Opened My Eyes. I had the honor and the privilege of working with 3 amazing artists on this song: Tornup, Chill, and Canyon Kafer. Christopher Hill, AKA Chill, and I have known each other for years via Dale Brunson and we briefly worked together on a collaborative musician lottery competition thing titled DIG back in 2017 that never happened. I have always wanted to record with him and had a lot of fun doing so. He is one of the best drummers I know and his pocket gave this song the life it needed. Torry Finley AKA Tornup and I met on the streets this past summer of 2020 during the protests and I heard him speak at the public speaking event we held at Trinity Park-- and he moved me. Eventually, we started talking music and I found out he is a fellow musician and bass player as well, I thought “I definitely want to collaborate with this dude.” Fortunately, this opportunity presented itself and, as I am sure you can tell, this song wouldn’t be what it is without him. He performed the first verse. Canyon performed the sick bass solo before the final chorus and I am truly humbled and grateful to have all of these guys on this album.

Track 13 is Fight the Hegemony. This is by far the heaviest track on the album and I essentially shout out some of my influences in the lyrics. Thrice, Glassjaw, and The Used, Dream Theater, Cohoeed and Cambria and other early-mid 2000’s bands still have a big influence on me. My friend and colleague Chris Musso performed the drums on this track. Chris and I played together in Silverlode in 2004 and in The Raven Charter from 2005-2008. We still play together in the aforementioned Sweetmeat, with Dale, and I am super happy to get another opportunity to collaborate together again. As I mentioned earlier, I volunteered and canvassed for Bernie Sanders during the Democratic Primaries in 2020 and the lyrics in this song were inspired by his movement. Now that I am writing these Liner Notes in early 2021 I want to take a moment to reiterate and clarify-- in the wake of the attempted insurrection on January 6th--this song is NOT aiming to inspire violence nor an overthrow of the system by using violence. It is crystal clear to me now how people can read into things and take what they will. These lyrics are about the Bernie Sanders movement. Period.

Track 14 is Simp for the System (Free Market Capitalism Love Song). This is another one of those songs that, musically, was originally written for Huffer, well the bass part anyway. Chea and Jeremy, both had written completely different stuff but I didn’t want to rip them off so I rewrote it and made it as emo as possible. Brand New, was the band I had in mind, circa Deja Entendu. The lyrics are a joke. I was laughing out loud when I wrote them. I had considered just making it instrumental because for the longest time I couldn’t think of any lyrics to go with it. I didn’t want to do “real” emo but I couldn't think of anything else. Then I was like “ well, often these emo songs were about a girl. What if the girl wasn’t a girl but a system that people simp for all the time?” Ta-da. It was actually Dale who suggested the “Hey girl…” rant in the bridge and I think he was onto something. I hope you thought it was as funny as I did.

Track 15 is Cold War Nostalgia. This song is the oldest one on the record and has gone through the most changes- creating nostalgia for me on multiple levels. I wrote the original version in 2009 for my band Housefire. That version was more upbeat and the main verse riff was a dotted 8th note delay melody...very 2009… and Housefire broke up before it was properly recorded. I really liked the song and re-worked it several times on my own over 7 or 8 years until Huffer began working on our new record. I rewrote the track again to be more “Huffer'' sounding by making the bass carry the melody in the verses rather than the guitar. I also slowed it down quite a bit and went for a more rough sound (thinking Refused-esque) rather than polished, uber-compressed late 2000’s scene music. Chea and Jeremy weren’t that into it, and honestly even with the changes it didn’t sound like Huffer so we dropped it. Then, I picked it up again when I started working on this record and tried to put some words to it, and it has now become this sprawling lengthy piece. The original version was a tad over the 3 minute mark and it is now close to 7.

