#I kept waiting to see if jon was alive

[thehauntingofharrenhouse]

oh also last night I dreamt twow came out and it was exclusively new pov characters from affc/adwd

[axelsagewrites]

Hii, I had a request...Robb and Jon having a crush on the same girl, maybe she could be the Bannerman daughter or something, just lots of teasing and rivalry and angst :)

Robb Stark and Jon Snow*Share

Pairing: Jon x f!reader, Robb x f!reader

Platonic: Sansa x reader

Word count: 3975

This is part one. Part two will be the smut.... (this was just too long to make into one part)

Masterlist Here

A/N: This is set with Sansa as being 15 and Robb, Jon, and the reader being 18. We’re also gonna pretend Westeros is still in a chill time with King Robert drinking away their money with Ned still alive and safe in Winterfell.

Robb and Jon were used to random Lords and Ladies staying at Winterfell for periods of time but when they saw their newest guest both had the same though. Gods she’s pretty. Your family where Bannerman’s of House Stark, ever loyal to Lord Eddard. Sansa had recently started whining, much to her brother’s dismay since it was all she talked about, that she had no need to be cared for by Septas or wet nurses any longer. She was determined she was old enough to not need to be constantly watched. However, when Catelyn suggested a lady in waiting Sansa jumped at the idea.

This was how you now stood in the courtyard at Winterfell, preparing to start your new journey. It was an honour for your house when you got the raven. Sansa was slightly younger than you, but you had remembered meeting her before at feasts and balls. You had also met Robb and Jon at these events but neither one had taken notice of you till now.

Robb slapped Jons shoulder to get his attention when he noticed you climbing out your carriage. “Is that (Y/N)?” he asked his half brother who looked up from where he was plucking arrows out the target he had just been practising with.

Jons eyebrows scrunched as he looked at the now woman who climbed out the carriage, “She did not look like that last time,” he said with a low voice.

“Tell me about it. Wait is she Sansa’s lady in waiting then?” he said, eyes not leaving the lady who was now being greeted in a hug by his mother.

“Your mother told us that last night,” Jon said rolling his eyes before glancing at the woman who was now merrily chatting with his half-sister, “Do you ever pay attention?”

“Not really,” Robb said with a chuckle as he took the bow from Jon, “Maybe I should from now on,” he joked. Robb did not attempt to hide his glances like Jon did. After all Jon was a bastard whereas Robb was used to the attention of the Northern ladies. However, this one had yet to look at either boy. “C’mon give me some arrows,” Robb said

“You hate archery,” Jon said despite handing him one of the arrows he had just plucked from the target. He moved back to allow Robb to line himself up with the target but couldn’t help noticing the glances he kept firing at (Y/N) while he began to load the bow. “Oh, gods you’re trying to woo her with your shit archery?” Jon smirked at his half-brother.

Robb shot Jon a glare, “Will you shut it?” he hissed glancing over to see if she had heard, which of course she had not, “Besides im not shit,”

“You’re not good,”

“Fuck you,”

“No thanks,”

“Fuck off Snow,”

Their scawbling however did get them noticed “Boys!” Catelyn called across the courtyard with a sharp look before turning back to the girls.

While Jon smirked Robb had noticed you looking over at him, a faint smile ghosting your lips that made him even more determined to show Jon he was wrong. Robbs eyes kept flickering back to you as he knocked his arrow and drew the string back. He enjoyed the feeling of your eyes on him as he did so. He finally turned his attention to the target. Taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders back, he lined up his shot, breathed in then. Release.

The arrow hit the second inner ring of the target. Robb grinned to himself, knowing secretly that Jon was right about his shooting skills. But when he looked back, he realised you were no longer there. He sighed but when Jon began to laugh, he felt his skin grow hot. “Fuck up,” he said, shoving the bow back into Jons hands.

“You tried to woo her with archery, and she didn’t even stay to watch,” Jon couldn’t control his laughter. He had noticed you walking away as soon as Robb turned his attention to the target but did not say anything as he wanted to enjoy the view of you undisturbed. The bonus was of course his brother’s ego being knocked off its high horse.

“Please like you could do any better,” Robb grumbled as he retrieved the arrow.

“I could,” Jon said, chest puffed, and shoulders raised, “Girls like me,”

“What girls?” It was Robbs turn to laugh, “I can’t even imagine you flirting,”

“You tried to flirt with an arrow,” Jon shot back.

Robb rolled his eyes, “Mate trust me,” Robb said, putting a hand on Jons shoulder which he quickly shrugged off, “She likes me,”

“She’s been here for two minutes,” Jon rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,”

“Yeah. We will,”

“Fine,”

“Good,”

“Whatever,”

Theon walked over to the bickering duo, “What are you two on about now?”

“Nothing,” The brothers said in unison before storming off in separate directions.

----

What did Robb know about girls anyway? Jon wondered as he walked the halls of Winterfell. Sure, he had girls’ attention because of his position but that doesn’t count. Besides Jon knew how to flirt. All be it he didn’t do it very often, but he was sure in theory he would do just fine. Why did Robb deserve you more than him anyway?

His mind soon went from frustration to thinking of you and suddenly his problems began to melt away. When he had noticed you, it was like all the air had been knocked out his lungs. Out of all the ladies he had seen you were by far the prettiest. The wide smile you wore when greeting his sister had warmed his heart from all the Norths cold. All he had been able to see was your hair and face due to the large clock you had been wearing but as his mind wandered, he couldn’t help but wondering what you looked like beneath it.

Jon was quickly snapped out his thoughts when he felt someone clash against his chest. His arm shoots out to grab the persons arm to steady them. “Apologies my- “Jon looked up to the person he had literally ran into and he felt his cheeks flush. “My lady I did not see you,” he stuttered, eyes flickering away from you in embarrassment.

“Jon?” You asked and he could hear the smile in your voice, “I hardly recognised you. It has been so long,” Jon couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he saw your wide grin. “You’ve grown,”

“As have you,” he said before his face fell, “not like that well like not in a bad way my lady- “

“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I know what you mean Jon. You have never been anything kind to me,”

Jon cleared his throat as he tried to stand tall, pretending he hadn’t made a complete arse of himself in front of you, “Are you off anywhere particular this evening my lady?”

“So formal,” you laughed hitting your shoulder as you continued your walk, Jon quickly turning to follow, “I was going to sneak to the kitchens to try squeeze a snack in before dinner. Mother forgot to pack us any food for our travels,”

“You don’t have to sneak my lady. You are a guest im sure lord stark would be more than happy to see you fed,”

“But is it not so much more fun this way?” you said in a low teasing voice, “I remember how we used to sneak away with Robb during feasts. Don’t act like you don’t like it this way,” Jon blushed at your words as a completely different potential scenario flashed across his mind, “Perhaps you could escort me to the kitchens?” your voice snapped him back to reality.

Jon cleared his throat, “Of course my lady,” Jon said as he took your arm you had outstretched to him.

You rolled your eyes as your arms linked, “You don’t need to be so formal Jon. No ones listening anyway. Besides we have so much caught up to do,” Jon had almost forgotten how chatty you had been but was glad to see the quality had not gone away.

Jon laughed along in your conversation, and grinned when his own jokes made loud laughs come from your mouth. Within minutes he was already so comfortable beside you like he had spent a lifetime by your side. However what Jon hadn’t noticed was Robb Starks icy glare when he spotted the two sneaking down the kitchen stairway.

---

When dinner time had rolled around you were informed by Sansa you would be joining the Starks at their table, which you found out included Jon which you were secretly pleased about. When you walked in the room the only ones at the table were Catelyn and Robb who grinned when you entered. You tried to hide your blush when you noticed his perfect smile. Robb had also changed from when you last saw him, and he had grown at least a head in height.

At both ends of the table sat a larger chair, one of which Catelyn was currently occupying. Three chairs ran down one side of the table, four on the other. Robb sat beside his mother on the side with three chairs, leaving two left. “Lady (y/n),” he greeted when you entered, “I hadn’t known you were joining us my lady,” he had. He had asked his mother who shot him a silent questioning look, “Allow me,” he said as he pulled the chair next to him out for you.

You laughed lightly as you took your seat, Robb pushing it in for you with a smile before taking his own chair. Sansa rolled her eyes at her brothers’ antics as she sat beside you, “She’s my friend not yours,” she grumbled.

“Sansa!” Catelyn said sharply, “She is our guest as much as she is your lady,” you did your best to not laugh but a small smile graced your lips, “Sorry about that (Y/N),” she said with a sorry smile.

“Its okay Lady Catelyn,” you said.

“Call me Cat,” she said with a smile, but the conversation was interrupted as the youngest three Starks sprinted into the room. “Behave you lot,” Cat said as she helped the youngest Rickon into the chair beside her. Bran and Arya took the two closest chairs to the empty one at the head of the table, leaving the one across from you free. Robb mentally scowled at his siblings but figured sitting beside you had the far superior advantage.

When Jon arrived, their father was with him and as the two took their seats the food was brought out. The way you and Jon smiled at each other made Robb wanna roll his eyes, but he resisted as he acted the perfect gentleman. As dinner went on Sansa kept stealing your attention which Robb figured was at least better than Jon doing so. He thought he would never get to talk to you.

Until that is you turned to him, “Don’t you think so too Robb?” your voice brought him back from his daydreaming about you. he hummed in response as he came out his daze, “I was saying to Sansa how she should go horse riding more often. Riding can be so thrilling after all,” Robb tried not to blush when he thought of what he would rather you be riding. “You do still enjoy horse riding?” you said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yeah of course,” he said quickly, “Sorry my mind has been preoccupied lately,” he said causing Jon to roll his eyes, “but Sansa trust her there are few things better than it. (Y/N) always knew how to have fun,” he said with a smile which made you blush and quickly turn to face Sansa, but Robb had saw it. he looked at Jon with a slight smirk which only made the boy roll his eyes and look away. When Robb heard Sansa and you discussing plans to go riding tomorrow, he had a plan.

-----

Robb wasn’t being weird by being close by the stables around the time he knew you would be coming by. He just was tending to his own horse. Definitely of course, a complete accident that he was there when you appeared with Sansa in tow laughing about something. “Robb,” you exclaimed when you noticed him, “Are you joining us?” you said glancing at Sansa.

Sansa quickly shook her head saying a firm no. Robb rolled his eyes at his little sister, “I was just tending to my horse my lady,”

“That’s sweet,” you said as Sansa went off to retrieve her mother’s horse which she had said she could borrow before they decided to get her one of her own, “So many lords just toss their reigns aside when they’re done,”

Robb chuckled as he stepped away from his horse and followed you to yours, “Do you ride often my lady?”

“I try to at least go a few times a week,” you said as you took you went to saddle your horse only for Robb to step in.

“Allow me,” he said as he readied your horse for you.

You laughed gently, stepping back to allow him to do so, “Thanks Robbie,” you said as he did up the leather and clasped.

Robb couldn’t help his blush at the nickname you had been using with him since childhood, “Its no problem,” he assured before stepping back from the horse, “That’s you all set,”

“Help me up?” you asked as you stepped closer to the horse. Robb couldn’t help but notice your slight smirk when you had asked and with a quick inhale and a sudden wave of confidence, he stepped forward to pick you up by your hips and place you on your horse. You giggled as he did so and quickly steady yourself on the saddle, “I didn’t realise how strong you had got,”

Robb grinned at your comment, “Thank you my lady. Sometimes I don’t notice my own strength,”

“Then I feel bad for whoever ends up at the other end of your sword,” you laughed.

“You should watch me practise someday,” Robb said, “I do almost everyday at the training grounds,”

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled down at him as Sansa trotted over on her horse. “Ready?” you asked the girl.

“I am if you stop flirting with my brother,” she smirked before riding out of the stable. Robb would’ve been embarrassed if he had not seen how your face had flushed and how you quickly rode after her. wait till Jon heard what you had been saying.

----

“You can’t just grab a ladies’ hips,” Jon said, wide eyed. The pair were in the training yard getting ready to practise some sparring.

Robb smirked, “Really? Cause I did,” he said as he grabbed his practise sword off the rack, “Good hips by the way,” Jon rolled his eyes at his brothers’ antics, “You’re just mad that she likes me,”

“Maybe she was blushing because she was so embarrassed at the idea of flirting with you,” Jon said making Robb grumble, “At least she thinks im funny,” he added while he took his stance across from Robb.

Robb struck first. “Funny looking,” he said as their swords clashed.

“Fuck up,” he snapped, and Robb grinned. The grin fell when Jon took his own strike, quicker than Robb and harder too, “Are you really gonna let a girl come between us?”

As soon as Robb caught up to his brother’s speed, he replied, “If you won’t admit she likes me and not you then yeah,” Robb smirked only making his brother groan and knock Robb hard enough to drop his sword.

Robb cursed under his breath as he picked it up and took stance again. However, as he was doing this Robb happened to notice a certain someone walking into the training yard, arms linked with his sister. Robbs jaw almost dropped as he saw the new dress you must have recently made that was far more form showing than any of your other cloaks had been. He could see your curves even under the thick fabric and it made him strike his next blow even harder.

Jon was almost caught off guard at his brother’s seriousness however he had sparred with Robb long enough to know he only fought like this when he was angry. While he didn’t see the anger in his eyes, he knew how he would mess up. Jon only had to spar another few blows with the Tully boy before his footing got sloppy and Jon was able to knock his legs out from under neath him. “Cheap shot,” Robb spat as he pulled himself up from the hard ground.

Soft claps rang out over the training ground and Jon spun to see what had caused his brothers sudden intensity. And gods did he understand when he saw the smile perched on your lips as you clapped for him. Jon turned back to his brother with a smirk, “You’re just made she likes me,” he said emulating his previous words.

Robbs sword moved before Jon even had a chance to raise his own causing him to need to duck to dodge the blow. Sansa had never seen her brothers practise with such intensity or for any of their sparring to last so long. she glanced at you who was watching the pair intently and suddenly seemed to realise her brothers’ peculiar actions for the past week. “We should go,” she said softly.

At this point Robb had just managed to knock Jon to his feet. Again, you clapped before reluctantly drawing your eyes away and continuing your walk with Sansa. You couldn’t resist waving to the pair however as you were walking past. You smiled at the dopey grins on their faces as they waved back.

----

For the next few weeks, the pair continued their relentless bickering and it turned into a competition of sorts. Every time one managed a private moment alone with you the other was around the corner to get the same. Jon would go out of his way to escort you to places you already knew the way to such as the kitchens or gods wood, but you never complained, enjoying his jokes along the way. Robb began to escort you and his sisters horse rides, much to Sansa’s annoyance, and suddenly took far more of an interest in the library after he noticed your frequent visits. One of Robbs favourite sights was watching as you curled up with a book in an armchair by the fire in the library. He thought you didn’t notice his shameless stares and gazes, but you had.

You had also noticed the way Jons cheeks tinged pink each time you laughed at his joke or touched his arm. Robb did not blush the way Jon did, but you began to notice his lingering touches when he helps you on your horse or past you a book off the top shelf. The attention was something you had grown rather fond of and weren’t about to complain about.

Sansa however was a different story. She was sick of her brothers bickering, something all the Starks agreed upon but only she had noticed why. She was also sick of her brothers both crashing her talks with you or stealing you away. “You do realise they’re both totally in love with you?” she asked as you sat with her in her chambers doing some embroidery, the one place they wouldn’t disturb you.

