#( threads ) catelyn stark.

[west1rosi]

He   is   to   be   her   husband.   What   a   strange   world.   Her   father   had   been   clear   that   she   could've   done   much   worse   in   a   marriage   and   while   not   said,   the   implication   was   that   perhaps   from   the   brothers,   Ned   Stark   was   more   suitable.   It   sounds   cruel   for   her   father   to   imply   such   a   thing,   especially   when   Brandon   had   died   in   such   a   horrible   way,   defending   his   sister   against   the   king   and   what   the   prince   had   done.   Catelyn   admits   she   had   only   met   him   once,   twice,   if   she   counted   seeing   him   from   afar.   She   is   glad   at   least,   that   while   Ned   shares   features   with   the   man,   that   they   don't   shadow   one   another.  

He   is   handsome   and   sullen,   long   features   and   expressive   eyes.   Quiet   too,   but   she   is   yet   to   determine   if   that's   a   characteristic   or   the   exploits   of   war.   "My   lord?"   Catelyn   asks   once   she   finds   him   at   their   godswood.   Riverrun's   own   tree   is   pale   and   a   mere   imitation   compared   to   what   she   believes   he   has   back   on   the   North.   She   is   sure   they   will   not   even   be   wed   in   the   Old   Gods   faith,   and   while   she   is   thankful   for   it,   she   understands   that   he   would   prefer   otherwise   (   if   he   survives,   she   will   present   the   idea   to   be   wed   again   in   Winterfell,   surely   he   would   like   that,   and   be   endeared   to   her   ).

  "I   know   you   are   to   ride   after   the   wedding,   so   I   sew   you   this   coat.   It's   not   winter   but   this   will   do   good   for   the   nights."   She   had   to   do   it   in   a   haste   but   hopefully,   he   will   like   it.   Tully   blues   stare   back   as   she   offers   a   gentle   smile,   all   too   polite   and   then   extend   her   arms,   holding   the   coat   with   his   house's   sigil   as   a   detail   in   metal. @dcviline ft. ned.

[vaeycllas]

princess vaeyella targaryen had lived for a good nineteen years with little to vex her. her father , the mad dragon , had thrown the realm into strife , and @rhaegxr had as well in some people's opinion after the council at harrenhall and successfully dethroning the mad king aerys and naming himself king of the seven kingdoms , defender of the realm. vaeyella , while the dethroning and death of her father was a stressful time for the targaryen family , had found more joy in the time that her brother was king than in the last five years of her father's life.

while the realm still struggled to adjust , rhaegar had seemed to usher in an era of peace amongst the regions and even in king's landing. months had passed with this presumption staying steadfast in vaeyella's mind , but something had seemed to trouble her these past few days. rumors. now , vaeyella heeded the words of her mother , lady rhaella , well for most years , but she could not help but stop and think of this when she heard the ladies of the court speak of 'the most desirable suitors for the princess was that of the starks in the north.' while others said that king rhaegar would 'have better luck looking south to the princes of dorne , doran or oberyn'

"brother..." vaeyella would start as she entered one of the many libraries in the red keep. "may i ask you a question?" she would start , her shoes making soft clicks onto the stone floors. the little dragon did not wait for an answer from her king ( an almost prisonable offense for most others ) before she started up again , lilac eyes looking over the many books on one of the shelves. "why have i heard rumors that i am to be sent off to another region of the westeros for a marriage alliance?"

[sesikudadaryti]

"Rickon! Where in Seven Hells is that boy?" It seemed like with all these children running around, she was losing her mind with keeping track of each one. Thank the Gods for her oldest Robb, once he was able to help with his younger siblings he was all too eager to do so, for the most part. As she walked through the courtyard, she stopped short when a certain Direwolf came running through her path, causing her to look to the direction he had come, looking for her son who she knew would be close behind. @aforgottenpride.

[ofhumanvoice-a]

Only. Cat.

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[chemtrailsoverthesun]

A thread of parallels between Elia Martell and Sansa Stark:

1. Elia is the older sister to Oberyn. Sansa is the eldest stark sister.

Art by Melrosing

2. They are both described as gentle.

"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit.” - Daenerys

“Was there ever a wedding less joyful? she wondered until she remembered her poor Sansa and her marriage to the Imp. Mother take mercy on her. She has a gentle soul.” - Catelyn

Art by elvishness & vesubia-jugorum

3. Both were excited to leave their home.

"Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel.” - Tyrion

“She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell… off to see the great wide world.” - Sansa

Art by the-lady-rae

4. Both were betrothed to the crown prince.

“Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell” - TWOIAF

“She had to wed Joffrey, they were betrothed, he was promised to her, she had even dreamed about it.” - Sansa

Art by amaati

5. Elia and Sansa were both held as hostages by Mad kings.

“The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad.” - Jaime

“They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her." - Catelyn

6. Cersei blames them both for taking someone from her- Rhaegar and Joffrey.

“It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest.” -Cersei

"I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf…She helped murder my son.” - Cersei

7. Elia and Sansa witnessed the death of a family member in front of them, both pleaded for their loved one to be spared.

“Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes.” - Daenerys

“Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." - Arya

8. Both were romantics.

“A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him.” - Tyrion

“I love him, Father, I truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian.” - Sansa

Art by the-lady-rae

9. Victims of the Lannisters.

“Some said it had been Gregor who'd dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword.” - Tyrion

“When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." - Sansa

Art by amaati

Conclusion: Both deserved better

Art by Elia illustration

[countrymusiclover]

19 - Three Very Important Words

Part 20

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila

Spinning around on my feet throwing my hair over my shoulders I eyed my husband seeing his hands clenched at his sides. “Robb, please don’t be angry with me over speaking to Walder Frey without telling you I was going to in the first place.” 