Lyrics were difficult at first. But because the song, for me, was oozing with nostalgia it seemed like a good topic to start with. I had written a paper in my final semester of Grad school in 2018 for a transnational history class about the Cold War- my area of study for my history degree. That paper is my proudest academic achievement to date, titled “National Narratives in Post Cold War America and the Former U.S.S.R.'' and was about the stories we tell ourselves. The ones we tell ourselves at the interpersonal level and the ones our culture, society and leaders tell us at the macro level--and how the totalitarian can affect those stories. This looked at Nostalgia of the Cold War and how that nostalgia is different for the US and the former Soviet states. All the lyrics from this song are taken from that paper- particularly from certain quotes that I quoted throughout. The first verse, starting with “Nostalgia then…” is either Olga Shevchnko or Maya Nadkarni (both are cited) in 2013 from Kevin Platt’s article “Russian Empire of Post-Socialist Nostalgia and Soviet Retro at the New Wave Competition” published in the Russian Review issue 72 no 3. The second verses’ “Does human nature undergo a true change in the cauldron of totalitarian violence?” is from a book titled “Life and Fate” by Vassilli Grossman-- an epic novel about Stalin written in 1960 from someone who lived under him. The only reason it was published was because a friend of Grossman smuggled a copy out of the USSR into the west. One of the few published examples from that period of people questioning the totalitarian state from the inside.

I encourage anyone interested in the full paper to read it, it can be found on my Tumblr blog- Sosations Transmissions.

Now, you may notice that there is phenomenal guitar playing on this track. That is the work of my very good friend Glenn Wallace. Glenn is one of the best guitarists I know. He and I met back in 2004 via Daniel Baskind, Erik Stolpe and Chris Musso from Silverlode and The Raven Charter. The only time we have had the pleasure of playing, or sharing the stage together was in Housefire, so I was thrilled when he agreed to do this song. Glenn was our 3rd and final lead guitarist in the band before we broke up, (following Eddie Delgado and Dusty Brooks). There actually is a video on youtube of one show we played at The Boiler Room in Denton from mid-late 2009. Getting him on this track was something that I had been thinking about for a while but the opportunity finally arose when Glenn, Dale and myself, along with the Double Bear guys: Michael Garcia, Brandon Tyner, Garrett Bond and Matt Bardwell, as well as Erik Stolpe and the resourceful Tanner Hux, decided to start our own record label: Local Famous Records. Now that this relationship has solidified you can expect much more collaboration from all of us as well as more records like this one. Starting a record label with friends has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life and I highly recommend that you try it.

Track 16 is “Be ruthless with institutions, be kind to each other” - is the final track on the album and is a brief quote from the late Michael Brooks from his talk at Harvard University titled: “Michael Brooks MLK Jr. and Love and Power | Class Warfare | Harvard” from the Harvard College YDSA youtube page, recorded on Feb 1st. 2020. I had written a blog about Michael’s passing and how important he was to me personally and to the progressive movement in America today and in the world , and it can be read at the aforementioned Tumblr. I had set this clip aside to put on this record back in May or June of 2020 but after Michael’s passing in July it became clear to me that I would close the record with this sentiment. “Be ruthless with institutions, be kind to each other” is an affirmation I will carry with me for the rest of my life and I will proselytize this message wherever I go. Humans over entities. Always. “The struggle for justice is an ongoing and necessary pursuit that should prevail over all laws and institutions.” As far as the music for this track, it was just me pulling something out of my ass to go under the quote and I did it in one take, on an untuned shitty acoustic (for those familiar, the one from high school and college with the Albino squirrel sticker on it.) I recorded the guitar without any accompaniment into a handheld recording device and just got really lucky that it was an appropriate length. I was going for a Dashboard Confessional vibe and I think I got it.

So that is Volume is Power. Thank you to everyone who helped me create this thing and to those who supported me along the way. I am forever grateful.

Thank you to my wife, Amber, for without her this would not be possible. You are my superhero-bird-watcher, my anchor, my guiding light, my soulmate. Thank you for inspiring me to dare bravely.

Thank you to my parents for allowing me to follow my dreams and drop out of college to pursue a career in music. I know it didn’t make you happy at the time but you believed in me anyway. And thanks for not saying “I told you so” when I decided to go back to school 3 years later.

Thank you to my brother David for all the love and support over the years. For your artistic contribution on Daring Bravely. And for always having the courage to be you.

Thank you to Samantha, Lauren and Matt, for being so supportive all these years. I couldn’t ask for a better step-family.

Thank you to Dale for making this record happen, putting all the work into it that you did, and for putting up with my bullshit.

Thank you to every musician I have had the pleasure of playing with, on or off the stage.