You blushed at her words, “I wouldn’t say they’re in love,”

“Okay but you do know that they like you like you,” she clarified rolling her eyes. You had grown fond of the admittedly sassy Sansa Stark, “They’re gonna end up killing each other,”

“That’d be no fun,” you fake pouted before laughing as she rolled her eyes, “What do you want me to do? I didn’t ask them to fight over me,” even as you said it the words felt silly. Sansa sat her threads down, giving you the classic Sansa face you had grown to hate and love all at once. “Fine, I’ll talk to them,”

“Thank you,” she smirked before turning back to her threads, “Maybe they’ll finally give us some peace,” she said and all you could do was laugh at the irony of her demanding your attention while being upset about her brothers doing the same.

---

You hadn’t expected to talk to the boys as soon as you left but as you were walking from Sansa’s chambers to go find them you paused when you heard Robbs voice around the corner. “Maybe you should just back off,”

“Why do I need to back of?” When you heard Jons voice you slowly crept closer to the corner, pressing yourself against the wall just before the bend to hear properly, “Not everything is about you Stark,”

“Same for you Snow,” the venom was practically dripping off their voices. It would be concerning if the sound hadn’t sent a shiver up your spine at the hotness of the situation. The two most handsome men in Winterfell arguing over you? how could you complain?

“Well maybe we let her choose,” Jon said.

“Maybe we should,” Robb spat back.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to reveal yourself as you walked round the corner. Jons eyes grew wide when he saw you emerge and Robb quickly spun on his heels, his jaw slackening slightly at the sight. “My lady- “he began to stutter.

You held your hands up and he quickly stopped. You took a deep breath as you glanced around the corridors, “I think its time we had a little talk,” you said to the boys as you walked closer. The two almost hung their heads in shame, “Let’s go somewhere more private,” you said as you brushed past them and began to walk to your chambers.

The pair followed silently, tails between their legs when they realised, they had been caught. “This is your fault,” Robb mumbled but he groaned when Jon stuck his elbow into his side.

Luckily your room was not far, and you were soon ushering the pair in, latching the door behind you before facing them with your back pressed against the door. “What exactly am I supposed to be choosing?” you asked, eyebrow raised with a secret idea toying in your mind.

“My lady we can explain,” Jon began to stammer, cheeks going that cute shade of pink again, “Robb and I well we- “

“We both have an affection for you,” Robb continued trying to sound confident, but his voice failed him, “And we have been uh debating,” Robb said causing you to laugh.

“Debating?” you questioned, “It sounded more like an argument,” this time it was Robbs turn to blush.

Jon continued for his brother, “We just were trying to figure out which one of us you liked. Assuming you do like one of us,”

“I might,” you said with a slight smirk causing both boys heads to snap up, their eyes watching you intently.

“Well, which one of us is it?” Robb asked with eager eyes. He was internally praying to the gods to give him some luck or at least to have him swallowed up by the grounds if he was wrong about your affection. Jon was silently thinking the same.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Who said it was one of you?” you said with a slight smirk. Both boys looked confused at your words. Pushing yourself off the door, you walked closer to the pair, “Would it be so bad if I didn’t choose? Were you not taught how to share?”

Part Two Here - Competition

Game of Thrones Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

[otteropera]

Home (Jon Snow x Reader)

A/N - Only took me, what, like three months to finish this request? I kept coming back to it and re-reading and changing it but I finally FINISHED IT! The wonderful @pastanest requested this one so shoutout to her, if you are thirsting for Jon Snow (like me) GO CHECK HER OUT!!! She is an amazing writer and a wonderful person <3

Warnings - blood, RAMSAY BOLTON, violence... its game of thrones tbh

Word count - 5.7k

The fire had gone out weeks ago. No one who came in bothered to replenish it with wood, and I wasn't exactly in a position to do it, with my wrists chained to the floor. I'd had a lot of time to think about things. About my past, about Sansa, about what led me to this moment, about Jon.

I found that my mind went wandering to him quite often.

Nineteen years ago, after Robert’s Rebellion ended, many reunions were had. Fathers saw their children and wives saw their husbands. It was a sigh of relief for people who had their loved ones taken away, forced to fight the Mad King. My mother waited with baited breath, staring at the horizon everyday for months, praying to all the Gods that she would see him in the distance, finally returning to her. She held her budding belly with tears in her eyes, refusing to believe that she was living in a world without him.

She later passed away on the birthing bed.

If it weren’t for the wet-nurse that was able to arrive so quickly from a town over, I wouldn’t have made it. When word got to Eddard Stark that I was in fact alive, and without parents, he was quick to get me over to Winterfell. I don’t remember my life before the Starks, and I don’t have much of a need to. I befriended the Stark children and was welcomed into their home with open arms. My father gave his life in service to the realm, they felt it was the least they could do. From what Lord Eddard remembered of my parents, they were utterly and wholly in love.

Sansa and I clicked when we were younger. Although I was a few years older than her, we got along very well. We would brush each other's hair and put it in pretty braids, we'd giggle when the stable boys would flirt with us, and she would tease me for my crush on Jon. Once the two of us were of age, I was assigned as her lady-in-waiting. It was sort of like being Sansa's ‘official friend’, which wasn't hard. It really didn't change much; we got to spend all of our time together.

Sometimes, if I closed my eyes hard enough, I could go back to those days. When we were younger, we'd help sneak Arya out of her room and run down the corridors to the kitchen to steal any lemon cakes that were left from dinner. I was almost certain that Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn knew what we were doing, but let us have our fun when they heard the laughter from the kitchens late at night.

"What are you doing?"

Jon stood in the doorway, his mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed. Arya, Sansa, and I stilled, crumb-covered mouths tightly shut. I wasn't sure if it was our lack of sleep or the definite sugar high, but Arya burst out laughing, spewing bits of cake over the table, while Sansa and I did our best not to copy her, covering our mouths and stifling our laughs. With my quick and shy glances to Jon, I could tell he was having a hard time keeping a smile off his face.

"I can't believe you guys," he said, shaking his head. "You're worse than Bran."

Bran was notorious for stealing sweets. I hoped that wherever Sansa had escaped to, she got to eat as many lemon cakes as she pleased. It had been months since she got away from Ramsay’s hold, and sometimes I wondered if she would leave me here for good.

It was an awful thing to think, I knew that, but Ramsey knew how to get under my skin (literally) and drill some awful things into my mind. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d done to Sansa. Thankfully, he could go days without bothering to torment me, which usually meant that I didn’t get to eat either, but I was more than willing to trade that for some time away from Ramsay. The room that I’d been confined to was small and drafty, from what I could guess used to be an extra storage room for food, with the old flour bags and rotting potatoes. They were my bed most nights. Though I have to admit, it’s a step up from the cell outside with the dogs. Ramsay had been keeping me there until Sansa found out and refused to eat until I was moved to an actual room. She even got me a makeshift fireplace in an old cooking pot.

I was convinced that the only reason I was able to stay sane was by staying in my mind. Thinking of ten years ago, when I was growing up here with Sansa, Arya… Jon. When I was safe and happy and took everything for granted.

There was some irony in it. The place that I grew up in, that allowed me to build the friendships and relationships that I had, that allowed me to be free of the pain of growing up without a family, was then the same place that kept me from being with mine.

The door creaked open, and in walked the man who had chained me here. Ramsay knelt in front of me, placing down a bowl of stew. One glance at it and I was salivating. Meat, potatoes, carrots, celery, all steaming gloriously in the bowl in front of me. That was… odd. I’m not one to turn down a hot meal, especially when I hadn’t eaten in days, but I knew the games Ramsay played. I knew that there was… something else to it. Ramsay sat on the floor across from me, with that sick little half-smirk.

“It’s rude to refuse food from the Warden of the North,” he commented, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“He didn’t put this in front of me. You did.”

Ramsay let out a dry laugh, not letting his smile fall. I only managed to get that look off his face once, and I paid for it. However, I still found myself accepting the challenge of knocking Ramsay’s ego down a peg.

“I see you’re in a fine mood today, that’s good,” he paused, “I have good news.”

That was saying something, coming from him.

“The bastard is coming.”

I froze at that. It took a moment to realize that that’s what he wanted, he always wanted to get a rise out of me. I refused to give him any satisfaction. I had to stop myself from meeting his penetrating stare.

“I’d spoken to him earlier, along with my dear wife,” his emphasis on the word ‘wife’ made me want to vomit. “They’ll be coming to Winterfell tomorrow to try to take it from me, with lesser men. And when they lose," Ramsay's voice got quieter as he leaned in towards me, "Sansa will watch me flay you living. She will watch me feed you to those dogs, she will watch as you die in that cell, screaming and bleeding. I will make her understand what happens to those she cares about when she betrays me." His pitch black eyes stared into mine as I tried to control my breathing. I didn’t think I'd ever truly, wholly, and honestly wished for someone to die a painful death as much as I wished it for that man. I swallowed harshly.

"Winterfell has never been yours. It never will be," I whispered. He leaned back, loosening up, but his eyes looked empty as ever. And he smiled some more.

“Jon sounded awfully concerned for you.” No. No. “I’m assuming Sansa had told him about your… conditions here.” That was a nice way to put being held prisoner in your own home. “I wasn’t aware that you two had such a history.” I shouldn’t have even looked at him. All the emotion that I was trying to hide, he saw right through. The more I spoke, or acted, or looked, the more leverage he had against me. It was an impossible struggle.

“Don’t worry,” he leaned closer, his breath hot and putrid. There was nowhere for me to go. “I won’t kill him before I let him see you,” he snatched my face in his free hand, his grasp firm and unwavering. I felt the cool tip of a knife rest on my cheekbone. “He will see just how you’ve been holding up.” He dragged the knife agonizingly slow down the bare flesh, I was sure I would pass out. “And he will see all that I’ve done to you.”

I didn’t eat the stew until after he left. The chains rattled as I reached forward for it, slugging from the bowl like an animal. I didn’t like eating while he watched. Something about it felt… humiliating. Like he was watching one of his dogs rip someone apart after not feeding them for weeks, like he was proud of the way he had starved me. I was sure he was. I was sure he would love to see me eating like it was the last meal I’d ever indulge in.

***

Jon was outside the banquet hall, in the courtyard, slashing away at a dummy with his sword. The mead sloshed in their cups as I stepped toward him.

"I think you won," I commented once I got within earshot. He turned around, his face lighting up at my presence just enough for me to notice, causing my face to flush. "I smuggled you out a drink," I outstretched one of the cups, which he took while catching his breath.

"What am I missing in there?" Jon questioned, referring to the dinner party with the King and Queen, taking a slug from the cup.

"Well... the King is drunk, Sansa's gushing over Prince Joffrey, and Arya just got in trouble for catapulting food at her," I explained. Jon chuckled at the thought of it. "So nothing new, as far as our dinners go."

Jon went quiet, surprisingly. He'd tend to have a lot to say when I was around. His gaze was fixed on the cup, lost in thought.

"Is everything alright?" I asked. I've known him to be a bit upset about being forbidden from dinners, but he was usually better at hiding it.

"There's something I've been thinking about, that I want to tell you," he breathed out. "I'm taking the black. I leave the same day as the royal party with my Uncle Benjen." His eyes were on mine. I felt... conflicted. I was happy for him, I knew he'd do well up at Castle Black, given his bravery and swordsmanship. I knew that we all couldn't stay in Winterfell forever, that we were growing up. However, something in me hoped that wherever Jon would go, I could follow. The bastard and the Lady's maid.

"I'm happy for you." Truly, I was. I knew he'd always been worried about making something of himself. He would never have lands or a title, so it made sense he would seek to prove his worth through service to the realm.

"Thank you." There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

"From what I've heard I'll be going to King's Landing with Sansa. Serving as her handmaiden."

Jon hummed in response. He seemed to have the same reaction to my news as I had to his.

"I'll write to you," he commented. I didn't even bother trying to hide my growing smile.

"I'll write back."

***

The days were cold, but the nights felt colder. Ramsay sent in a Maester to treat the wound that he inflicted. I was no use to him dead, of course. It was sore to the touch. Through the small, barred window in the room, I could see that the sun was setting, as it did every night, and as it will continue to do well after I die in that place.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the throbbing pain in my face. It felt like it was on fire, which meant that my body was probably fighting an infection from the cut. Looking out my small window, the sunlight couldn't penetrate the clouds, leaving the sky a gloomy, milky gray.

Sometimes, when I was just waking up, I would forget where I was. I could open my eyes and be in King's Landing, with Sansa and Arya and Ned Stark. Or I could be waking up here in Winterfell, but in my own bed, in my own room, right across from Sansa's, how it used to be. Those moments were my favorite. When my mind was still fogged with sleep and I could swear that just yesterday I was reading in the Godswood with Jon. Sometimes I would see how long I could go before opening my eyes. It felt like when I did so, it cemented the pained reality of where I was, and who I was without. It's silly, really. No matter how hard I tried, I would still wake up surrounded by these four walls, in the same house that was no longer a home.

I must have dozed off again at some point, because the next time I rose I was awakened by the sounds of chaos outside. The window in my cell was far too high for me to see ground level out of, even if I wasn't chained. I had to use my hearing to discern what was happening.

The scrambling and shouting of soldiers, and a loud, rhythmic bang... bang... bang. It was coming from the front gate. Was... was it a siege? There was a shrieking of a creature that I couldn't name, and then more shouting and yelling, the clanging of swords. Then it stopped. I held my breath. It felt like ages until I could hear anything else.

Footsteps raced towards the door. I could hear muttering on the other side. There were two very different ideas of who could be coming to me at such a rush, one of which made bile rise in my throat.

"This has to be it, I know that he kept it locked and I remember it being by the kitchens," the sweet, feminine voice rushed out. I'd recognize her voice anywhere.

"Sansa?" My voice was hardly a whisper as I croaked out the name. I jumped when the door started shaking as though it was being kicked in. The chains clicked as I scrambled to stand up. Had they won? Was Winterfell back to the Starks? Was Jon here?

The door burst open and I locked eyes with the one who had been infiltrating my thoughts. He looked much more grown than I'd remembered. His dark, curly locks were pulled back with only a few strands in the front that had burst free. There were streaks on his face where dirt and blood had been haphazardly wiped away. Sansa engulfed me in a hug, pulling me in so tight I was sure she could tell just how little Ramsay was feeding me.

"I'm so sorry it took so long for us to get here, my escape wasn't planned, I would've never left without you if I'd known-"

"Sansa," I cut her off from her babbling, pulling back from the hug and holding her at arm's length. There were tears welling in her eyes, as well as mine. "It's okay, I'm okay." She let out a shaky breath, looking relieved I didn't resent her.

"Ramsay had the key on him." It took me a moment to realize what she was referring to, her and Jon's arrival had almost made me forget that I was still chained in the room. For the first time since she'd come in, she acknowledged Jon's presence by turning back towards him. He looked as though he'd just seen a ghost. To him, I guessed I might be one. He blinked a few times, seeming to snap out of his stupor and reached in his pocket, handing the rusty key over to Sansa. When the manacles fell with a clank to the floor, I felt like I could finally breathe. I rubbed the skin that was under them, it was red and irritated, which wasn't surprising.

"Are you hungry? I'll see what can be made.”

***

"It's for you." A boyish Jon stood at the foot of my bed, on unsteady feet, with a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. Even from the distance it smelled heavenly.

"You didn't have to, I was about to go to the kitchens," I complained, sitting up. Jon made his way around the bed, delicately placing the soup in my cold hands.

"Are you feeling any better?" I saw his hand start to move up as he asked the question, only to stop himself. Was he going to feel my forehead?