“Oh I have every right to be angry with you.  We’re supposed to be a team, Haelesa.” 

I parted my lips, releasing a breath. “We are still a team, Robb.” 

“It didn’t appear that we were out there in front of Walder Frey and his household.  It looked like we had completely different plans in mind and didn’t communicate that to one another.” He threw his hands away from his sides in frustration. 

“I’ll take full responsibility for the miscommunication.  With that said, may I tell you of my plan that I wanted to propose to him?” 

Robb gestures with his right hand. “Continue, my lady.” 

“Robb, those girls all deserve an escape from that man.  I mean he's old and has had four different wives over how many years.  I'm afraid if young wives of other houses stop sending their daughters to him, then he might start making babies with his own children.” 

Robb pointed out. “Like the Targaryen's did to keep their bloodline supposedly pure.” 

“Exactly.  I - I want to help then escape from him in some way.  I know that there can’t possibly be that many lords wanting to be married to the Freys but it would be a start and create the loyalty between your two houses once again.” 

Robb ran a hand over the growing beard on his chin, thinking in deep thoughts. “There’s a few sons of my bannermen who are not wed off just yet.  My uncle Edmure of House Tully has no wife either.” 

“My brother has borne some bastards but since you’re a King now you can make them into official members of our house.  Unless of course you aren’t truly open to this idea at all.” 

The young wolf glanced at me, closing most of the distance between us taking my hands in his larger ones. “Whatever you want to do, we shall do to the best of our abilities.  So he also has another daughter the age of nine and ten named Rosaline.  We could wed her to my uncle.” 

“That’s a good start.  For the other girls I think we should help find husbands for Merry, Freya, Marianne and then I can take little Shirei under my wing.  I was raised by someone who wasn’t my mother and I’m terrified to think of who will talk with her about her bleeding among other things.” 

Robb kissed my forehead once cupping my face in his gloved hands. “Your heart is one of the things I love about you.” 

“Did you just say you love me?” I drew my head back slightly with a curious look. 

Robb smiled down at me longingly. “Yes, I did.”

“Say it again, Stark.” 

He nuzzled his nose against mine with a cheeky grin spread across his face when he uttered the words a few more times. “I love you.  Do you hear me, I love you.  I will always love you, Haelesa.” 

“I think I love you too, Robb.” I grinned at him feeling overjoyed at this moment.  I knew if I told him now he wouldn’t let Jaime live another night so it was best to keep the secret from him and visit a Maester here before we left.  If I don’t know who the father could be after that the Moon Tea was my only option left that I had in my back pocket. “Robb, there’s something you should know along with me loving you.  I think I am pregnant with Jaime’s-“ 

Robb connected my lips with his wrapping one arm around my waist bringing me in as close as possible.  Wrapping my arms around his neck I deepened the already heated kiss.  He threaded his other hand into my silver locks of hair that cascaded down my back and we would have remained that way if it wasn’t for someone knocking on the closed door peeking their head inside revealing none other than his mother Catelyn. “Robb, Lord Frey is getting tired of waiting for your girl to finish whatever her plan is for his daughters and granddaughters.  What would you wish me to tell him?” 

“Tell him we’ll be out in a minute to tell him our offer.  Thank you, mother.” He glanced over his shoulder responding to her. 

She nodded, closing the door when shen left. “Of course.” 

“On your lead, my king.” I extended my right hand to him waiting for him in return to which he looped his larger one with my small palm. 

“On our lead, my queen.  Now and always.” 

Together we exited the chamber room making our way into the throne seeing all eyes shift to us regardless of Lord Frey being the one to speak first and break the uncomfortable silence that had surrounded us the second we had left moments ago. “So Lord Stark, what has your lady wife come up with for our two houses to become united once more?” 

“Lord Frey, we have come up with a solution.  We will choose some of your granddaughters to choose which of my unwed bannermen to try and form a connection with them.  But under no circumstances will we force them into an arranged marriage where they aren’t happy.” Robb explained to the elderly lord before our eyes. 

Lord Frey eyed his uncle Edmure. “I’ll agree to that on one condition. We shall join house Tully and house Frey through Edmure and my daughter Roslin who was supposed to marry you, young wolf.” 

“That can be done, my lord.  You have my word.” Robb bowed his head. 

Lord Frey clasped his hands together. “Then it’s settled then.” 

“We did it. Ahh!” I squealed caught off guard when my husband scooped me up into his muscular arms twirling me around in circles of laughter briefly sitting me back down on my feet. 

Robb put one hand on my hip and his other on my stomach grinning ear to ear. “Now all we need is a baby of our own.” 

“Actually there’s something I’ve been needing to tell you about.  I told you before that I gave my maidenhood to Jaime, that was true but there’s more to it.  Robb, I think I’m pregnant except it might not - urgh!” I grunted grabbing at my belly feeling serious pain with a liquid falling down in between my legs. 

Robb's face went flushed with fear. “Haelesa?” 

“What’s wrong with her, son?” Catelyn came over to where we stood. 

Chezney ran over where I grabbed her shoulder for balance until she bent down seeing something staining on the stone floor. “That can’t be too good.” 