Thank you to Aaron Anderson, Jason Dixon, Andrew Del Real and Anthony Davis for being the first band of dudes I got to do real shit with.

Thank you to the Silverlode/Solace Prime/ The Raven Charter guys: Daniel Baskind, Erik Stolpe, Brandon and Garrett Bond, Brian Christie, Chris Musso, Stephen Thacker, and Brandon Bailey. You guys are my brothers.

Thank you to the guys in Dreams Like Fire, who I only had a brief stint with in 2007 but learned so much from: Alan Mabe, Dathan Martin, Ryan Moody, and Kyle Istook.

Thank you to the Mabe Family for treating me like family and for--literally--teaching me how to rock: Mark Mabe, Matt Mabe, Danny Mabe, Chris Mabe and the beloved Terri Mabe.

Thank you to Chea and Jeremy from Huffer for bringing me into your lives and music. I am so glad we got to do what we did.

Thank you to Neal Todnem and Justin Jordan for being awesome roommates and apart of memories that I will always cherish and for our Tsegull Tsunami.

Thank you to Ben Napier for being a good friend, and at times mentor, and for asking me to be your Bogus “Green Day” cover band. I appreciate our time together.

Thank you to Ansley Dougherty, Nick Wittwer and Scott White for making our rage Against the Machine cover band a real thing, even if only for 2 practices. And to Scott for being my headbang partner at our The Foo and the Kombucha Mushroom people shows. And for trusting me to record some of your demos.

Thank you to Randall Bradley for being such a good friend. I value our talks and our jams and always look forward to hearing that you are in town from Argentina. Your perspective is unique and important.

Thank you to Cody Lee and the 27’s for involving me in your record and to Jaryth Webber for being a badass academic colleague, a badass musician, and for introducing me to Congressional Dish.

Thank you to Ben C Jones for the opportunity to work together on your music.

Thank you to Daniel Kunda for the opportunity to be apart of what you’re creating and for, at times, letting me be your sensei. Your future is bright.

Thank you to Chill, Torry Finley and Canyon Kafer for taking You Opened My Eyes above and beyond where I possibly ever could have. I hope we can do it more in the future.

Thank you to all my Local Famous brothers: Dale, Garrett, Michael, Brandon, Glenn, Matt, Erik and Tanner, for believing in this thing with me and making it a reality.

Thank you to Collin Porter for being a good friend and letting me bounce creative and political ideas off you. I truly value our conversations.

Thank you to Ryan Smith for always being a good friend and for our jammy jams.

Thank you to the bands that invited any of my bands on the road with them over the years--you guys helped make my dreams a reality: Matt and Mike LoCoco, and Danny Borja from Transit Method in Austin; Nick Barton, Trey Landis, and Justin Huggins from Sleepwalking Home in Tulsa, and Johnny Hawkins, Mark Vollelunga, and Daniel Oliver from San Antonio’s Nothingmore. The memories I have from those shows and trips are truly priceless and I am thankful to have those experiences to look back on.

Thank you to Dr. Johnny Stein, Dr. Joyce Goldberg, Dr. Christopher Morris, Dr. Patryk Babiracki, and Dr. Andrew Milson at the University of Texas at Arlington for greatly influencing my historical knowledge and thought that has influenced the making of this record.

Thank you to all co-founders of The Justice Reform League: Amber, Christopher Rose, Rod Smith, and Michael Campbell. And to Thomas Moore from no Sleep till Justice. I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to start a nonprofit with and I look forward to our future.

Thank you to Michael Brooks, Hank and John Green, Dr. Cornel West, Slavoj Žižek, Dr. Kevin Dunn, Dr. Richard Wolff, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Fred Hampton, Rita Starpattern and Edward Snowden for being my exemplars, always daring bravely and inspiring me to do the same.

And thank YOU for taking the time to listen to the songs, and this Audio Liner Notes track. If you are unfamiliar with any of the influences I have mentioned over the course of this I encourage you to go listen. And if those bands resonate with you, find out who influenced them- you’ll find more awesome music, more temporal distortions, if you will. I hope you find some inspiration to create your own work, whatever that may be, and to put it out into the world.

Dare Bravely. Salut.

Anthony Sosa

12-6-2020

(Updated 2-6-2021)