"A little," I lied, sipping from the side of the wooden bowl. The soup was hot and delicious; it had been prepared with herbs that were still growing outside. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me." He gave a small shrug but smiled anyway. "I'm just glad to see that you're eating again."

"Me too," I said, trying a spoonful this time. It was potato soup, my favorite. Had he known? Jon sat down next to me before continuing.

"I feel awful." I snapped my head up at his statement.

"Why? Are you feeling ill too?" I stammered, shifting under the furs. He chuckled through his nose.

"No," he sighed, "the stable hands warned me they were still training that horse, but I'd ridden her before and she was fine. I can't believe she threw you off like that, into the stream of all places." I had to suppress a smile, thinking back to the other day. Jon offered to teach me to ride a horse, as no one else would bother, and we'd spent the better part of a day out in the woods. It was the most fun I'd had in ages. Towards the end, my horse had gotten a bit fussy and, well…

Jon was quick to get my sopping wet figure back into the gates of Winterfell, but it wasn't quick enough to stop me from catching a cold. I truly didn't mind. Any time spent with Jon was valuable to me.

"Don't feel bad, it's part of learning... people fall. In streams, sometimes," I muttered towards the end.

Jon's face pulled into a smile at my comment. "Well, let's hope your second attempt at riding doesn't involve a broken bone or two."

***

Potato soup. I was sitting in front of a crackling fireplace, wrapped in furs, with a bowl of hot potato soup that conspicuously arrived. In that moment I wondered if I truly had passed away at Ramsay’s hand, if that was real, if I was just dreaming, still locked in the room.

I knew that I should eat, but the hollowness of my stomach made the food smell less than desirable. Sansa hadn't left my side since she'd unlocked the chains and brought me into the room, going on about the past few months. I hadn't said much.

"How do you feel? You’re quiet,” she bit her lip. 

My throat hurt, it was dry. I swallowed hard, clearing it before answering.

“Okay. It's just so good to be warm." I had no idea how long I'd been cold. I often stayed balled up in that room, as tight as I could. I tucked my extremities into myself and dreamed of the sun. I took a breath and brought the bowl to my lips.

"Jon was shocked to hear you were still alive." I almost choked on the soup. Sansa smiled, one that looked devilish. "I knew you were close when we were younger, but I wasn't expecting him to react how he did," Sansa thought out loud.

"How did he react?" My curiosity got the best of me. I set the bowl down on the small table next to me.

"I'd told him soon after Brienne, Poddrick, and I arrived at Castle Black," I quirked my head at the names, but she was too consumed in her story to notice, "that you were still at Winterfell. He was furious, he wanted to come straight here, but I wouldn't let him." Sansa looked down, wringing her hands. "I convinced him to wait, to gather more men. Otherwise it would have been a slaughter."

I put my hands on hers, her glossed eyes met mine.

"You did the right thing," I reassured her. I knew she felt guilty for not getting here sooner, but she did what was best. I'd feel worse if they'd come sooner, and Ramsay's threats rang true.

"Rickon-" Sansa choked a sob, "h-he-"

I shushed her and put my arms around her shoulders. I'd seen some Winterfell men carrying his body through the gates on our way to this room. "I know," I whispered, shedding tears of my own. I didn't dare ask her how he died, I knew enough. That it was by Ramsay's hand, without a doubt.

We sat for a while longer, both comforted by the silence. The warmth of the fire and the contentment of the soup helped me relax. I realized that I'd been clenching my teeth, so I released them. I'd been in an awful lot of pain the past few months. The wound on my face would leave a plump scar, that I was sure of. Our silence was interrupted by a few maids entering with warm buckets of water for a bath. The mischievous smile on Sansa's face told me she had planned that. It wasn't until the maids had filled up the tub and left that I got the courage to ask the question that was lingering in my mind.

"Where's Jon? I haven't seen him since..." since I was freed from my cell? Since I saw him for the first time in years? Since he looked at me and his stare penetrated my being?

"I believe he's with some of the men of Winterfell, gathering up any survivors of Ramsay's men in the castle," she replied, giving me a look. She knew why I asked. I could only imagine what Jon was doing to Ramsay’s men "I'll leave you to it," she stood, her long furs flowing down to her ankles. It was then that I realized this room was intended to be mine. "I'm sure a bath is just what you need." I nodded in response, and she swiftly exited the room.

***

Jon hissed and pulled back slightly at the damp cloth I held against his temple.

"I have to clean it, Jon," I pleaded.

"I know," he breathed out. "It stings." I could see the pain in the way he scrunched up his face.

"I’m sorry." His eyebrows scrunched together at my apology, his eyes locked to mine. I could hear the wheels turning in his head.

Jon and I had a silent understanding of each other. While we had different reasons for being at Winterfell, we were both seen as slightly less-than the Stark children. Of course, I wasn't scolded by Catelyn nearly as much as Jon was. However, we were both instructed to stand behind the Stark's during the Royal family's arrival, never with them. While Jon was told not to attend the feast at all, I was tasked to stay at Sansa's side.

We noticed these differences, we saw them at a very young age, and we protected each other. We looked out for one another in an unspoken pact, that was shown by Jon walking me to my chambers late after the sun went down, and my defending him when Catelyn was always too harsh.

"Jon, I was fine. Those stable boys didn't cause me any harm."

"They were throwing cow shit at you," Jon blurted out. I had to suppress a grin, he was fuming. 

"Well, they didn't have very good aim," I muttered. Jon returned his hardened gaze to the gloves that were clutched in his hand, he must not have found my comment very funny.

"Eddard and Catelyn will have an earful for you, you know. Especially Catelyn." He turned away from me.

"I know," he said quietly, "those boys didn't put up much of a fight," Jon pulled my hand down, and grasped it in his. "I'd do it again." My heart fluttered and I swallowed hard.

***

I recalled the memory in the bath. It was so vivid, his warm hand gripping my fingers, his eyes locked on mine and saw everything inside them. It was the first time he ever offered to defend me like that.

I had scrubbed myself too hard in the bath and opened the wound on my face. I stayed in the water until it turned murky and cold. I wanted to rid myself of every piece of Ramsay, though I knew it wouldn’t be possible. At least, not for a long time. My only motivation for exiting the bath was the small trickle of blood down my face. After drying off and dressing, I exited the chamber and made my way to what used to be Maester Luwin’s space. Surely, there would be a healer of some sorts there.

It was dark outside, the moon shone bright above. A chill breeze blew through the halls. I pulled my furs tighter against me and walked to the door, opening it. There was no one inside. The room was littered with medical supplies, my best guess was whatever Maester was here had been out tending to any wounded men from the battle. Though I'd patched up Arya's scrapes and scratches from playing too rough with Bran before. With the supplies here, I could fix myself up. It took me a moment of fumbling through the shelves and drawers to find a healing balm in a small wooden bowl. The smell of it reminded me of Maester Luwin. His hands were always covered in the minty salve.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall startled me, and I nearly dropped the bowl. A soft knock sounded on the door, and I was almost certain I knew who it was. I didn't waste a moment, rushing to the door and opening it. Jon was standing in front of me, his dark hair smoothed back, the moonlight made shadows dance across his face. He wore a plain black tunic with his cloak over it. The air rushed from my lungs. It couldn't have been more than a few moments, standing there, gazing at each other. But I felt like I could spend the rest of my days looking into his warm brown eyes, and I would be content.

"You stopped writing back." There was a hint of amusement in his words, the type that only someone who'd known him well enough could pick up on. I did.

I didn't bother trying to hold back the smile and the tears as we engulfed each other. His arms felt strong and real. One of his hands held me at the back of my head, pulling me so close to him that there was no room for doubt. His breath felt warm on my neck, sending a dance of shivers down my back. I sniffled, holding onto him with every part of me. We stayed together like that for what seemed an eternity.

Finally, he broke our embrace, keeping his hand on the back of my head, holding it, holding me. "I've missed you."

My lips quivered when I spoke, unable to form the right words. "I... I've missed you too." There were so many things I wanted to tell him, so many stories and so many people that I'd met, but he looked at me so intently that words fell flat on my tongue.

He held my gaze and I was sure I'd burst into flames. "How are you?" he asked softly. "Are you hurt anywhere else besides there?" His calloused thumb brushed just below the cut on my face. By the gods, I must’ve been a thousand shades of red.

He'd gained a few new scars himself, his face was littered with them. The little nicks in his skin and the dark shadows of his face made him look so... mature. He was no longer the boy who's cheek I'd pecked before he left for the Night's Watch. "No," I said quietly, wringing my hands. "Nothing serious. Just cuts and bruises."

"That's serious," he started analyzing me, trying to find any, "it's you." I smiled again.

"Come here." He dropped his hand from me, closing the door behind him. I immediately missed the warmth he brought to my skin. I turned to follow him, and saw that he was already holding the bowl of salve. With feather light touches, he began to apply to the wound on my face. It stung at first, if only for a moment, but once the minty coolness took effect, I let out a breath of relief. I hadn't realized I closed my eyes until Jon placed his fingers under my chin, tilting my head sideways to get better access to the cut. When I opened them, they found his. The downward curve of his brow told me something.

"What's wrong?" I asked. My voice cracked a bit, and I cleared my throat.

Jon shook his head, leaning back against the wooden desk. His gaze fell to the floor. "I wanted to come sooner, but we didn't have the men," his soft brown eyes followed the curve of the wound down my face, "I'm sorry." For a moment, I thought I saw a wetness in his eyes.

A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard. "For what? Winterfell is back to the Starks. You did what you had to do."

His expression softened. "I know," he said quietly, "I don't think I can thank you enough for keeping Sansa safe the past few years." He reached out to brush the hair away from my forehead, and I could feel the heat radiating off his hand. "She told me everything. About Joffrey, Baelish... Ramsey." He spat out the last name with venom as his jaw hardened.

"Is he...?" I didn't need to finish asking the question for Jon to understand.

"Sansa put him with his hounds. I don't imagine he'll be there much longer."

I knew exactly what that meant, and a breath of relief left me, one I never knew I was holding in. Though I'd felt relieved, I knew that it wasn't the end of Ramsay's torment. He would continue to haunt the darkest parts of my mind. I would continue to have nightmares where his touch was everywhere, and no matter what I did or said, I couldn't shake him off of me. I'd only experienced a fraction of what Sansa had from him. I couldn't imagine what she'd been going through. She was stronger than me, that I knew for certain. I made a mental note to talk to her about, at the very least let her know that I was willing to, if that was what she chose. Jon's warm hand on my arm pulled me from my thoughts. He was looking at me, expectantly.

"What?"

"I asked if you'd like me to walk you back to your room," his voice was laced with concern.

I tried not to show how his offer made my heart squeeze. I nodded. We walked side by side through the castle halls, silent except for the occasional murmur of voices drifting around us. Once or twice, we passed another person, but neither of us acknowledged their presence. The silence was nerve-wracking. It didn't take long before we reached my room, a small smile tugging at his lips. I stopped short outside the doors, turning to face him. He was right behind me.

"Was the potato soup any good?" Jon asked, and it took only a moment before it clicked in my head.

"That was you?"

"So it's still your favorite, I take it?"

"I-... yes."

Jon smiled and nodded his head slightly, stepping back. He was starting to leave. A burning ache ran deep inside me. I felt myself longing for him, although he was right in front of me. "Jon..." I paused. His presence was doing that thing again where it made it very hard for me to speak. I needed him to say something. Anything. So when he said nothing, I continued. "Would you... stay, for a little while? Please?" I finished lamely.

It was all the encouragement he needed to step forward and set his hands on either side of my face. His thumb rubbed along my cheekbone and up toward my hairline, making me shiver. His eyes flew back and forth between mine, looking for permission that he always had. He nodded delicately, pulling me in and pressing a kiss to my lips. It was so soft, so gentle, so tentative. But even that small moment made my stomach twist into knots and my knees go weak. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of his lips on mine, letting the lingering feelings of the past few months melt away. It didn't matter that there was still so much to be said, so much to figure out and plan with the retaking of Winterfell. Things would melt into place, as I melted into him.

Ramsay had left his mark on me, literally and figuratively. And maybe he would continue to live in the parts of my mind that he clawed out space for, but Jon never needed to claim space for himself. He had it earlier when he kicked down the door to my cage, when he hugged me tightly goodbye the day he left for Castle Black, when he showed me that smile that always turned my insides to mush, and every time in between. All without having to ask for it. He was slowly filling it with warmth, with love. With life. So maybe Ramsay had some part of me, one that I may never get back... but those parts were all Jon’s, and I'd always treasure them.

As his lips moved against mine, I realized I’d made it. 

I finally felt like I was home.

Tags: @pastanest @nyotamalfoy

[cult-of-the-eye]

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski as a jmart song:

"there's nobody better than you/it just took me a while til I knew"

Fuck it's so Jon talking to Martin. He sees Martin as a better person than him, both morally and literally in terms of humanity and it fits his whole S1 ew martin to S4 oh martin arc so well

"but you knew from the start it was us, didn't you/it just took me a while til I knew"

Yep yep yep that's Martin. He loved Jon from the start. Of course Jon's admitting that. And of course he's doing it in such a self deprecating way.

Read more cause this is long

"now I lay as I study a blank wall/would you spare me your voice if I call?"

Ok so we're in Martin's Peter Lukas era right now, Jon is fully pining he's completely checked out and dissociating and he needs Martin to ground him, to be his anchor and he's reaching out in a way that puts the focus on Martin's next move as opposed to him calling which is SO HIM

"Cause you waited and watered my heart 'til it grew/you just grew a little smarter, too"

Fuck he's like you treated me so well, you waited so long for me to like you back but then you realised it was futile and stopped, but obviously you would do that because you're an angel and blameless

"So, I don't blame you/If you want to bury me in your memory/I'm not the girl I ought to be, but/Maybe when you tell your friends/You can tell them what you saw in me/And not how I turned out to be"

Jon's love is just so self deprecating I feel like, he's so acts of service, he's like it's ok that you don't want me, I get it, I'm not loveable but at least I seemed loveable for you to have crushed on me for that long

And and cause Martin's separated from jon, the only thing he has left is his memory of him, the one that lives in his head

"There's some kind of burning inside me/It's kept me from falling apart"

Oh yeah this is so them like Jon's had this drive within him, this incessant need to keep going, to keep finding things out, to keep burrowing deeper into the problem and it's kept him alive cause it's kept him ambitious and it's kept him from being stagnant but it's also been destroying him from the inside cause he can't stop

"And I'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart/But it's kept me from falling apart"

But Martin sees this, Martin knows who Jon is and it's almost a plea to try and accept that what's driving him isn't a good thing

"Now here I lay as I wonder about you/would you just tell me what I'm meant to do?"

Jon's like how do I get Martin to come back, how do I get him to be near me, ive tried everything, just tell me and I'll do it

"Cause I've waited and watered my heart 'til it grew/you can see how it's blossomed for you"

Its like a look, you waited for me, now I'll wait for you, I'll take care of myself in your absence to show you how much I care about what you've done for me, I do love you, finally, thank you for waiting all this time

"And I don't mean to make your heart blue/But could we be what we're meant to be?/I'm just about to beg you, please"

God I'm so feral for this last bit

Jon's like I know me begging you to come back is hurting you but I'm finally giving into what you want, you need to come back so we can be together like we're meant to, he's at the end of his tether, he's pleading while threatening to plead

"And then, when you tell your friends/You can tell them what you saw in me/And not the way I used to be"

I'll be better for you, I promise vibes.