“Is that blood?” I cried, feeling tears welling in my eyes. 

Robb shouted at the people in the room scooping me up into his arms where I winced feeling more pain spreading through my belly. “We need a Maester!” I was rushed into the nearest available room and empty bed with no clue of what was happening to me and my secret baby growing inside of me. 

[emilykaldwen]

OC-Core

Thank you for the wonderful tag phia! @huramuna the original thread was getting long so I made it here. You cand find the template HERE!

So this was actually really hard, I had EIGHT picked out and had to narrow it down. Tohru Honda - Fruits Basket Mary, Queen of Scotts - Reign Psycho - the myth of Eros and Psyche Catelyn Stark - A Song of Ice and Fire Sophie Hatter - Howl's Moving Castle Sansa Stark - A Song of Ice and Fire Honorable mentions: Juliet from Romeo and Juliet, Eurydice, and Silva from Girls Weekend.

tagging: @rainwingmarvel7, @queen--kenobi, @lya-dustin, @lullaebies, @theothermaidoftarth, @humanpurposes, @starcrossedjedis, and anyone else who'd like to!

[baubeautyandthegeek]

No damsel in distress, don't need to save me//Once I start breathing fire, you can't tame me – Catelyn Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen

A/N: Fic 3/42 for my 6x6 @julybreakbingo card with Alts.

Catelyn Stark, formerly Catelyn Tully, had come to her when her husband and children were killed. Hurt danced in her eyes even as she pledged her love to Rhaenys Targaryen. Her Queen, the Queen who never was but always would be for Catelyn.     Love as loyalty was rare, even now. Catelyn’s fear and need had bonded them close, especially when Corlys had died in Rhaenys’ place, leaving her to rule alone as she mourned her love. Now, though, she had Catelyn, whose gentle honest love was a balm she had never expected to find.     Danger would follow Catelyn, the woman tucked behind Rhaenys even as Meleys set the men aflame, a roaring anger that Rhaenys had never voiced came from Meleys instead. Once home Catelyn had followed Rhaenys in silence to their bedroom, curling close with a soft, contented sigh.     Rhaenys’ fingers thread through the copper-brown hair that falls loosely around Catelyn’s shoulders, her lips pressed to her hairline. It’s peace, she thinks, peace and loyalty, that allow her to love Catelyn so well.

[firebloodicee]

Starter Calls ; Memes ; Promo ; Wish List ; Head canons ;

Rules, Muses & Mains below ;

Rules ;

Please DO NOT rush me with replies. i am kind of slow with replies from time to time. i try to get better with that buttttt. xD

2. Note that this is not my only blog so i may not be on here everyday.

3. i will NOT be writing with anyone who isn't of age. so please if you are under age DNI please & thank you.

4. this blog WILL have NSFW themes on here & yes i do write NSFW threads.

5. i am a shipping whore, 9/10 i'm gonna like the same ship as you.

6. ALL muses will be written as Bi.

7. my messages is always open so if y'all have any questions please send me a message. <3

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

House of the Dragon Muses ;

Alysanne Targaryen FC ; Scarlett Johansson

Rhaenyra Targaryen FC ; Emma D'Arcy { Show-based }

Daemon Targaryen FC ; Matt Smith { Show-based }

Aemond Targaryen FC ; Ewan Mitchell {Mostly book based }

Alicent Hightower FC ; Olivia Cooke { Show -based }

Helaena Targaryen FC ; Phia Saban { Show mixed with book-based }

Aegon Targaryen FC ; Tom Glynn-Carney { Show -based }

Jacaerys Velaryon FC ; Harry Collett { Headcanon-based & some pulls from the show }

Saera Targaryen FC ; Jodie Comer { Headcanon & book based }

--

Game of Thrones Muses ;

Sansa Stark FC ; Sophie Turner { Show, book & headcanon mix }

Cersei Lannister FC ; Lena Headey { Show & book mix }

Tyrion Lannister FC ; Peter Dinklage { Show-based }

Jamie Lannister FC ; Nikolaj Coster { Show-based }

Daenerys Targaryen FC ; Emilia Clarke { Show up till season 5 then headcanon }

Sandor { The Hound } FC ; Roy McCann { Show-based }

Joffrey Baratheon FC ; Jack Gleeson { Show-based }

Margaery Tyrell FC ; Natalie Dormer { Show-based }

Oberyn Martell FC ; Pedro Pascal { Show-based }

Lyanna Stark FC ; Katie McGrath { Book-based mixed with headcanon }

Joanna Lannister FC ; Lucy Lawless { headcanon }

Jon Snow FC ; Kit Harington { Show-based up till season 5 then headcanon }

Theon Greyjoy FC ; Alfie Allen { Show & headcanon mix }

Viserys Targaryen iii FC ; Harry Lloyd { Show-based }

Ramsay Bolton FC ; Iwan Rheon { Show-based }

------

Testing Muses ;

Petyr Baelish FC ; Aidan Gillen

Catelyn Stark FC ; Michelle Fairley

Myrcella Baratheon FC ; Nell Tiger Free

Dragons ; Drogon, Syrax, Caraxes, Seasmoke, Vhagar, Dreamfyre, Sunfyre & Silverwing

Direwolfs ; Lady, Ghost & Nymeria 

Ser Criston Cole FC ; Fabien Frankel

-------

OC Muses ;

Valkyrie Targaryen { Daenerys & Jon's daughter } FC ; Katheryn Winnick

Eddard Targaryen { Ned } { Sansa & Jon's son } FC ; Jonathan Rhys Meyers

Alyssa Targaryen { Sansa & Jon's daughter } { twin to Eddard Targaryen } FC ; Tamzin Merchant

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

MAINS ;

Daemon Targaryen ;

Kyra Targaryen ; @amarvelousmencgerie

Cersei Lannister ;

Jaime Lannister ; @notdrifting

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Crimson Lady

Pairing(s): Sansa Stark x Bolton!Reader, Sansa Stark x Ramsay Bolton, Ramsay Bolton x Bolton!Reader

Warnings: dubious consent (please do not read this if you are sensitive to any of the warnings), implied r*p*, slight in*3st

Words: 2476

Summary:Sansa should have known better. Of course she'd be every part of a Bolton as her brother Ramsay was.