[rookfeatherrambles]

So i actually did try writing this at one point! Here's the draft I found. Liminal season because no one is dead and everyone is fine (I assume the Unknowing was stopped without a hitch as well :) Anyway, here ya go! MORE CURSED CAT AU!

When Martin Blackwood opened the door to the Archives with his keycard at 5:45 in the morning, the last thing he expected to see was the entire cast of the archival assistants, and his boss, (and unrequited crush) all standing around in the bullpen, and clearly engaged in heated conversation. Martin blinked, his mouth opening a little in shock. Late nights were depressingly common in the Archives, but this was… new. And concerning. It was just Jon staying late, that Martin knew. So what was everyone else doing here?? Not only was it incredibly early, it was Saturday! Jon saw Martin from across the room and his expression shifted from tense to something like relief. But the irrational warmth that flooded Martin’s chest disappeared the moment he scowled, pushing his way between Melanie and Daisy. “You’re late,” he said, his usual sharp tone maybe a little sharper this morning, and Martin had to fight back the annoyance that rose up.. He bit back his retort - ‘No, actually, you’re all early,’ because Jon was already moving away again. Martin shrugged it off and started unwrapping his scarf,  soft wool he’d knitted himself, and then Tim was there, appearing at his elbow with two mugs. “Welcome to the madhouse,” he said by way of greeting, and thrust out a cup of tea. “I see you also got that phone call.” Martin took it, noting the grogginess in Tim’s eyes. “Yeah, I did, what’s that about?” The hot ceramic warmed his chilled hands and woke him up further. Tim groaned. “I don’t know, none of us could get a proper story out of him, he just kept insisting we all had to arrive first before he’d tell us… and that meant you, and you arrived 15 minutes late.” Tim sighed, rubbing at his eyebags. “It has to be something important though, why else would Jon have dragged us out of bed like this?” He paused. “I know he’s Jon, and paranoia and manic episodes are very much the cours de jour with him… but this is different. It better be, or I’m going to kick him where it really hurts.” Martin opened his mouth, then closed it and followed Tim’s gaze as Jon stood at the front of the room. The murmuring all died off. “Thank you all for coming. I know it's early for most of us, and I appreciate that you’re all here. Now, I have some… frankly baffling news to share.” Tim spoke up from where he was leaning against his desk. “It's not another bloody apocalypse is it?” Martin watched Jon, waiting for his mouth to twist, his expression to sour. But he didn’t react the way they’d expected over the past few years. He looked… thoughtful. “I don’t…” And there he paused. “I don’t know.” Martin saw Tim and Sasha exchange glances, saw Daisy shift in place, and he could feel the tension growing in the air. That was impossible. Jon… From what Elias had gloatingly said once, the whole point of Jon was that he Knew things. Melanie was next. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know?’ Aren’t you the literal equivalent of an eldritch search engine? How do you just Not know??” Jon made a face. “Firstly, that is not remotely how it works, and secondly-” He reached down behind the desk and picked up something that was covered in a towel. Martin strained to see, just as everyone did, as he gently placed the towel clad thing onto the desk. Was it a group of Leitners? That could explain why Jon was being so careful and why it was covered. Or maybe it was an artefact, and he couldn’t break it or touch it with his hands. But from the way Jon settled the thing without so much as jostling it, that theory didn’t fit. No, if Martin had to make an educated guess… he’d say that whatever was under that towel was alive.

1/2

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

One More First Kiss - Chapter 3

There were a lot of instances, really, that could be considered their "first kiss."

Continuing on with my fic for @jonmartinweek! Chapter 3 features post-kidnapping hurt/comfort, and another potential first kiss. Check it out on AO3, or read below:

It was daytime when Jon stepped through Helen’s door and into the living room of Georgie’s apartment. It had probably been daytime when he’d stepped through the door in the House of Wax, but he couldn’t be sure. There were no windows where he was kept, and his own internal clock had gotten quite badly out of whack.

When he turned around, the living room wall was blank and bare again. There had never been a door there.

He supposed that was only to be expected. It wasn’t as though he’d been planning to invite Helen in for a cup of tea. But it was unnerving, being alone so suddenly after so long spent in that place, surrounded at all times by a hundred waxwork figures – most of them inanimate, some of them not. Judging by the angle of sunlight coming in through the window, it seemed to be about midday, so Georgie was almost certainly at work. Jon was alone.

He went to the kitchen and found Georgie’s charger plugged into the outlet as always. He plugged in his phone. It had been maddening, feeling the weight of it in his pocket the whole long month, feeling it buzz and buzz until its battery gave out, knowing that the means to call for help were so very, very close, if only he could get his hands free.

When his screen blinked to life, he was almost instantly bombarded with notifications – work emails, and facebook friend requests from people he hadn’t spoken to since uni, a chipper notification telling him his screen time was down from his average this week, for some strange reason. And several missed calls from Martin.

His thumb moved without any real input from his brain, swiping left to return the call. He raised the phone to his ear numbly and listened to it ring.

“Jon?” Martin asked as soon as he picked up. “Thank God, I was getting worried – Where have you been?”

“I–” Jon’s voice came out choked and hoarse. He sounded panicked. Was he panicked? He couldn’t tell quite what he was feeling, just then. “I was kidnapped.”

“Again?” Before Jon could respond, Martin quickly corrected, “Sorry, I didn’t mean– Look, where are you? Are you safe?”

“Georgie’s flat. And– A-And I’m not sure.” He’d been here – just a few feet away from this spot, in fact – when Nikola had threatened him. If she wanted him back, he doubted there was much he could do to stop her.

“Who’s Georgie?”

“An old friend. I’ve been staying with her since– since Leitner…”

“Text me the address, I’ll be right there.”

“It’s a workday,” Jon muttered helplessly. If he was more in his right mind, he wouldn’t have argued – he wanted to see Martin, desperately, needed to have him near – but his trauma-muddled mind fixated on the detail. It was the middle of the workday, Martin couldn’t just leave.

“Sod work, Jon, you’ve been kidnapped!” he sputtered. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait, don’t hang up!” Jon said. “I-I’ll text you the address, just– could you just stay on the phone with me? I don’t want to be alone, right now.”

Martin sighed into the microphone, sending a pleasant murmur of static over the line. “Sure,” he said, sounding marginally less frantic. “I can do that.”

Jon put his phone on speaker while he sent the text. It took a few tries to type it out correctly – his hands were shaking quite badly – but he managed. Martin monologued to him while he did. He seemed to catch on quickly that Jon wasn’t up for saying much, just listening, and he shouldered the burden of keeping the conversation alive with admirable smoothness. He filled Jon in on his day, what he’d missed at work, what had happened in Martin's life in the month he’d been gone.

“Mrs. Mei, my neighbor across the hall, just moved into a care home last week,” he said. “I can’t believe it – she’d been living here since the 70s, I think, I can’t even imagine this place without her…”

Eventually, the call cut out when Martin lost reception on the underground, but before it did, he assured Jon he’d be there soon.

“Google says 15 minutes,” he said. “Just hang on.”

It stretched on for an eternity. Jon’s skin was still slick with moisturizer, and crawling with the memory of being touched by cold, plastic hands.

He took out his phone again. Georgie always kept her phone off at work – she couldn’t risk it ruining the audio – but it wouldn’t hurt to leave a voicemail.

“Hello, Georgie, it’s Jon. I’m alive. I’m at the apartment right now, and if all goes well and I’m not kidnapped again, I will be when you get home. Call me back when you get a chance.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the knock on the door. (That would be easier now, he suspected – his skin felt like it had been loosened over the past month.) His instincts screamed at him to throw open the door immediately and let Martin in, but he fought them long enough to check the peephole. Now was not the time to throw caution to the wind.

Martin stood on the doorstep, anxious and alive.

Jon wrenched the door open.

“Martin!”

“Jon!” Martin’s hands were on him in an instant, roving over his shoulders, his chest, his sides – checking for injuries, or perhaps just assuring himself that Jon was real. “God, I’ve been sick with– I knew something was wrong, I should have looked for you, I should have–”

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon said, though he was shaking.

Martin stepped inside and shut the door, then resumed his frantic once-over. “Did they hurt you?”

Jon shook his head. “No,” he whispered, and he was almost being honest.

“What happened?”

Jon explained, as best he could. He was calm enough at the start, or at least he thought he was – he felt oddly disconnected from himself, like his emotions were somewhere to the left of him. At the very least, his voice was level and his hands were only trembling the slightest bit. The more he spoke, though, the more real it became – that he had nearly died, and that he was alive – that he was safe now, and that he hadn’t been safe in a long, long time – and he couldn’t finish for a wave of wracking, choking sobs.

Martin pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him as though he could ward off all the dangers of the world.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered nonsensically, because he’d always hated making a scene. Martin just shushed him and squeezed him tighter.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” he murmured softly. “You’re safe.”

He pressed his lips to Jon’s temple, right at his hairline, and Jon shivered at the contact.

They stayed like that for a very long time, Jon crying into Martin’s shirt while Martin all but held him upright and whispered reassurances into his ear, until Jon finally calmed. His breathing steadied and his heart rate slowed and he found himself possessed of the strange, unsteady calm of someone who had just had a long-needed breakdown.

He didn’t bring up the kiss. He didn’t ask why Martin had kissed his forehead; he didn’t even ask him to do it again. He just straightened up, and slipped out of Martin’s arms, and whispered a hoarse, “Thank you.”

He didn’t know what else to say.

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 14 (+18)

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Smut | Angst | War

Word Count: 1981

You finally made your way underground and saw the big back of your man rising up after placing the big wooden box on the floor.

"Sandor..." Your voice was breathy and weak, but loud enough for him to hear you and turn around immediately. You ran to him and jumped in his arms. He held you tight and immediately kissed you passionately. It was so intense. The way he held you was not out of sexual desire it was out of pure love and devotion.

"Sabrina..." He had to break the kiss so you could both breathe. "I have loved you since the first time you locked your eyes on me. I cannot believe you agreed to be my wife." His thumb caressed your cheek.

"Once I got over that bloody wall... I knew the only reason I had to resist that hell, those white walkers, was you. I wanted to come back to you, to my wife. Being away from you not knowing if I would ever see you again was almost as painful as having my face shoved into fire. I know I angered you many times by not having the right words, but..." He stopped, trying to hide his face from her, one tear coming down his cheek. You brought your hand to his face wiping his tears away and turning his face back to you.

You kissed him, grabbing the back of his neck and pushing him to sit down on one of the old wine barrels stored in there. You sat on top of him, knees on the sides of his legs. You never felt so attracted to him. Maybe because it was the first time he ever truly showed vulnerability without any wine or ale.

Your tongue entered his mouth and his hand on your hips squeezed you tighter, his other hand already grabbing your chest. You felt he was getting harder each second and you grinded on him making your husband growl. Suddenly a loud noise outside, a giant creature roared.

"The dragon queen. You should go." Sandor held your face and placed a small kiss on your lips.

"Sandor wait! I need to talk to you about your brother!" You tried to make him stop, but he just put you back on the floor and walked over the wooden box.

"We'll have time later, I promise." He said grabbing the big wooden box and making his way upstairs.

You ran back upstairs, trying to tidy up a bit before facing the house leaders. You sat back in your place just in time to see your husband finishing to walk up the stairs in the middle of the arena.

After the white walker demonstration, the queen agreed to send some men north. Sandor walked up to his brother to say some threatening words. He did notice a difference in him, but he just thought he had gotten uglier, maybe out of sickness.

Once back in Winterfell, you found Sandor who arrived a couple hours after you. You didn't give him any time to settle, just pulled him by the arm and dragged him to your room. Once you closed the door he grabbed you, kissing your neck.

"Sandor wait!" You chuckled, surprised by his hunger for you. He grunted as he didn't want to let go of you. You pushed him to bed. He sat there watching you. He could tell you were nervous to tell him something.

"Remember I had something to tell you about your brother." You explained trying to avoid his gaze. He kept his eyes on you, serious and trying to read your emotions.

"Well, he..." You gulped. "He's not alive anymore." You watched the small confusion on his face. You took the time to explain everything you knew and everything you saw in him.

"You mean I can't kill him?" He questioned with a slight anger tone.

"No one can Sandor." You sat next to him. "He's already dead. There's not much of a difference between him and a white walker now..." You placed your hand on his thigh.

"White walkers can be killed, by dragon glass or..." He mumbled

"Fire." You looked up at him.

"Fire." He repeated quietly.

"Sandor, my love, please don't let this revenge blind you." She begged. He saw how much this hurt her. She didn't want to think he would risk the life they could have together just so he could kill a soulless body.

"It's alright love, there's nothing I want more than to be with you." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her soft skin as if sealing a promise. He didn't lie, but he lived his whole life to kill his brother, so it was a challenge to stop now.

You started to undo his thick armored vest. He watched softly as you undressed him. There was no insecurities anymore. No fears and no regrets. Both of you were finally completely raw with each other, in every sense of the way.

You finally removed all of the intricate clothes off him, he had now only his undergarments. You stood up to pull off his shirt, and as you did his hands placed themselves on your hips. He started undoing his dress while you looked at him tenderly. The thick fabric fell to the floor leaving you completely naked. He realized you had prepared to meet him.

He smirked and pulled you to sit on top of him, just like the last time in the underground of King's Landing. You kissed him passionately sliding your tongue into his mouth, grabbing the back of his neck by the hair, and touching his chest. He grabbed your ass tightly with one hand making your hips grind against his member, while his other hand cupped your breasts, massaging them softly.

He lowered his lips to your neck, licking, biting, and sucking, making you moan. You grabbed his hair tightly when he lowered himself to your breasts, sucking at your nipples, flicking his tongue, and sending shivers down your spine. You pushed him to lie in bed. You pulled out his pants revealing his throbbing member.

You looked at each other both of you drunk with lust. You climbed on top of him and laid all your body weight on him, not that it made much of a difference for him. You kissed him and his hand rested on your ass, while the other pushed your hair off your face.

"I love you." You whispered. Maybe it was the intensity of missing each other, of knowing you might die fighting against the white walkers. But both of you were craving each other like no other time before.

"I love you, Sabrina." He kissed her again.

You stopped kissing him and turned to his cock. You grabbed it and licked from the base to the tip, noticing the tip was already dripping. He grunted in pleasure. He watched as your ass was almost on his face. The pleasure of your mouth on his cock combined with the view of your ass and cunt near his face was driving him insane. He slapped and grabbed your ass, pulling your cunt to his face.

He kissed your cunt and licked your lips. His entire mouth was on your cunt. The warmth of his mouth covering your sensitive area, licking softly, putting pressure and sucking the right places was making you moan while still having his cock in your mouth. The vibration of your moans while his cock was in deep in your throat send more pleasure waves through his body, making him focus even more on licking your cunt.

He started licking with more pressure around your cunt, you started flicking your tongue harder on his tip. It was almost as if you were competing to see who could lick and suck better. You felt overwhelmed with pleasure and knew you wouldn’t last long.

“Stop!” You announced as soon as his cock left your mouth. You get off him so he wouldn’t reach your cunt anymore. He looked at you confused. You smiled to assure him it was nothing serious.

“Fuck me Sandor.” You bit your lip, you had no more control over your body, it was all about pleasure now.

He grunted and got on his knees he pulled your legs and you gasped on how quick she shoved his cock into you.

“That’s what you want? My cock inside ya?” He said gritting his teeth trying to hold back the amount of pleasure that had taken over his body.

“Yes, now fucking move.” You ordered him.

He started fucking you, it was messy and rough. The sound of his grunts were almost hidden by the loud moans coming out of his mouth.

“You sound like a fucking whore.” He grabbed and slapped your breasts.

“I’m a whore for you only.” You tried to sound sane while he pumped his cock into you. He pushed your lower belly down putting the right amount of pressure, his cock hitting the right spot inside of you. You closed your eyes and felt it coming.

“Harder” You begged.

He trusted harder, faster, and deeper. Your insides twisting and contracting against his cock. You could not avoid the feeling anymore and you let out a loud cry. He let you ride off your high and he pushed your legs up to your belly, stretching your cunt more, he liked watching his throbbing cock disappearing inside of your tight and wet cunt. He focused on your pretty cunt and look back into your lustful eyes. It was enough for him to reach his peak. His seed filled you for the second time ever. This time was the most intense one.

You lied together in bed, just looking at each other’s eyes, exchanging slow kisses and soft touches. If you were both about to face hell. You would enjoy the moments in heaven first.

An hour later both of you were getting ready to face this war. Sandor kissed your forehead.

“Stay alive, that’s an order!” You said firmly.

“Yes, My Lady.” He smiled softly.

You grabbed your pups and guided the women and children down to the crypts. Luckily, Gendry had built a type of exo skeleton armor for your dogs, with spikes made of dragon glass on the tops of the head and torso, in such a way that if the dogs charged at white walkers they would be hit by the spikes placed on their head or bodies.

It was a genius way to use the leftover dragon glass that Gendry had.

After locking the doors, you waited. Not longer later you could hear sounds outside. The entire time you prayed to the gods to protect your husband. To aid him and to end this war.

There were sounds at the door, a couple white walkers came inside. Chaos took over and you and your dogs charged onto them. You didn’t have much fighting skills, but with the dogs doing most of the work you just needed to give the final blow to the head.

They kept coming, but you kept resisting. Just one bite from your dogs was already enough to break an average healthy man’s bone. So these decomposing skeletons were a child’s play to these big pups, especially since they were protected by the exo skeleton armor.

Suddenly they all dropped dead for good. Someone had killed the Night King. You immediately ran out, calling your dogs to come find Sandor with you. You didn’t even have to leave the inside because he clearly had the same idea to look for you. You bumped into each other. Both well and alive. A miracle.

You held each other tightly and you cried in relief.

“It’s alright, you’re alright now.” He whispered to you, the same way he did the first time he said those words.

[trans-michael-shelley]

my contribution for Mutuals Powerpoint Night!!!!!! @wherearetheplants @astralrunic @multi-lefaiye @cnnamonrolls @abouttogetshellshocked @approximately20eggs (this is @/nicola-writes' TMA sideblog btw for those confused).

anyway. one more thing under the cut :))) you should click i promise

hello jon apologies for the deception but i wanted to make sure you started reading, so i thought it best not to announce myself. now:

JURGEN LEITNER? STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JURGIEN LEITNER? GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK COLLECTING DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT AVATAR OF THE WHORE BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITNER

STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT JURGEIN LEITNER I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY FUCKED UP BOOKS WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE IS HE DEAD IS HE A BASTARD MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN HIS FACE AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS SHITTIEST BEARD GET AWAY FROM ME

if i wanted to get into heaven and god said jurgein leitners waiting inside i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down

if i have to deal with jurgen leitner speaking one word in person on voice in podcast not only will i close the tab i will delete my bookmark out of spite and have to rewatch the entire series again for the experience of being able to skip all the times when he is mentioned or alive

i dont even know why i hate him so much. he collects books but i am just mad because i am angy

he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if hes just some rich shithead whose just a fan of creepypasta and wanted the irl version ill go ham

BETTER have had a book make him kill a man cuz if he didnt im going to make him

paypal.com/IFuckingHateJurgeinLeitner

episodes not even about him. vaguely mentioned what is supposed to maybe be his library and i lost it

where the fuck is jurgen leitner if hes still alive im going to so deeply wish he wasnt

crusty old man

ill punch leitner and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will desintegrate until all thats left of him is one final book he kept on him at all times simply titled Now You Fucked Up in ancient yiddish

im not breathing im hyperventalating at this point

i hope theres a date given for when jurgen died or will die so i can make it a reminder on my phone

everyday once a year i will see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who had so many fucked up if true books

(congrats on experiencing both HELLO JON and the leitner rant now <3 youre in the fandom already)

[rei-ismyname]

Ororo, late in the Genesis war, holding the Uranos Trigger like Yorick's skull, thinking about all she's seen and done after choosing to insert herself in this culture - 'Arakko doesn't have drama kids bc everyone is like that all the time. I've never felt so fucking alive. I wish everyone who made fun of my weather incantations and invocations to goddesses I'm related to could see me now. Exodus would love it here.'

Jon Ironfire, sweating bullets bc he's had the worst day of his life 3 weeks in a row + he is grieving his malewife who *entrusted him with his sword* - 'Why do you hesitate? If you're not strong enough to press the button to summon the demigod who killed half the planet like a month ago then I will!'

Ororo, waiting for Roberto to and to create suspense *WORDLESSLY FRIES THE TRIGGER TO SLAG WITH A HECTIC LIGHTING BOLT*

Roberto, nodding 'fuck yeah'

Fisher King, having constant PTSD flashbacks and overwhelmed by merging with a sentient swarm of insects plus the thousands of years of memories that come with it - stares at the giant fish and mutters incoherently.

Jon Ironfire, horrified - 'Why did you do that crazy and dramatic thing? I'm going to be rational and try to kill my malewife and his 99 ride or die soldiers by myself.'

Dick Rider (Nova) watches, appalled but trying to not be judgmental. He's grateful that he's immune to the call of Drama Kid Swag. Out of the corner of his eye he spots a plague arrow flying straight at Storm. He acts quickly and *undramatically*

Everyone is shocked but they totally get why he did it. It looked super cool. He's beyond fucked up though, and morale is low. They wonder if majoring in theatre was a useless degree, if it's incompatible with being a warrior. Silent prayers are mouthed, a sign is needed - a champion of violence and monologues. 'Magneto!' They think, but it's a forlorn hope. His heart was torn out last war, he kept himself alive using rage and dramatic timing - long enough to slay one final enemy and redefine philosophical deathbed soliloquies.

...

...

A portal opens.

The First Drama Kid. En Sabah Nerd. The ancient marriage of war and elocution. Favourite son of Space Gods. Slayer of Glee club. Cause of the Bronze Age Collapse. Having a wild act 3 face turn

[atopvisenyashill]

luv you comrade 🫡 let’s say there’s an alternative universe where rhaegar sucssed. What do you think will happen to both of my sisters elia and lyanna where they survived aw well?. And how do you think rhaegar and his groupies would handle aerys ? Would they remove him straight away or just wait and pray for months that someone finish him in secret

love u two comrade anon.

okay so i kinda touched on this before, but let's get into the nitty gritty of what problems rhaegar is dealing with.

so you won the battle of the trident but your daddy is still an insane monster and your kingdom is fractured by...

the siege of storm's end

catelyn is pregnant with ned's baby, holed up in riverrun and ready for a siege

the smallfolk of the crownlands are in open rebellion against the crown, as shown by the battle of the bells and the hiding of robert from joncon. this includes those that live right near the blackwater rush, acorn hall, and the stoney sept.

the royces are likely holed up in the vale, unsure of what to do now that Jon and Denys have been slain

Aerys is putting together his wildfire plot in the capital and getting ready to set it off at any moment while Jaime gets increasingly worried about how he manages to defend the city, Elia and her babies, a toddler Viserys, a potentially pregnant Rhaella, AND the King when it's the King that is the threat to Elia, Rhaella, and the city

So...what in the fuck do you do if you're Rhaegar in this situation? It's a bleak situation!!!! First off, let me rec this fanfiction which basically deals with this exact concept - what happens if Rhaegar wins at the Trident? - that I think is amazingly well written and I'm having a blast reading it. It's abandoned I believe but there's a lot of chapters and it's from Catelyn, Elia, Lyanna, Doran, Renly, and Benjen (mostly Cat and Elia though).

What definitely happens first is that Rhaegar takes what's left of his host after the Trident and goes back to King's Landing. Despite his actions being stupid as all fuck, Rhaegar does leave the Tower of Joy and Lyanna's side when he's told that Elia and the children are in trouble so he's clearly worried about them being alone in King's Landing with a deteriorating Aerys. At the same time, Lyanna is ready to pop soon, so he probably sends Jonothor Darry to Starfall and the Tower of Joy to ensure the birth goes well while he goes to the capital. Because - I don’t think Rhaegar actually meant for her to give birth without a Maester, I think that was the Kingsguard death wish that kept them at the Tower. And we know he was communicating through the Kingsguard throughout the war (because Oswell found him easily enough) so I would imagine he’d send Jonothor off with new marching orders (rather than Lewyn, who would definitely find it an insult, or Barristan, who Rhaegar clearly doesn't trust enough with his closest secrets). Lyanna, I would hope, is slightly better off simply because Rhaegar is still ensuring it and the Kingsguard still have a reason to live. I would think once Robert is killed - I would hope Rhaegar would hesitate to kill Ned and that Ned's host managed to break off and scatter but battles are tricky and chaotic and Rhaegar is not thinking long term so who knows. Lyanna is objectively better off with Ned alive because he's old enough to "forgive" her (and sees clearly even that there's nothing to forgive) and want to take care of her, while Benjen may not feel the same nor would he have the same pull. But that simply may not be possible.

When Rhaegar is done at the Trident and gets to King's Landing, he’s walking into an almost literal powder keg. Who knows how Aerys reacts to Rhaegar coming up victorious but to be honest, I think it’s just as likely that he gets paranoid Rhaegar is going to take the throne from him, and Jaime still has to kill him. Rhaegar walks in to see Jaime just. Chilling. Waiting to see what army gets inside first. Haha yeah your dad murdered the last hand, also I killed the pyromancers. I think Elia would speak for him, maybe Rhaella since Rhaella wasn’t sent to Dragonstone. Now Rhaegar is King, he’s secured the capital, and he’s got two separate sieges, open rebellion to face, and a bastard/trueborn son born to a second wife on the way.

Because the thing is! Catelyn is at Riverrun and Stannis is at Storm’s End and those two are both stubborn enough to eat shoes before giving up, especially if it means giving up to Aerys. And now Stannis is Lord of Storm’s End, Robb is Lord of Winterfell, and Edmure is Lord of Riverrun. The Greyjoys have likely started reaving in the riverlands, the Lannisters have surrounded Riverrun. The northern host is scatted, the crownlands are in open revolt, the Vale is retreating but they’ll be ready again soon enough.

He’s got a lot of problems and that’s best case scenario that Jaime offs Aerys. If he gets to KL and Jaime pulls him aside and is like “so some INSANE stuff has happened” I mean - he has to depose Aerys. Aerys is burning people alive left and right, and now he’s put wildfire out and Jaime doesn’t know where it is or how much exists. Aerys cannot be allowed to sit the throne, and even Rhaegar should realize this. Rhaegar mentions calling a great council to Jaime but right here, right now - I think the only decision is to kill Aerys and blame it on the throne again. Or frame someone if they’re really nervous, but if Maegor can get killed by the throne, so can Aerys. This is messier, trickier, but between Jaime, Lewyn Martell, and Rhaegar, they can take a bunch of pyromancers and Aerys.

Probably after that he’s explaining to Lewyn and Elia why the fuck he abandoned the capital for six months to play house with a teenager, and when he tells them he got that teenager pregnant - that he may have MARRIED that teenager? Oh my god. Like, I’m not saying Lewyn is just gonna throw caution to the wind and deck Rhaegar but I do think it would be a fucking CLOSE thing. Hundreds of thousands of people are dead. There’s a bunch of children in charge of the realm now because Rhaegar had to murder their parents to cover his own ass. There are no good options left to them because Rhaegar squandered all the grace given to him in less than a year.

Whatever happens next, things are going to be rocky and unsure. Rhaegar is king but he’s fully lost the faith of Dorne and he knows damn well the ironborn and Tywin are only on his side because they want the spoils of war. EYE think the smart thing here is to send ravens to every castle saying he’s attempting a parlay and great council with the rebels, that he understands his father completely misstepped here, and that at this great council, he’s going to work with all the lords, loyalists and rebels both, to find a peace and atone for the mass deaths this conflict has caused. But most likely, he takes the easier, stupider route of slaughtering House Baratheon at Storm’s End and telling Cat and baby Robb they have no chance of help. I don’t think it’s likely he succeeds that easily though - we don’t know who survived the Trident (it was close on both sides even in canon!) and Cat could very well have reinforcements coming from Blackfish, the Vale & Jon Arryn, maybe even Ned. If Lyanna lives through her birth, I think she, Jon, Elia and the babies, as well as Rhaella, Viserys, and unborn Dany are probably all more or less fine. If Ned, Jon Arryn, Blackfish, Cat, whomever CAN in fact turn the tide and retake the capital, or bring the war to a stalemate with the North and Riverlands controlled by rebels, the Westerlands, Crownlands, and Dorne with the loyalists, and the Vale & Ironborn kinda all over the place, I think things go much better for Lyanna and Jon, as well as the realm as a whole. If Rhaegar is the undisputed winner through war, Lyanna and Jon are kinda fucked and there Will be another rebellion soon.

[fandomficsnstuff]

The Dragon's Daughter - 21

(Warnings: Angst, angst, mentions of burning alive and being eaten by a dragon (good Raemor *pats his head softly*) and more angst and sadness. Sorry lovelies!<3)

Dothraki will be in bold

High Valyrian will be in cursive

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

Rhaella was hesitant as she entered the chambers, her heart in her throat as she held her breath, awaiting the anger that would without a doubt meet her. She turned to Ezzo once she found her mother with the babe in her arms, a few tears in Rhaella’s eyes that she tried to hide “wait outside” she ordered and he nodded and bowed his head, leaving, Rhaella turning to her mother again who dismissed everyone in the room, Ezzo closing the doors behind him once everyone was out. Rhaella stepped a small step closer to her as she sat there in the loveseat, a pillow at her back and the child in her arms, dark curls at the crown of his head. “Mother… I-” Rhaella cut herself off, voice shaky as she felt tears build up in her eyes, awaiting her mother’s wrath, but all she got was a soft smile “come, sit” she offered and Rhaella hesitantly approached. “I thought-... I thought you’d be angry with me” Rhaella admitted as she sat down next to her mother, glancing hesitantly at the boy in her arms. “I’m not angry, my night’s sky.”

“Sad?”

“No.”

“...Wrathful?”

“Never to you.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not once have I ever been disappointed with you” Daenerys answered honestly with a soft smile before looking down at the boy in her arms. “Jon and I are not quite certain of a name… we’ve talked about a few, of course, but none seem to fit…” she admitted, gently rocking the sleeping babe. “He’s so… small” Rhaella mumbled and Daenerys chuckled “you were this small once, too… small and perfect” Daenerys hummed before turning to her daughter again “would you like to hold him?”

“I-I-... what if I drop him?!”

“You won’t” Daenerys assured, already handing her the baby boy and Rhaella nervously accepted him, staring down at him, his black curls, eyelashes softly resting on his chubby white cheeks as he slept. “He’s so… quiet… I thought babies were supposed to-... be noisy… is he alright?”

“He is just fine. And you were this quiet too, once you were in my arms after I woke up” she admitted and Rhaella smiled softly at her mother. “So… a name… Jon and I are uncertain…”

“What names have you picked out?”