The young Lady Bolton was in many ways a lot like her father and brother. Her face was harsh, not to say it wasn’t any less lovely, but lovely in a cruel sort of way. Same ghostly pale eyes that were haunting yet oh so alluring. Sansa knew from whispers that (y/n) had been legitimized before her older brother Ramsay, something that Sansa thought would surely irk her new husband. This fact didn’t seem to bother Ramsay though. Actually, much to Sansa’s surprise, Ramsay adored his little sister even if she did get the honor of holding the house name Bolton rather than Snow as he did. Sansa had thought Ramsay incapable of such tender affection. He had certainly showed no kindness to her in such a way.

And (y/n)? Well, Sansa had learned well from Petyr Baelish not to trust anyone no matter how kind they outwardly appeared. How could she not trust her though? (y/n) was the only one to show her any kind of genuine warmth since arriving back to what she once called her home. And as much as Sansa wanted to hate the girl she couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault that her father had played a huge part in the murder of her mother and brother. (y/n) didn’t ask to be born a Bolton. In fact there was a time when it was just (y/n) and Sansa alone in the castle, Ramsay having gone off to hunt something or someone. Grudgingly Sansa had gone back to her hobby of needlework, so foreign to her now after all she had gone through. She wasn’t a little girl anymore and was out of practice. The two had gotten to talking of their history. Betrayals and heartaches that Sansa suffered in King’s Landing, (y/n)’s life before she became a legitimate daughter of Roose Bolton.

“I much preferred being a bastard.” (y/n) had confessed, pulling the needle with skilled fingers through the canvas. Already she had half of a red bird done.

Sansa remembers her own bastard brother that was now confined in the Brotherhood. “You didn’t feel ashamed?”

Her face scrunches up in indignation ad she sets her hoop on her lap, looking sternly at Sansa. Immediately Sansa regrets her question. “Shame for what? My father should be the one who’s ashamed. He’s the one who sired bastards and put a stain on his own name. Being legitimate has brought me no happiness. I was much more happier being a Snow. Back when it was just my brother and I.” As if stuck in her memory, her pale eyes shift to her hand that still held the needle and thread. “It was so much simpler back then. But Ramsay was never satisfied. Unlike me, he’s always wanted to have the name Bolton.”

The hound that was dozing at (y/n)’s feet let out a soft snore. It brought (y/n) back to the present and a bit embarrassed she returns to sewing.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa murmurs. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” A lot she had been taught about bastards was from her own mother. Bitter about having to raise another woman’s child, Catelyn Stark never cared for Jon Snow and would heavily criticize any bastard that came across her. She was bitter of what had happened between Ned and this unknown woman. Sansa felt shame for how she had treated Jon in their youth. She had taken too much of what her mother had said to heart. There was much truth in what (y/n) had said about not being any happier being a Bolton. Many times Sansa saw how solemn the young girl was if she were by herself. The only time she saw a spark of life on (y/n)’s face was when she was playing with her hounds and when she was with Ramsay.

She shrugs waving it off. “That’s alright. Many wouldn’t understand. I know there are a lot of bastards who would be happy to be legitimized. They live in poor circumstances. Not me though.” There’s a meloncholic quality to her tone. “I had everything I needed when I was a Snow.”

There was something about her sadness that Sansa found beautiful. Something in her raw emotions that captivated the Stark girl.

*

When you saw a bruise on Sansa’s cream skin, you knew what it was from. Knew who it was from. Anger flared up in you. You had left her in a quizzical state to go hunt down your brother. Of course you knew that Ramsay had to consummate his marriage with her. It was something you had to accept. She was a lovely girl and you didn’t blame him. What you did blame him for was harming her. You didn’t mind it when he got rough with you. The two of you enjoyed in rough intercourse. You reveled in your own bruises you got from fucking your brother. Loved how he completely dominated over you and made you his. But to do something like that to Sansa? Unforgivable. She didn’t ask for this. You knew it was rape. Ramsay knew it. Sansa knew it. And to make matters worse was that he was hurting her so much that he left signs of it on her beautiful skin. You couldn’t stop him from fucking her, it was expected from him; but you could at least stop him from doing it in such a painful way.

“Ramsay.”

Your voice, full of authority, had the other men around your brother jumping out of their skins. The clanging of metal stopped at your entrance into the training grounds. Now you knew you looked much like your father when you were angry as it made everyone uncomfortable to be in the same place as you.

Ramsay turns around, his smile full at the sight of you. “My sweet sister! Whatever is the matter?”

“I need to have a private word with you.”