“There are of course Baelor, Aemon, Darion… Aegon…” Daenerys admitted, noticing how Rhaella stiffened a little at the last one, “but Aegon was the one Jon was the least fond of, can’t say that I disagree” she added and Rhaella eased up a little, continuing to look down at the small babe “what about… Daron?” Rhaella asked after a while, looking up at her mother who smiled fondly at her “Daron” she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue, her smile growing even bigger “I like it…”

“As do I” a voice suddenly spoke, both of them turning to see Jon who had sneaked into the chambers, not wanting to disturb the mother and daughter. Jon approached and Rhaella seemed almost just as horrified as she had been when she’d first entered the chambers, yet Jon’s smile kept her at ease. He approached and kneeled down in front of Rhaella, smiling at the baby boy in her arms before looking up at her “it’s good to see you, Your Grace” he spoke softly and Rhaella seemed much less horrified, her breath hitching and she smiled, relief flooding her and it could be seen in her eyes. “I’m hosting a tournament, in Daron’s name” she suddenly revealed, turning to look at her mother with a grin “it’ll be-... w-well it won’t be now, but it will be when you are able to-... be around others again… and with Daron, if you want. It’s in his name, after all” she stated, now seemingly so much happier and Jon smiled at Daenerys at the sight of Rhaella’s joy. “I’ve asked Tyrion to speak with Grand Maester Ricardo about when you’ll be able to-... do-… activities with Daron, it will only be hosted then” she stated more firmly and with a hint of stubborn pride that conveyed that nothing could change her mind on that. Rhaella looked back at Daron with fondness. Until he began to squeal and cry, neither Daenerys nor Jon had ever seen her golden eyes grow so wide, a deep frown forming on her brows and she stared at the child in utter panic, turning to her mother, hoping she’d at the very least relieve her of the screaming child. “Uh… Mother, he’s-”

“Let me” Jon stated, gently taking the babe, rocking him and soon he calmed down, Rhaella still looking horrified as she watched her step-father rock her brother back to sleep. “I-... should get on with my day” she muttered, forcing a smile and Daenerys chuckled at how put-off her daughter had been when she heard her brother cry, as babies usually do. “Good day, Your Grace” Ser Brienne greeted when she walked outside of the chambers, Rhaella nodding nervously, standing there like stone until she cleared her throat “he, uh… began to cry… Daron, I mean, not Father, of course-”

“Daron, Your Grace?”

“Yes… my brother” she stated with a hint of pride, her nerves all but gone now and Brienne smirked “a fine name, Your Grace. Should I remain here at your mother’s side?”

“No, not if you do not wish to. I’ve missed your looming presence- I mean no offence, of course!”

“None taken, Your Grace” Brienne answered with a sincere smile and Rhaella nodded, letting out a breathy sigh as she continued down the hallways to her own chambers, work waited for no one, not even the Dragon Queen.

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Rhaella was quiet as she stood with Raemor behind her, looming over her like a shadow, an aspect of her, an extension. Both watched coldly as Tyres was dragged before the pair of them, Rhaella holding her head a little higher, the crown sitting perfectly on her head, all eyes on her and her dragon as Tyres was forced to the ground in front of the Queen. At her side stood Ezzo and Ser Brienne, Jon standing a little further back, having insisted on joining her. Not because he looked forward to seeing someone burning alive but because he knew that despite her regal facade, this weighed heavily on the new Queen. She did not take this lightly.

“Tyres Westford, you have been charged with attempted murder and assault. You have demanded a trial by combat, and a trial you shall have” she stated casually and coldly, stepping aside after gesturing to him, Rhaella moving to stand next to her dragon instead, still a little in front of it yet not between the two. Tyres’ chains were suddenly unlocked and he was forced to stand, being pushed a little further away from the Queen and her dragon, a sword and shield being thrust into his hands and Rhaella turned away, moving to the side where she stood, a cold look in her eyes as she turned to Tyres. She raised a brow at him, almost as though challenging him, and Tyres studied the large dragon nervously “Your Grace, I-... I’m sorry, please, forgive me! I beg of you, please show me mercy!”

“I have shown you mercy more times than you deserve. You demanded a trial by combat, if the Gods deem you innocent, then you will win” she stated coldly, Raemor growling lightly at him, hot air drifting from his nostrils as he watched the poor man with malice. Tyres hesitated before charging at the dragon, the dragon immediately opening it’s mouth, fire spewing forth from it’s lips, the entire courtyard echoing with the piercing screams of the man burning alive, Rhaella watching him flail about in agony before dropping dead, Raemor turning to glance at her and she nodded subtly, Raemor growling, letting out a brief roar before beginning to tear Tyres apart, not even waiting for the flames to die out. She had promised him that he’d tear Tyres apart, back when he’d first wounded her, and she wouldn’t break her promises, especially not to her dragon, her twin. Once nothing but blood and ashes were left of Tyres, Rhaella walked over to her dragon, reaching up and placing a hand on his bloody snout, feeling his entire body rumble as he purred quietly, eyes closing briefly before opening to look at her once more. “Thank you, for being my champion” she whispered before dropping her hand, looking down at the blood that now covered it, a strange feeling settling in her gut. The last time she had blood on her hands, it had been her own and because of the man her dragon had just eaten. Quite the fitting end, if anyone asked her.

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

The entire Keep was in a bustle, the day of the tournament for Daron Targaryen had arrived, only a fortnight after Tyres’ execution, knights and nobles from all over had been invited, carrying gifts of all kinds for the young lordling to welcome him into the world. The site for the tournament had been set and Daenerys was currently being guided up to the Royal box with it’s view cast out over the jousting range, Daron in her arms as Jon helped her up the steps, guiding her to the chairs next to the throne the Queen would sit in. The Queen who was nowhere to be seen, apparently. Daenerys sat down closest to the throne with Jon on her other side, both of them looking around for the Queen. The galleries and viewing boxes were all full, the knights waiting, the horses armoured and prepared. The only thing missing was the Queen, Ser Brienne, Ezzo and her hand. Grand Maester Ricardo and Maester Sam were there, the other Queensgarde posted around the Royal Box, hands on their swords, as was their duty.

Suddenly, trumpets began to play and everyone stood up, even Daenerys with Daron in her arms, turning to the entrance of the box to see Rhaella appear. She was dressed in a brilliant red dress, off the shoulders and with a sweetheart neckline, gold trimmed along the edges of the dress and it’s long sleeves, around the edge of her skirts, a dragon embroidered in gold trailing up her dress from the bottom, almost as though it was twisting itself around her, wrapping and cloaking her, keeping her under it’s embrace. Her hair was pulled up in intricate ways, yet not a single braid was there, the hair turned and twisted around itself, pulled up, wrapped around something, but not a single braid was visible. “I present; Rhaella Targaryen, first of her name, the White Dragon of the Great Grass Sea and the Khalasaar, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Westeros, Queen of Dragons, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Ruler of Westeros and protector of the Realm” Ser Brienne announced loudly, Rhaella taking in all of the people before picking up the front of her intricate gown, walking down the steps and to her post, Ser Brienne staying put by the entrance, Tyrion following after Rhaella and Falia stayed by the entrance as well, Tyrion moving to stand in front of the seat to the left of the throne. Rhaella looked out over everyone before deciding to speak up, making sure that everyone heard her, even those in the box across from them and the jousting lanes. “Today, we celebrate the birth of my brother, Daron Targaryen, and the strength of the woman who brought him into the world. May my brother live a long and prosperous life! Let the games begin!!” she shouted and clapped her hands once, people cheering loudly and with excitement, knights and squires getting into place, horses being brought forth, spare lances held at the ready and Rhaella sat down in her seat, everyone else following, chatter filling the air and Rhaella watched the smiles on everyone’s faces with a gloomy look on her face.

“My night’s sky?” Daenerys asked softly, Rhaella forcing a smile as she turned to her mother, Daenerys frowning at her “what is it?”

“Nothing, mother, everything is fine-”

“It’s not. I can see it on your face…” she whispered and gently rocked Daron, Rhaella’s eyes moving to the sweet, innocent boy in her arms. “I’m merely lamenting the fact that my first tournament will also be my last” she admitted quietly before looking ahead, Daenerys glancing at Tyrion from across Rhaella, Tyrion giving her a remorseful look and a subtle shrug. What would he tell the Queen that she had not already been told before? She was steadfast in her belief that the Realm would always want a man on the throne, that she was doomed to be cast aside in favour of her half-brother, so why not try to embrace it with a smile, instead of bitterness and anger? She was wise to try and be accepting, should her fears be true. But they weren’t. The Realm adored her, many beginning to believe that it should always be a Targaryen Queen on the throne, the commoners whispering amongst themselves that they’d never had such a peaceful reign as they have under Queen Daenerys and Queen Rhaella.

As the jousting and games continued, knights and noblemen asking favours of either her or her mother, which were granted with smiles, true or false, Rhaella seemed to drown further in her pit of despair, a pleasant smile on her lips whenever her favour was asked of her, small woven crowns of flowers, twigs and ribbons being passed down onto the lances. Daenerys felt powerless. All she could do was watch her daughter’s misery unfold, her precious daughter, her beloved child, her first born, her white dragon… and her white dragon was miserable, this entire event a reminder that to her, she’d soon be deposed, soon people would start to wish for Daron to take the throne when he comes of age. Daron appeared to be a normal, healthy baby boy, he had his father’s dark hair and his mother’s lilac eyes. But he had no scales, no dragon eyes, no bond with a dragon yet, the egg in his crib still not having hatched. Jon felt just as powerless. Rhaella might not have been his blood, but she was his daughter. She’d called him her father the second he’d married Daenerys, she’d supported him, confided in him, treated him as if he was her real father, yet the birth of his own son, his flesh and blood, caused so much distress to the young woman he cared so much for. He knew she couldn’t help it, they all knew that, and they knew she wished no ill will towards the baby boy, or his parents, the current tournament being proof of this, but it pained her all the same.

“Your Grace, I have heard from the harbour masters that the ship from the Shadow Lands should arrive soon, within the next tenday. I have a feeling that they’ll contain even more eggs-”

“It will be the last ship” she interrupted quietly, turning to look at her hand with a small frown “eggs or no eggs, there will be no more voyages to Ashai, Valyria, anywhere. Too many women have been made widows, too many children have lost their parents. No more” she degreed softly, Tyrion watching her with a small sigh “dragons are your sigil, Your Grace-”

“That does not make me their owner” she interrupted again gently shaking her head “we have dragons already. I have a feeling that my brother’s egg may soon hatch, soon he will have a dragon” she stated softly, forcing a smile as though the idea made her happy. “Your Grace… you don’t need to do all of this, you don’t need to pretend-”

“Pretending is better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“That my brother’s birth has triggered my own inevitable demise” she admitted in a whisper without even needing to think about it, Tyrion frowning even more at her “I-... Your Grace, that’s not true. The commoners-”

“I heard what some of the newly arrived nobles called my brother, they called him ‘Prince Daron’, as though he is to ascend the throne. Everyone expects him to.”

“Your Grace, those are treasonous words, if you’d only point them out-”

“Having an opinion is not treason, Lord Tyrion” Rhaella argued with a faint smile, as though it didn’t bother her one bit what people said, even though it was a lie and they both knew it. “An attempt on my life, that is treason. Planning to overthrow me or dethrone me, that is treason. Wishing for my crown to pass to my brother is not” she explained further, turning to look over her shoulder, her eyes landing on Ezzo and she gave him a faint, forced smile, the Dothraki Screamer, giving her a genuine smile in return, and it made her own smile a little more genuine as well. Tyrion turned to look at who managed to make the Queen smile, his eyes catching the Dothraki Screamer, who’s smile instantly vanished when the Queen turned away and he saw Tyrion staring. And more importantly that Lord Tyrion had noticed the change that smile brought out in the Queen.

Tyrion looked ahead again, his eyes moving to the Queen next to him out of the corner of his eyes, finding her smile gone once again and he had to admit, it pained him to see it gone so soon. She was a good Queen, and an even better person, hosting a grand tournament for her newborn brother despite thinking that he would dethrone her when he came of age, if not before that. Yet she hosted the tournament, glorified the birth of her brother and the hard work her mother had to do to bring him into the world, wordlessly announcing her adoration and love for her new family member. He didn’t doubt that she loved him in some way, he knew she did, if nothing else then at least because he was her mother’s son, but her fears ruled her, gripping her heart in a vice grip that was close to shattering it as she was forced to sit through the tournament as though it pleased her. In a way, he was proud of her for doing so, for not hating her brother. Her fear may have ruled her, but it was obvious that she would not let it rule him, not her brother.

[lolitastories]

BLACK AND BLOOD

Y/N L/N is the daughter of the Great Khal Drogo although she was raised by the king of the unknown lands. After finding out he died she travels and finds the one who caused his death. Along this adventure she meets the mother of dragons. Jon Snow. Night walkers. We will see if she really has the Dothraki blood flowing through her veins.

Chapter 11:

“I have to go” Pulling back from Jon I start missing the warmth he radiates. “The sun is close” I look over to the horizon and know soon enough that although it's dark, I can imagine how it looked in the morning, praying to see that again. I look back to Jon and try to take as much of him in. “You hold on tight to that dragon”

“Yes Princess” The only thing holding onto him were my hands. When I removed them I walked towards him pulling him closer as my hands touched his cheeks. Atleast one last kiss. It was a simple one. A simple goodbye. A simple see you soon. A simple stay safe. A simple, don’t do anything stupid because I will be fighting to stay here with you. A simple, I love you. I pulled away, turned around and kept on walking. Love was always the thing that held me together. To be honest I never cared about dying. Never cared about leaving anyone behind. Yes I have people I loved who I would be crushed to see suffer because I am no longer here but at the end of the day they would be fine. Yet I get this overwhelming feeling now, that no matter what happens, I have to stay alive. I can’t not be afraid of death. I need to see what the future holds for me, I have to know. Once I reach the gates I mount my horse and wait for the Dothraki to take their stance behind me.

“Move forward” I yell in Dothraki. The horde rides out in between the unsullied to form themselves up infront of them.

“Lady Y/N” I look down and see a young girl there.

“Am no Lady” I say, mounting off my horse.

“My apologies, Princess” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Just Y/N. What can I do for you Lady Mormont?” She is a strong girl. I shake my head from going deep into a hole thinking about how she got to be a lady in this war.

“My cousin is out there” Jorah. “I-” She shakes her head. Her hands fall to the side as she tries to get her words out.

“I will stand with him, fight alongside him, '' Lady Mormont nods. I give her a smile before mounting on my horse and riding out to find Greyworm. My horse stops as it stands beside Arya. “If anything goes wrong, you are to go behind the gate” I look at both Arya and Greyworm. He nods knowing it was an order towards him to keep Arya safe. “Lead them Arya. Lead them well. They have their orders. Those catapults and trenches are yours to use” She nods. With a final glance I continue on riding. I see a figure coming closer on a horse. The rider's cloak falls back from their face and it's the redhead woman, Mellisandra. I keep on riding until I reach Jorah.

“You brought company” I looked confused as he pointed something behind me. I look back and see Ghost marching up to stand in the middle of us.

“Only because I threatened to make a fur coat of him” His low growl was heard and I only smiled. “Are you ready?” I look down again and see him focus on the darkness.