“Surely it can wait. I’m in the middle of-”

You pull out a dagger from the sleeve of your dress, holding it by the blade tip, and throw it at your brother. It grazes his cheek and lands behind him in the hardwood wall of a neighboring stall. The men look aghast and even Ramsay loses his smile. No other person would dare do something like that to Ramsay, not if they valued their life at least.

“Now, brother.”

Ramsay clears his throat before following after you like a dog who had just been scold. People thought Ramsay was the cruel one. They had never seen your work.

You take him down to the dungeons of Winterfell, a place that had been hell for many and immediately you sense your brother’s hesitation.

“Come along brother.”

“Whatever this is about, (y/n), we can talk this through.” He refuses to take another step. “Or, did you have something more intimate in mind? Is it going to be that kind of session?” A lusty smirk twists his face.

You smile slyly. “Come with me and you’ll find out.”

One of two things could happen. The both of you knew this. Whenever Ramsay brought someone down here it was for torture. When you brought him down there it was for a mix of torture and pleasure.

Ramsay was willing to gamble on it. When he got close enough to you, you quickly sat him down in a chair and with lightning fast hands you tighten the restraints that were on the arms so that he couldn’t move. He was your’s now. Ramsay knew that by the looks of the concern finally flashing in his gaze to you.

He knew your switch had been turned on. You were in Bolton mode. Not sweet (y/n) Snow. No, that girl was dead for the moment.

“I saw bruises on Sansa’s beautiful skin. Skin that should never be damaged in such a barbaric manner unless she requests for it as I do.”

Your brother attempts to laugh it off. “Oh my darling sister. Are you jealous? You know I must produce an heir with-”

No one would’ve ever pictured your tiny hands capable of latching onto Ramsay’s jaw to snap it shut with such fury. “I’m not jealous. Do not interrupt me again or I’ll sew your mouth shut. What you are doing to her is not the same as between us. You are harming her against her will. I’ll sit quietly while you fuck her, but that is all you should be doing. Not hurting her in the process. Rut her and leave her be.” Your fingers tighten into the skin of his jaw. “If I find one more bruise on her-”

He hadn’t even been aware of where your other hand had been. It was pressing a knife dangerously to his crotch. “I’ll do to you what you did to Theon Greyjoy. Believe me, it’s the last thing I want to do since we both know how much I love your lower appendage. But I will protect that girl as much as possible. We’ve taken her home. Killed her family. And now you shame her more.” You back away and observe his face. “I at least won’t be a part of it.”

Ramsay’s breathing hard, eyes pinpoint with a mix of fear and arousal. Chest moving fast as he tries to collect himself. One emotion at a time. He would deal with fear first. “Very well, (y/n). I will treat her as a lady in the bed. But. . . can I still treat you as I do?”

“As long as I see you’re keeping your word.” You turn around and head back up the stairs.

“(y/n)! You’ve forgotten to untie me!”

“Figure it out yourself.” You call back.

*

Sansa didn’t know what was going on, but for the past couple of nights when Ramsay would visit her to consummate their union he wasn’t rough at all. In fact, he would just tell her to get naked and turn around. A few pumps later and he was done. No ramming into her mercilessly or anything of the sorts.

She was grateful of course, but confused as to why he would completely change.

Was it (y/n)? His sister had been very upset when she caught sight of her bruises. She had left in a fury and didn’t speak a word of it after that. Sansa couldn’t think of anything else. It had to be (y/n)’s doing.

That night Ramsay didn’t even visit her so Sansa had the night completely to herself without any fear of Ramsay dropping by.

How could they be so different? (y/n) was only a year younger than Ramsay; had the same mother and father. Everything yet she turned out so much more. . .

Sansa stopped in her embroidery, fingers in mid air holding onto her needle.

(y/n) was kind and lovely, sad and thoughtful; she was so many things.

It had been quite some time since she’d felt. . . attracted to someone. And it just so happened to be toward the same sex. The last time she had developed a crush was on Joffrey and gods did that go sour quickly. Was it her doom to be attracted to people that it would never work out with?

Oh but how (y/n) brightened her day up. Even she had admitted of the atrocities her father and brother have done and asked for Sansa’s forgiveness. (y/n) had nothing to apologize for on her behalf. If only the Bolton girl knew that without her Sansa would be in much worse shape than she was. (y/n) may not have been happy to be a Bolton, but Sansa was. She was glad that (y/n) was the person she was. That she was born into that family and met her. If she hadn’t been born a Bolton, Sansa would be all alone and suffering at Ramsay’s hands.

Normally Sansa never would have ventured out of her room at night. Even if Winterfell had once been her home, she couldn’t trust those who lurked there now. But she had to talk to (y/n) and ask her if it was truly her intervention that was stopping Ramsay from being brutal in their marital bed.

She feared being caught so she took no source of light and instead relied heavily on her memories of the castle to find her way to (y/n)’s chambers.

Outside of the door, before Sansa could even knock, she could already hear soft whimpers. Her hand stops, fingers curled as she was prepared to knock. It was still early in the night where not everyone was asleep. Still. . . It sounded like (y/n) was crying.

A lump developed in her throat. Should she intrude? Comfort her? How would she even go about comforting her? It had been a while since she ever gave comfort to anyone.

Unable to make up her mind there came another voice from the other side of the door. A muffled voice, but Sansa would know it from anywhere. Ice ran through her veins. Ramsay.

What was he doing to her?

Anger fueled Sansa to throw open the door. The sight that she met made her face grow deathly pale.

(y/n) was naked, bound by chains and blinded by silk over her eyes. Her body was arched so that her butt was sticking up in the air. There were vivid red streaks scattered from her back to her thighs, many were trickling with blood some were merely shallow welts. And there was Ramsay standing over her equally as stained with her blood. A whip in his hand and a crazed glint in his eyes. He too was naked, an erection prominent between his legs.

She was utterly speechless. Ramsay, however, was not.

“Ah dear wife, what are you doing up so late?”

(y/n)’s body freezes as her hands try desperately to get out of her binds to remove her blindfold. Ramsay drops his whip and rubs (y/n)’s cunt with his hand.

“Ssh, sweet sister. I’ll get back to you.”

“Wh. . .What are you doing to her?” Sansa didn’t know what else to say; what else to do. She felt freezing cold all of a sudden and the world around her seemed to distort unnaturally as Ramsay strides closer to her.

His grin scares her. Never before had it had an effect like that on her. Previously it had just annoyed her. But now. . . Now she didn’t know what to make of it.

Ramsay reaches the door, his hand on it prepared to close it. He leans forward enough so that his face is mere inches from Sansa’s. “I think you should go back to bed, wife.” Then he shuts the door leaving Sansa in the dark.

[strangedreamings]

HOTD S2E4 (spoilers abound)

Halfway point of S2. No turning back now, folks.

God, I love the tapestry sequence. Threads of fate soaked in blood.

Daemon's dreaming, again? I'd say it's nice to see Young Rhaenyra again but her presence means our boy is losing it. Mental illness gallops in this family, so I shouldn't be surprised. I love that the crown is too big on her, it's a great detail.

Oookay, Daemon cutting her head off is NOT what I expected but yeah, just another sign of him losing the coin toss. Her disembodied head chastising him is ... an interesting touch.

Why are his hands bloody if he was only dreaming?

It's sad that instead of the four Muppet Tullys, we just hear of one and see another. Somebody with this show has no sense of humor and it ain't GRRM. C'mon, give me Grover, Elmo, Kermit, and Oscar, not just Oscar. Let the fans have some fun in an episode that is going to be nothing but pain.

Daemon, your sense of humor is not endearing you to anyone at all.

I just checked, GRRM hasn't said exactly how the Muppet Tullys are related to Catelyn Stark and her siblings, but that's not surprising -- there are huge gaps in most of the Great Houses' family trees.

Dismissing Oscar like that definitely isn't going to make him want to fight for you, Daemon. Of course, Daemon wouldn't know diplomacy if it bit him on the ass. Who in the fuck thought this trip to Harrenhal would be a good idea? Oh yeah, it was him. :P

I get a little giddy when House Blackwood is mentioned. What can I say, my favorite ASOIAF character is Brynden "Bloodraven" Rivers, the bastard son of a Blackwood mother and a Targaryen father, and the great-grandson of Daemon and Rhaenyra.

Ooo, does Rhaenys suspect that Alyn is her husband's bastard? (She's right, of course.) But touching his face like that, very creepy.

She does know! Corlys' past has come back to haunt their marriage.

"draw us back from the abyss." Too bad it won't happen. But at least Rhaenys knows the war is going to be very bad for everyone. She's not blinded by glory, duty, or anything else.

The dragon statuette Alicent's holding looks like it was carved out of Styrofoam, like it doesn't weigh a thing. Yeah, it doesn't sound like stone when it falls and breaks either. Where did the budget for this show go?

An abortifacient? And Alicent's pretending it's NOT for her? I'm sure the Grand Maester saw right through that. At least this is sparing Westeros from an Alicent-Criston baby. Can you imagine the utter nightmare such a kid would be?

Your doubts are nice to see but they're far too late, Alicent.

This Team Black Small Council is full of old men with no brains whatsoever. They do have plenty of misogyny, though. *eyeroll* Feed them all to your dragon, Baela.

I don't remember what Ser Alfred's surname is so I can't look him up but I really fucking hate him. I'm glad Corlys was able to shut him up (temporarily). I want a woman (any woman) to best him then kill him, is that too much to ask?

So, for two episodes running, we've seen the immediate aftermath of battles but not the battles themselves. It's a cost-saving measure by HBO, I'm sure, but they can't keep this up narratively -- it'll get boring after a while. I had to look up this one, it's the sack of Duskendale.

"Whore of Dragonstone," huh? Well, Criston, you're the Whore of King's Landing. :P

His white cloak is filthy. No honor in that man whatsoever and his cloak absolutely shows that.

Gwayne's face is bloody. I'm surprised he actually fought. He seems to be the type to hang back and let other people do the fighting for him.

"You are not fit for the white cloak." Tell him! He never was.

"Yours will come in kind." Too bad the Butcher's Ball (probably) isn't until next season, I can't wait to see it.

Ooo, Criston is avoiding Harrenhal! He's showing brains for fucking once. (It won't last.)

Green Small Council and they're talking about Rook's Rest. The ticking of the clock is getting louder and louder. Also, Aemond really does like to pout pensively, doesn't he? I'd hate him for it but fuck, he's too pretty (fucking nuts but yes, too pretty).

Things are getting tense between the brothers and the rest of the council is uncomfortably caught in the middle. Squirm, fellas. You deserve it. Oh, and where's Alicent? Knowing this show, she's probably hemorrhaging somewhere from the abortifacient.