“I guess that everyone” Jorah jokes. He pulls out his sword as I do mine. My attention moves to the swishing sounds and growls above us. Daenerys and Jon are surveying the area. Their shadows can be seen thanks to the moon shining through the clouds above. I look down and give the signal. The soldiers start yelling and the Dothraki start wailing. I spur my horse forwad knowing the Dothraki was right behind me. The flaming swords allow us to see a bit of the onslaught as the Dothraki pull far away from the rest of the forces. Above us the stone from the catapults are seen behind the throne. The fire helps us with view as we come upon the dead.

The flaming stones crash to the ground in front of us. The snarls of the undead army precede them. We see the ferocious undead emerging from the darkness, massive in size and in numbers. The fire starts to quit and no matter how many we stick our swords in, the double amount shows up. Our forces are getting thinner and thinner by the minute. I look around to see Jorah struggling.

“Everyone! Back!” I yell in Dothraki. I rush to Jorah off my horse. Pushing the undead back and stabbing it. “We are getting mudered!” I yell. Jorah gets on his horse and rides off. I start running back and alongside me I see Ghost. The sound around me was made of horse whinnies in the darkness followed by the footsteps of retreating Dothraki on foot. We catch up to the unsullied and watch the Dothraki come in. Greyworm’s face twists in anger. I go to say something but Arya beats me to it. Greyworm nods to her command as he places on his helmet.The wind blows stronger. A soft pattern becomes a rumble of running feet as the undead army starts to boil forth the darkness, running at full tilt. Once visible, they come in like a tidal wave.

“Take your stance!” Greyworm shouts. The Unsullied take their braced battle stance, spears pointed forward. I stand back and watch the army of wights crash over them, shrieking and snarling. They stab and slice the Unsullied as they barrel through. I ran up to renforce. I watch as soldiers run from their stance towards the wall. The undead crash into their cadre at full speed and the battle begins. One after the other comes rushing towards us. A blow to the head, another to their spin and the rest wherever my sword catches them.

“Arya gets back into the gate!”Just then, the dragons above shoot forth a wall of flame as they dive past, disintegrating the undead. The dragons continue to do this until a white smoke of winter covers them. Fuck!. I rush towards Arya and pull her back, phishing her towards the gates. “Get back in the castle!” With a straight glance she nods. I am not pushing her away from the war. A war can’t be fought if the leader is dead. After a couple of minutes the archers above the wall start helping. I keep on fighting until the wind is knocked out of me. My sword is the only thing keeping me alive as one undead stays above me. With all my strength I pushed him back but not quick enough to see another coming towards me. I turn over and see Ghost taking care of him as I jab my sword into another. “I might be rethinking the fur coat”

“Fall back! Fall back! Tormund screams. The northman follows the command to retreat.

“Protect the retreat!” I yell in Valaryian. The northman makes it to the gate and the doors open. The undead continue to fight with an unhinged rage.

“Stand your ground!” Greyworm’s voice can be heard. Other than the grunts of the unsullied in the front line you can hear the northman behind us taking their stance. Spears pointed forward as we stood as the undead continued to swarm into us with great force.

“Retreat!” I hear a voice overboard in Valaryian. I can make it out to be Arya. Another soldier from afar yells to retreat. The Unsullied begin to fall back. “Light the trenches!” We watch as the last line of the Unsullied is being crossed. The undead making slow but constant progress against us. I look up seeing Davos wave a torch around.

“Light the trench!” A worried soldier screams out. I look over to Greyworm who continues to pant as he watches the ferocious undead army battle against the last man in the line.

“She can’t see the light, the snow is too strong” I scream over to Greyworm “Light the trenches!” The archers on the wall start shooting flaming torches at the palisade in the trenches. I watch as each arrow burns out each time it reaches its target, some don’t even make it as the harsh winds blow them out. The northenman try to light it with torches but it no use. I walk towards the gate and send out a line of Unsullied to take a stance. The weather gets worse by the second and our exhaustion will soon take over us. The sound of the Unsullied making a passageway catches my attention. Melisandre walks up giving me a quick glance before reaching the trenches. She lifts up her hand and starts chanting in Valaryian.

“Lord of Light, cast your light upon us. Lord of Light, defend us. For the night is dark and full of terrors!” Nothing. The winds keep blowing harder and the undead twice as strong forward. “Lord of Light, cast your light upon us! Lord of Light, defend us! For the night is dark and full of terrors!” Flaming arrows streak down from the ramparts into the darkness beyond the trench. The growls of the undead creep out of the darkness. I run up to help the Unsullied protect her. “Lord of Light, cast your light upon us! Lord of Light, defend us! For the night is dark and full of terrors!” Her chant became louder and in a second the trenches spark into flames. We take a step back watching as the fire consumes the attacking ghoul and those behind it. The trench erupts into a blinding wall of flame, stopping the swarm of undead attackers. They shriek in surprise and pain. For now, Winterfell is protected from the charge. I don’t know how long it has been but I wish it had lasted longer. The undead stood motionless now. One steps calmly forward into the trench falling face first.Then another joins him, and another still. They pile on top of one another at a quickening pace.

“Guard the walls”I pull back, continuing watching as the undead sacrifice themselves, one by one.Other groups of undead tumble into the trench, building other pathways with their bodies. They fall like dominoes until they have spanned the trench. “Man the walls”I scream out a warning again.The first wave of undead forge across the corpse bridge. We move forward to attack. Northernman from inside the walls march out to help with the alarming growing number of undead now crossing the trenches.

“Get behind the wall!” I didn’t turn around until I was running in the same direction as the person pulling me. I look up seeing nothernmen fighting up high in the wall.

“Where is Arya?” Tormund looks around, not being able to find her eithier. I didn’t wait for an answer. I ran along the wall trying to find her and help as much as possible. One after another undead, I come to a corner to see the man they call the Hound. Jon told me about him, and how he helped or tried to help Arya. “Get up! I need you to find Arya!”I stand in alert infront of him making sure the undead doesn’t get to me.

“He's a coward! Afraid of a little fire!” Beric screams over

“Fuck off! We can't beat them. Don't you see that, you stupid whore? We're fighting Death! They can't beat Death” I turn over and see more pileing up into the courtyard.

“Why don’t you tell her that?!” His eyes turn to what I am seeing. Arya rolling down to the ground fighting the undead with such force.

“I found her for you! Now you only have to keep her alive”There is a grunt from his direction but he gets up and makes his way towards her and Beric. I turn over, slashing an undead with my sword. My vision clears off the distance to see Daenerys in the middle of the field. I make my way through the undead but stop in my tracks seeing Jon running into Winterfell. His eyes fell on me and we shared a sigh of relief. He wanted to say something but I shook my head. “Go” I whisper, grasping his hand really quickly before making my way towards Daenerys. Just in time I pulled her away. Drogon flies up shaking the undead who start to mount him. They now turn their direction towards us and charge.

“Let's go!” Jorah takes hold of Daenerys as we try to make our way to safer ground.HE leads her through the burning wreckage of the battlefield outside the walls of Winterfell as I follow close behind. I slash two more until we come to a halt. The undead surrounding us from all sides. I hear a grunt to my side and stab the undead who stabbed Jorah in the side.

“We need to keep going!” I tell them. I look around but there is no end to this. We just have to continue fighting. Jorah takes his stance again. I turn and rage towards the ones coming forward. A slash in my arm causes my sword to fall. I trip over and grab another one on the ground and stab it on the undeads back before turning and slashing another.

“NO!’ Daenerys cries as a sword penetrates Jorahs heart. She takes a sword and stabs the undead in return. I rush over but fall as an undead grabs my ankle. I cut his wrist and gathered myself up. Daenerys cradles Jorah but I have to time to look any longer. I take another sword in my hand and protect them. I gained a slash in my right arm again, one in my shoulder and another in the other arm.

“Y/N!” I turned early enough to slash the undead behind me but not quick enough that blocked him from creating a line across my stomach. The pain became unbearable. My vision was cloudy. Far away I could see the horizon again as the sun kissed the sky. As the undead went down, so did I.

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 66 - I have vague memories of this statement regarding the first time I listened to it and what I was doing… I wanna say I sat on the couch?

It's so funny that in every statement with Salesa he's described as this crooked intimidating antiques dealer with whom you absolutely don't want to be on bad terms with (which probably is true), but when we actually meet Salesa he seems like this welcoming funny guy.

"His grip was just as strong as I would have guessed and for a second I was suddenly afraid he was going to kill me. Instead, he looked me in the eyes for a long moment before he said very softly, “don’t go to sleep”." - There, hard on the outside… a bit softer on the inside. The statement-giver thought Salesa was going to kill him when in reality Salesa wanted to safe his life.

"I have never suffered from claustrophobia before but it didn’t take long for it to set in " - Buried episodes usually don't do much for me. I too have never suffered from claustrophobia. Been caving, no problem. MRs, no problem. I guess if I ever thought to be buried alive I would also panic, but I think it's very unlikely to happen? There are no strong earthquakes where I live. I live far enough from the nearest mountain so mudslides are also unlikely. I don't go skiing, that makes avalanches also not something I might encounter…

"The thing that finally brought me out of it was the realization that if I’d been breathing so hard and for so long but was still conscious, that must mean there was airflow and that I wasn’t completely buried alive. That sudden moment of relief ended abruptly though, when I swear I felt the box get smaller." - The Buried is one of the Entities that fights you really hard when there's the chance for you to feel less fear. The coffin is the same, that's why Fiona Law ended up in it. But the statement-giver in MAG 129 made it out using an anchor, so it's possible depending on the manifestation (or at what stage you're at, like Joshua Gillespie in MAG 2. He never opened the coffin, it never got that far).

I think that these returning moments of hope was what kept the statement-giver alive. He probably would have been processed faster or died faster if he didn't think he might make it out (having enough air, seeing light) and the box tried so very hard to crush (ha!) his hope. But this gave him enough time to wait it out until Salesa and Lukas finally could get to him.

"He looked at me then over to Salesa, shrugged, and handed him a 20 pound note before turning around and walking out of the shipping container" - I remember that I did laugh at this (and now I remember I was definitely listening on the couch), as I instantly recognized this as a bet XD

"Surprisingly, it seems comprehensive shipping records are harder for Tim to flirt his way into than police reports" - lol

"There are several online orders of petrol, lighter fluid, pesticides, and high-powered torches." - Hmmm, the pesticides? Did Gertrude already prepare for Prentiss? I mean she was still Archivist when Prentiss gave her statement. Or was this for something else? Amherst didn't strike me that much of a bug buddy, although that ant building was his. Still, him taking over Ivy Meadows and Klanxbüll in Germany were all cases of diseases.

"I cannot help but wonder if there is a reason she was keeping the files in disarray. I’m not convinced she would approve of my efforts to organize them." - He's absolutely right there.

grbookworm1818, there it is^^ I think I have already forgotten that from MAG 4 on my first listen, especially since I had a very hard time with MAG 4.

"The more I learn about Gertrude, the more I respect her, and the more I worry about her motives." - Not everything is black and white, Jon. Her motives were good, her methods questionable…

"Perhaps I’ve been focusing on the wrong question, and the most important thing isn’t who killed her, but why." - Quite right, definitely worth looking into.

This supplemental has already so much story in it, but you only realize this over the course of XX episodes.

She ordered the pesticide after hearing Benoît Maçon's statement

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me - a Magnus Archives AU, Chapter Five

This is a DARK AU; it is not a kid-fic, though Jon is young. Bittersweet ending ahead.

Spoilers for the whole show, though this is very much an alternate universe.

Something truly new was coming this way—new to Jon, new in a way that frightened him, and he was so unused to being scared that it took the breath right from his lungs.

It approached, this thing, like a storm, like the tide, and everyone else in the room turned and bowed toward the door as if they were puppets on a single string.

AO3

Art by @iiiumihottie

Jon thought the carriage was amazing. He ran his fingertips over the dark red lacquer, stared with wide-eyed wonder at the gilded framework depicting battles and ocean waves and indistinct kings, studied the patterned seat fabric, which was unlike any fabric he’d yet encountered.

Martin kept checking around them. The next wave of Fingers weren’t close yet, so they should be okay.

“So you’re saying the date has to wait,” Mike said.

Martin gave him a look of such exasperation that Jon decided, on the spot, that he liked them both. 

Before Martin could answer, Jon said, “What’s it like being a vampire?”

Martin and Mike both stared at him.

“How… did you know that I am?” said Martin.

Jon blinked. “I mean. Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?” said Martin. He looked at Mike for confirmation.

Mike shrugs. “Not really, no.”

“Oh.” So he’d said a weird thing. The yelling would come next. Jon dropped his gaze.

But Martin didn’t yell. “You can actually see that?” he said, light and chipper and not at all accusing, and Jon risked a single glance up. 

Huh. No yelling seemed to be forthcoming “Yes.”

“What does that look like?”

In Jon’s entire fourteen years, no one had ever asked him that question. “I see red inside of you,” he began at once, leaning forward. “I see it like mist, just beneath your skin, but mostly from the side, not exactly if I look dead on. It’s a little like the purple storms that come sometimes, stealing life the moment they rain, but nobody else can see those, apparently, so I don’t know if you can, or if you know what they look like.”

“Purple,” Martin began, but Jon couldn’t stop now. 

“I look at you, and I can see hunger, and feel hunger, and I can tell it’s for blood, and I’ve read books, and I know there haven’t been vampires like you since the First Iteration, but here you are, and that means you’re either very old or very young, because the Will of the End decided the new vampires were no good and got rid of them, though I certainly don’t know why, so either you somehow survived that ‘cleansing,’ or somebody made you new, and that’s just baffling because why would the Will of the End have left you alive so long, anyway? And also, what is it like to drink blood?”

Mike started laughing. 

What was with this kid? “You see all that, do you?” said Martin.

“Yes,” said Jon, half hyper, half terrified. Any moment now, he’d be told to shut up. “So what’s it like?”

“Hungry,” said Martin, answering softly. “All the time. It means very patient friends who… help.”

“They let you have their blood,” Jon said.

“I want it to stay personal so it doesn't turn... wrong,” said Martin quietly, and redirected, tilting his head toward Mike. “What do you see when you look at him?”

“Whoa, now,” said Mike.

“You laugh, you’re part of the show,” Martin said primly.

Mike stuck his tongue out at him.

Jon looked. Jon shivered. “Tall jagged mountains, dark brown and spattered with white. I don’t know where they are,” he whispered. “Cold and sharp like knives. So far away you can’t make out the details. I think they’re enormous. The wind is so loud that it feels like your ears are bleeding.”

They all stared at one another.

“Eye?” suggested Mike again.

“Then why can’t we see him clearly?” said Martin.

“I’m not Aligned,” said Jon. “It never happened.”

“That really isn’t possible,” said Martin.

Mike nodded. “Looking right at you, I can see you… sort of. But if I turn my head away, I don’t—and I almost forget you’re there. It’s weird.”

“I think that's why nobody came,” said Jon. “When I turned ten.”

Martin sighed. “Maybe we’ll find out.”

“Bet your friend Sasha could make out a thing or two,” said Mike.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Who’s Sasha?”

“Works for the Heart of the End with me. She’s a natural philosopher.”

Ooh! One of those people who did experiments and discovered things. “So what does she do? Test things with fire and acid and such? Hey—is the Will of the End separate from the Heart? The books sometimes speculated Jonah Magnus was both.”

“Where did you read that? No, they’re two people,” said Martin. “Oliver Banks is the Will of the End.”

“How does that work?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it was all set up.” Martin checked out the window again, visibly nervous.

“Should… should we just let them get me?” said Jon. “The empty things were coming for me, after all.”

“The Fingers?” said Mike.