Is this the first time we've seen any of Alicent's kids speak High Valyrian? But it looks like Aemond is fluent and Aegon II is decidedly not. Now I want fanfics of Aemond being firstborn and Aegon being the youngest, just to see if he would've been a better king. Looks like Aegon II realizes his baby brother does have strengths of his own.

No hemorrhaging but it looks like Alicent is making her own medieval heating pad. Larys isn't stupid, Alicent. It's in his nature to notice EVERYTHING, including the bottle you left out in the open. Aemond really didn't get his brains from his mother, did he?

"covered himself in glory" There's a phrase I never thought I'd hear in this franchise.

Larys knows about Alicole, lovely.

Back to Harrenhal. Daemon is following Aemond but I can only assume he's dreaming again, there's no way Aemond got there that quickly. Plus, we haven't seen Aemond's face yet. Besides, this is way too soon for the Battle Above The Gods Eye. I knew it -- "Aemond" has Daemon's face. Yeah, Freud would've had a field day with this dream.

Alys again. My apologies to the actress but I really fucking hate her voice. Nails on a chalkboard. (It's not her accent, that's fine, it's her voice itself.)

Daemon, a woman you suspect of being a witch gives you something to drink and you fucking do it? You have no self-preservation instincts left, do you?

Ser Willem's cute but I'm pretty sure the show's writers made him up -- Benjicot Blackwood didn't have a regent and I can't find any mention of his father having a younger brother. Well, at least he'll be nice to watch while he lasts (which I'm sure won't be long).

Hi, Laena! Back from the dead to haunt Daemon's conscience, I see.

As much as I like the Blackwoods, they really need to let their feud with the Brackens die out. (They won't, of course.)

"I removed them, I didn't burn them." For some reason, I really like the way TGC delivered that line. Whatever you're doing after HOTD, Tom, I intend to see it.

Aegon, you're merely a figurehead now. Unfortunately for you (but fortunately for the realm), you don't have the brains to be anything more.

Wow, Alicent really doesn't think highly of him, does she? I don't know if that's for the best but it makes me feel sorry for Aegon, just a little. If his parents actually gave a damn about him while he was growing up, he wouldn't have turned out the way he did.

Is that Rook's Rest? Title cards would've helped so much. If a castle wasn't in GoT, I can't be expected to recognize it, okay?

"They will not expect it because it is fucking madness." I hate Gwayne but he's right and I can't help liking that line.

"Are you afraid, Ser?"

"Worse. I'm rational."

Yep, I like that line too. Why is Gwayne getting all the good lines? It's making me like him a little and I don't want to.

Jace, your attitude is unhelpful. Show a little more respect to your mother and monarch, especially around other people. I'm not for corporal punishment normally but if I were Rhaenyra, I'd slap you.

Ugh, Rhaenyra's little trip has cost her what little respect she had from her small council.

Jace is a little too eager to use the nukes, isn't he? Kid, you'll never be a good king if you're this trigger happy. Rhaenyra wants to go, Jace wants to go. She undermines him in front of everyone. Good! Serves him right.

Rhaenys offers to go. Yeah, we knew this was coming.

Sorry but Jace is a brat. He's not ready to rule. He's not even ready to be the heir. He's too much of a hothead.

Ugh, the ASOIAF talk. Making this prophecy part of House Targaryen's legacy was a dumb idea.

Sunfyre nudging Aegon in the shoulder like he's a horse is just too cute. This'll be the last cute moment of the series, I'm sure.

Vhagar looks like she just wants to take a nap. Too bad Aemond didn't let her.

Aemond commands Vhagar in Valyrian, Aegon commands Sunfyre in English (sorry, Common Tongue). That says a lot about both of them.

Cole didn't want Aegon on the battlefield but he's not losing a chance to spin this to their advantage. Soldiers always fight harder when their leader is fighting with them.

Meleys vs Sunfyre. Poor Sunfyre is getting torn apart. (What can I say, the animals are innocent in this war.) He's bleeding out.

Vhagar really shouldn't be able to fly with that many holes in her wings.

Oh shit, is Aemond TRYING to kill his brother or is Aegon just in the way?

Poor Sunfyre's screeching sounds a lot like a bird (or a pterodactyl).

Rhaenys, you could've retreated and lived to fight another day.

Fuck this family, the Targaryen stubborn streak will get them all killed.

A seatbelt?! Do you really think that's going to save you against another fucking DRAGON?!

Holy fuck, the size difference between Meleys and Vhagar is ridiculous.

Cole got knocked off his horse while he was trying to get to Aegon. Too bad it didn't kill him.

I could've done without that jump scare, Ryan. :P

Not exactly how Rhaenys died in the book but honestly, I think I like this version better. She looked resigned to her fate as she was falling.

I think Cole might have a punctured lung. Or maybe that was just the sound of him trying to breathe on a battlefield full of smoke. I'm pretty sure he's got a concussion, but then he doesn't have much of a brain to injure. :P

Cole, you're on foot and you passed a horse just standing there. If you're not up for riding, at least bring the damn horse with you.

Aemond looking like he's about to do some more kinslaying, lovely.

A dying Sunfyre and an unmoving Aegon, lovely.

Aemond really has the devil's own luck. Too bad it runs out (next season).

Hey, writers, you spared Ser Harrold Westerling from his book fate, when are you actually going to use him again?

[ofhumanvoice-a]

@thelordslight​ liked for a cat starter

“Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood.”

[ofprevioustimes]

[ @ofimaginarybeings​ ]

When their horses crossed the gates of Winterfell, Catelyn sighed with relief.

The journey had been long and perilous. Every ear at the Crossroads Inn had heard her say that she would take him to Lysa in the Vale, but as soon as they’d departed she’d taken a turn north instead of east. It had been a rash decision to take the queen’s brother captive, but the chance might never come again. The endless weeks of riding through small villages and back roads had given her enough time to contemplate what she had done, but Cat could not bring herself to regret it. What they did to Bran had been too heinous, too unspeakable to overlook. But then she thought of Ned in King’s Landing, and Sansa and Arya and what this would mean for them, and her heart shrunk with a faint and cynical hope that Robert would still be relied upon as a friend. 

At her arrival, Catelyn had confined her prisoner to a secluded chamber in the ruins of the Broken Tower. Two of her most trusted guards secured the room. The Imp was far too clever for his own good: she’d rather have him confined and away from the others, lest he might find an ear susceptible to his bribes.

They’d reached Winterfell by morning, and only by night did she visit her captive. 

She’d enjoyed a sweet homecoming at the sight of Brandon alive and healthy, albeit forever broken, Rickon as tender and needy as ever… Tyrion Lannister all but forgotten in his cold and empty cell. Catelyn had bathed in warm waters and fed with warm food. She’d kissed her children, discussed the latest news that crossed the air beneath the wings of birds and the potential outcomes of holding a Lannister prisoner with Maester Luwin. The meal she sent to Lannister wasn’t sumptuous, but she refrained from sending something worse out of spite. The wine, however, was one of the best from the cellar. She wanted him drunk and loose, more inclined to let some hints of truth slip through the lies he was bound to tell her.

Catelyn entered the chamber about an hour after the food and drinks were sent to him. The room was cold, dusty and grim, providing little comfort from the tiresome journey they’d taken. Cat lowered her hood, her stare as hard as iron as they landed on the little man. Just looking at him filled her heart with anger: he was a walking, talking reminder of the two assassination attempts against her son. The scars in her hand tingled with the memory of Valyrian steel against her flesh. 

Gulping down her anger, Catelyn addressed him with a tense voice: “Imp”, she said, full of spite. “I’ve come to hear your confession to your crimes. Do it now, and the punishment shall be lighter than if you make us force the truth out of you.”

[indigoraysoflight]

14 or 28 for Ned and catelyn whichever you prefer. Thank you.

Hey nonny! Here you go ♥️

14. Airplane

Thundering heartbeat pounded through the silence. Beads of sweat soaked through the cotton shirt. Seatbelt taut around the waist. The plane started whirring, groaning, buzzing louder and louder—

"Do you want to hold my hand?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure-"

"-yes"

"But-"

"-no."

The plane jerked forward.

Ned clutched Catelyn's hand tightly, breathed in sharply, and pressed back in his seat.

His shame hit him in full force a moment later but he didn't let go as the noise of the plane filled the space and blocked his ears.

It's fine. I'm fine. It's fine.

It's bad enough that he'd been forced to stay in the godsforsaken muggy heat of Riverrun for a week to deal with the Tullys when he could've spent that time with Jory, Lya and Ben up north in the crisp, cold Winterfell summer – but enduring two long flights in on top of that? That was pure torture. Thanks to his dumbass brother who decided to get too flirty with the oldest Tully daughter in front of her father.

The staunchly religious Hoster Tully flat out refused to host Brandon while his daughters were still under his roof "no matter how lucrative their business alliance was". So their father had sent him – the only bad flyer in the family – to Riverrun to secure the business deal by any means possible.

So the ever protective Hoster Tully had saddled Ned with the duty of safely escorting the oldest Tully girl back to Winter Town where she was finishing her PhD at WinterU. Their acquaintance had zigzagged between witty comebacks and polite conversations about the weather – both kept each other at arms length, humoured each other for their parents sake and neither tried to hide it.

Aaaand now Ned broke that unspoken pact and embarrassed himself by clutching her hand like a terrified little boy watching "the exorcist" for the first time. But for the life of him he couldn't let go as long as the plane kept getting faster and making those loud noises. He was going to punch Brandon when he got home.

I'm a Stark, damn it, I'm not afraid of this plane taking off and immediately crashing into the ground and exploding. Ned took another deep breath. In his periphery, Catelyn bit her lip to curb her smile.

"Shut up."

But it just made her laugh. Catelyn turned to him now with impossibly blue eyes, auburn curls escaping her twisted bun, and the flush in her cheeks spreading down to her collarbones. She placed her other hand on top of his.

"Close your eyes and hold on to me – it'll be over soon. My mother was a bad flyer too." Her voice barely audible over the sound of the plane lifting off.

Ned let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing only on the warmth of her hands around his own. Idly thinking about how slender and small her hands seemed compared to his. Then suddenly the noises stopped, they were up in the air and he opened his eyes.

The sun was bright and warm through the window. He turned to her to thank her but his words crumbled on his lips.

The sunlight threaded through her hair and tangled into the curls and set them alight. Tendrils of auburn kissed by fire curled around her face. The light bounced off the blue pools of her eyes. The flush in her cheek deepened.

"See? All good. You'll be home in no time." Catelyn gave him a reassuring smile.

"Yeah. Home." That was all he could manage.

Ned's heartbeat calmed down. The beads of sweat dried on his shirt. The sounds of the plane faded in the background. The seatbelt light blinked off. He no longer felt afraid. His hand still clasped with Catelyn's.

But he didn't let go and neither did she.