“Yes. Hey, why are they called Fingers? They have full bodies.”

“Because… well, I suppose because they reach out and grab whatever the Will of the End wants,” said Martin.

“Oh,” said Jon. “That’s more boring than I’d hoped.”

“What did you hope?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jon. “Maybe they all came together like clay and made a huge, single hand. That’d be pretty frightening, right?” he said, demonstrating with his hands an approximation of clay being mushed together.

“I like this kid,” said Mike, and Jon reddened.

The carriage angled suddenly, front end tilting so Jon was pressed back into his seat. He gasped. “Are we falling?”

“Oh—no, we’re on the path,” said Martin.

Jon stared at him. “What’s that?”

“Ever made it to the far end of London?”

“No, I… it felt like I shouldn’t.” His past self had said to stay away from this side of the city, so he had.

Martin wrestled with the window, which opened with a squeak. “Take a look.”

Jon carefully stuck his head through. At first glance, they seemed to be floating. All around them was a precipitous drop, terrible all the way down to white, foaming ocean. Jon, of course, leaned right out the window to see more.

Martin grabbed the back of his jacket, discovered its structural integrity was suspect, and held his arm instead.

Jon gave him a panicked look.

“Just so you can look without falling,” Martin says. “It’s all right. Go on.”

Permission to see?

Permission to see! Jon never got permission to see. He leaned back out the window.

The cab (and dead horse) trotted along a gently curving path that rose from the ocean like a wall, and it was so narrow that the wheels skirted right along the edge. There was no room for error; there was no room for another carriage. Fascinated, Jon looked back at London.

He had never imagined anything like it. Books did a fair job of describing things, but they were nothing like sight. London sprawled. It smoked like one big chimney. People like ants crawled all over its streets, and carriages of various sizes and wealth reflected sunlight like knives. It was gloriously ugly; uneven, asymmetrical, an absolute mess of housing and occasional manors.

And Jon realized with a shock that he could not tell where his home had been.

He had no reference point. There were many alleys, many row houses like he’d seen from his windows, many old, out-of-date buildings looming between the newer builds. The place he’d grown up was… lost to him. He hadn’t liked it, but still. This was a very, very weird feeling.

(And a familiar one. You can never go home again came to him from his past self, which he didn’t understand, but felt hollow and powerful and true.)

Martin tapped his shoulder. “Look the other way,” he said.

So. That might have been the reason his gut said to stay away, because once he'd got an eyeful of this place, he wouldn’t have been able to. 

This palace—fortress?—seemed to rise from rock thrust up from the sea, and it was a strange, black stone laced with purple chunks and purple branches, castellated and columned. Its edges matched the edges of the foundational rock on which it sat, and so its shape was odd; it had so many windows (and so many floors) that Jon was overwhelmed, forgetting how to count, and had to crane his neck to look up, up, up at the tallest, narrow tower, which rose so high in the air that its top seemed to narrow to a point.

“It’s something, right?” said Martin.

Jon didn’t want to come back into the carriage, but if he didn’t, he couldn’t ask questions. He compromised by pulling partway in before speaking. “It seems… large?”

Mike snorted.

“It is,” said Martin.

“Why is it so large?”

“The Heart of the End likes fancy things,” said Martin.

Well, it seemed fancy. “When was it built? How?”

“That’s before my time, I’m afraid,” said Martin.

“So you’re a young vampire,” said Jon.

Martin smiled. “I’m not that young—been doing this for over a century. Not entirely sure how long—lost a couple of years there, after my change.” 

“It’s called the transformation, ” Jon informed him primly. 

Mike snorted again.

“Be nice,” said Martin said to him. “I’m the only vampire right now, and the Heart called it the change.”

Jon looked betrayed. “He changed the name?”

Don’t laugh, Martin told himself. “He did.”

“I don’t like it when they change the names of things,” said Jon, his voice cracking. “Then nobody knows anything.”

“Probably half the reason he does it,” Martin muttered.

“Don’t need to know anything, though, do you?” says Mike. “It doesn’t really matter.”

And fuck, did the carriage get cold, and huge, though nothing had changed, and no one had moved, but suddenly they were so far away from each other that they could not see one another’s faces. Martin gasped. The irrelevance hit him in the chest, like it always did. They’d fucked like this, a couple of times, and it had its pros—all about pure sensation, no sense of self—but he didn’t honestly enjoy forgetting who he was or why it mattered.

It didn’t affect Jon that way. It didn’t affect Jon at all. “But it does matter!” Jon shouted, not angrily, but just because everyone was far.

“Mike, please!” Martin gasped, his voice sounding distant and tinny and tinny.

Jon looked around. “This is so weird!” he shouted, then winced at his own volume.

Mike frowned, and suddenly the carriage was normal. “He’s Eye,” he said. “Can’t mark him for the Vast.”

“He’s not marked by the Eye, either, according to Annabelle.” Martin was shivering. “Warn a guy, would you?”

“Sorry. But he should’ve been marked.”

“By all means, take it up with the disembodied eyeball.” Martin said, and rubbed his face as the carriage finally came to a halt. “Thank the grave, we’re here,” he muttered, hopped out, and held the door for Jon. 

Jon looked fine. He hopped down, nearly lost his footing, and leaned into Martin’s grab. 

This boy was skin and bone. “When did you last eat something?” said Martin.

“Yesterday,” said Jon. “I’m not hungry right now.”

Martin sighed. “Sure. Come on. It’s time to meet my natural philosopher friend.”

“Sasha.”

“That’s right.”

Mike followed.

“You sure?” said Martin to him, over his shoulder.

“Just because they don’t ring your bell like I do,” said Mike, left it at that, and followed.

#

Jon tried to see everything as they went inside; to note the pillars and archways, to wonder at the windows so high nothing could see through them, to ponder at the dark shadows left and right. So many doors, so many pathways. The floor hid some kind of shiny pattern in polished, dark stone; his boots, still soaked from his dunk in the sea, slipped on it more than a little. But then they turned away from this main, broad foyer, and through one of the arched and pointed doors.

It was a hall. Lined with more doors, and only a stone flag floor instead of shiny patterned black. This was a far less intimidating area.

Still. The weight of this enormous structure seemed to press down on him, and Jon hunched. “I’m sorry, I’m making a mess,” he said.

“It’s okay. Someone will clean it up. Come on.” Martin sounded like he meant it.

“Hey,” Jon said. “Are you nice because you’re a vampire?”

Martin blinked at him, pausing with his hand on yet another door. “What?”

“You’re nicer than anyone I’ve met,” said Jon. “The only factor not shared by others is that you’re a vampire. So. Does that make you nice?”

“Uh… I think being nice makes you nice?” said Martin, who had absolutely no idea where to go with this.

Jon looked dissatisfied. “That’s like saying fire burns because it’s hot.”

Martin took another turn. “All right, well,” he said. “I think being kind—which is more important than nice—is a choice.”

“Why is it more important?”

What was with this kid? “Nice is fake. It’s being polite when you don’t actually mean it, and not bothering when it costs you anything. Being kind is better. It means you don’t get anything out of it, and you’re choosing to do the right thing to others whether or not it hurts you.”

Jon suddenly felt off. “Is being kind to me hurting you?”

“What? No, no, it… I mean, it doesn’t always hurt.”

“Oh.” But something did. Jon knew. Martin’s kindness to him was dangerous to Martin, or… or…

He couldn’t hold onto that answer, and it was gone. He sighed.

“You’ve really never met anybody who’s just even nice to you?” said Martin.

“No.” Jon was quiet. 

Martin took that in. “I’m sorry. People should’ve been,” he said, and opened another door.

It was a dark room, very dark, with a single table under bright white light and two silhouettes of people.

“Marto!” said a man. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I have a conundrum,” said Martin.

“And so you bring your problems to me, as always,” said a woman with cheer, and stepped out of the gloom. She was pretty; her kinky hair was thick and pulled back in a bun. She was dressed in an odd white uniform, a long coat with too many buttons to be decorative, and on her head was some kind of bizarre contraption of brass and glass and limbs to move the lenses around. “Ugh. You could’ve just said it was him.”

“Yo,” said Mike over Martin’s shoulder.

“What? No, it’s this kid,” said Martin.

Both people startled.

“What… what the fuck is that?” said the man, coming forward into the light. 

Jon knew him. Knew Sasha, too. He was beginning to get a feeling about all of this regarding his past self. 

This man wore a positively indecent white shirt that didn’t even have buttons and just closed in a vee under the red sash around his waist. His black pants were so tight that Jon could see far too much; his earrings sparkled (and didn’t match, but that was somehow better). His lips had to be artificially pink, and so did the blue shading around his brown eyes; dark hair, tanned skin, and a grin that made Jon want to grin back all felt like something he knew like the back of his hand, though he had definitely never met this man before. 

“This is Jon. So it’s hard to see him,” said Martin.

“Yeah, can see that. Why?” said the man.

“I can’t tell what I’m…” said the woman, who had to be Sasha, and bent down a little to make eye-contact. “You’re alive, right?”

“I think so,” said Jon. “If not, I’m annoyed that I still get hungry and need sleep.”

“A valid point.” She smiled. “I’m Sasha.”

“I know. Martin told me.”

“Did he, now?” she said, glancing over his head at Martin.

The man (Jon almost had his name) leaned in, peering. “What happened to you? You look like a wet cat.”

Martin sighed. “Kind of a lot? I had to fight Fingers.”

“Oh, nasty,” said the man with relish.

Sasha frowned, eyeing Jon’s clothes with clinical precision. “Underfed,” she said, leaning in. Her eye through that single goggle was enormous. “And you are Uncertain. I don’t know how, but you are.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m fourteen, Ms. James.”

“Tim, can you get some clothes for them both?” said Sasha. “Jon, you can use my chemical burn shower. Martin, use the one in my room. You both need it fairly badly.”

“Sorry,” said Martin.

“Can I watch?” said Mike.

“Not helping,” Martin muttered at him.

Tim grinned and opened his mouth to say something, and then he froze.

They all froze.

Something truly new was coming this way—new to Jon, new in a way that frightened him, and he was so unused to being scared that it took the breath right from his lungs.

It approached, this thing, like a storm, like the tide, and everyone else in the room turned and bowed toward the door as if they were puppets on a single string.

Jon panicked. Should he hide? What should he do?

Steady, said that self, that past, that source of Answers, telling him to brace, to be still, to be smart.

Jon tried to calm his mind, but couldn’t help holding his breath.

chapter six

[kleenex-tissues]

Yours Truly

read here on AO3

Chapter one under the cut: In Which Damian Wayne Needs a Friend, Whether He Wants One or Not

To say Damian Wayne’s circle was small was being generous. He had his family, of course. His father’s habit of picking up strays only seemed to finally cease after the eighth child was brought into the mansion in the form of one, Duke Thomas. And he had Alfred, and his animals.

However, in all the time he had spent in Gotham, he had only made one friend, Jon Kent.

If you asked Dick, this barely even counted. Jon was the son of their father’s long-time friend, so he was more of a cousin to the bunch. That left the list of Damian’s friends at a solid zero. His brothers were beginning to get concerned.

Damian was by no means the first Robin to fight by Batman’s side, but he was certainly the most socially stunted. Growing up in the League of Assassins, only to be dropped off on the doorstep of the Batcave left little room in his childhood to learn how to talk to his peers. Dick knew what it was like to be a crime-fighting kid. He knew more than anyone how important a splash of normalcy was in this line of work. Damian needed a friend.

When he initially roped fellow brothers, Jason and Tim, into the plan, there was little excitement on their part. They knew Damian would not be receptive to any attempts on their part. He barely acknowledged his peers as it was, so any prompting to socialize with them more would be met with resistance if not outright denial.

They benched the idea for a while. A strategy was needed to bait Damian into a friendship, and all of their ideas were quickly shot down by one another. It seemed impossible that they could ever reach an idea that could feasibly work. That was, until Tim unexpectedly ran across a website one night.

‘Meet New Pen Pals Anywhere in the World’ was sprawled across his screen. He gawked at the idea initially, but after jokingly running it past the extended family, they decided it would be their best bet.

The website application was intense, filled with personal questions and counter measures to prevent bots and people with malicious intent from accessing the pen pal program.

The boys tried their best to think of what Damian would say, even managing to pull Cass and Duke into the fray to get better insight.

They gave basic information like his age range, his time zone, and a new email the boys created for him. Questions that bordered on too telling were avoided outright, like birthdays and last names — it was better to be vague on certain details due to their presence in the media. Damian needed a friend, not a fan, and they’d rather not see a headline about the youngest Wayne’s new pen pal.

That would only lead to being skinned alive by both Damian and Bruce.

His animals were listed by name, but interests were kept to archery and art, and the only description of himself the boys listed was ‘he/him.’

“There’s no way that’s gonna attract anyone to talk to him,” Jason vocalized. “That’s like sending an email to a complete stranger.

Tim rolled his eyes. “It is sending an email to a stranger. That’s the whole point.”

Jason smacked Tim, and Dick simply pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“You’ve gotta give the description a little more than that!” Jason nudged his younger brother away from the keyboard and began typing. Tim attempted to push him back to where he had been standing, but Jason stood as solid as stone, ignoring Tim’s hands grabbing at his arms.

The screen began filling with text, Dick reading it aloud.

‘He/him. I spent most of my time homeschooled growing up, so my interactions with others are limited. I am hoping to make a friend to change that. Ask me about Bat-cow.’

Tim moved away from Jason and threw his hands up. “This sounds nothing like Damian!”

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

“Whatever. Just turn the application in already,” Dick declared.

Jason hit send and the process of waiting for approval began. Each day, one of the brothers would check the email’s inbox, religiously refreshing to see the message pop up. It had become a game to hint around it on patrol to see how much they could annoy the oblivious Damian with their giggling.

It only stopped when Tim fell face first into a dumpster after laughing too hard at Dick’s joke, and Bruce scolded all three of them. Damian only smirked when his father finally turned around.

After two weeks watching their notifications, the application had been approved, and a few hours later, Damian was assigned a pen pal.

To: d.w.redbird@xxxxx.net From: penpalsonus@xxxxx.com Subject: New Pen Pal Awaits You! Hello Damian,

Welcome again to our service, Pen Pals On Us!

Our website is dedicated to giving you new experiences with people from all over the world. Using the application you filled out, we have found you a perfect pen pal based on your preferences.

Language(s): English, Arabic Pronouns: He/Him Likes: Animals, Art Age Range: 16-18

Through analyzing your preferences and those of the many people registered in our database, we have decided to pair you with:

maridesigns@xxxxx.net

Language(s): English, French Pronouns: She/her Likes: Animals, Fashion, Sketching Age Range: 16-18

We hope you become great friends!

Pen Pals On Us XXX First St, Somewhere, CA xxx-xxx-xxxx

[brienneevenstar]

You know, seeing as Sansa isn't the heir to Winterfell (two legitimate brothers alive, disinherited in favour of Jon, a sister who was presumed dead but never disinherited also still alive) what Sansa can do is go to Tarth to serve Brienne as her lady in waiting. Brienne can save Sansa's life, and in gratitude for Brienne's struggles, Sansa can pledge her service to Brienne and join her household on Tarth. Because, you know, Sansa will owe Brienne, and Brienne is the one who is going to inherit.

i still don’t understand why stansas were offended by my lady-in-waiting post 😇 they kept banging on about how lady-in-waiting was a super duper important role in medieval society, so why was it so bad for sansa to be a lady-in-waiting to dany or brienne 🤔