#JOFFREY HAD JOINED THE CHAT

[godofstory]

Now it's Daeron's turn to keep up the "simping uncle" tradition

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

Hi, sorry for my English, it's not my language and I'm using Google translator, I hope it's enough for you to understand me. I really like your writing and I had an idea that I think if you wrote it would make it good, where Viserys did not marry Alicent but Laena, but they never had children so Daemon really took over as heir to viserys on the condition that he would marry Rhaenyra, they marry and Jace and luke are Daemon's children. Rhaenyra is pregnant with Joffrey and to celebrate Viserys plans a great banquet that will last days and all the lords are invited. At the party Daemon meets Lord Tyrell's daughter and falls deeply in love with her and takes her as his second wife, Rhaenyra is not satisfied, but does nothing about it. As married times go by, Daemon loves the reader much more and favours her children, and Rhaenyra is jealous

He's sweet flower

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem Chubby Tyrell! reader

Author’s note: hello, don’t worry, Google translation does a good job, oh thank you, it touches me a lot that you appreciate. Usually I don’t write by specifying the reader in a specific noble house but by writing the reader in Tyrell, I don’t specify the origin of her mother so that she can come from where you want. Hope you like it. Feel free to leave your opinion on how your request was written, anonymously or not, I just really enjoyed writing for your request.

Author’s Note 2: I based myself on the age gap between Jace, Luke and Joffrey of the books (thanks Wiki) and by writing «young woman» I aim big, from early twenties to early thirties.

 trigger warning: English is also not my mother tongue, so i'm sorry if there is mistakes.

The sun was setting over the gardens of Highgarden, summer was just beginning, the ambient heat was comforting, the flowers covered most of the soils, trees and shrubs of the gardens. The spring months had been very grey and rainy, several trees had large fruits full of water, several servants were responsible for the gathering, they went to work all summer long so that the kitchens could serve them fresh or keep them by turning them into jam or by naturally drying them. They were not the only ones working in the castle. Young squires trained in the animate me with various weapons, whether it be the sword, the fighting axe, the mass or the bow, while others trained to ride a horse, some having never climbed to the screens. But they all worked far more than usual.

The day had been pleasant a part of the Tyrell family was staying in one of the largest gardens, your uncle Lord Matthos Tyrell successor of the house, accompanied by your father were chatting under a large umbrella, composed of wood, linen fabrics and some pieces of warm colors. Lord Tyrell’s wife and your mother sat beside them, watching the younger members of the family played and heckled while you sat under one of the trees, reading, while your young cousin Harlan learned his lessons.

Matthos was talking with your father about the royal invitation, it must have been to announce some important things for sending a messenger. For a month in the windbreaks, a great storm broke over the region of Reach, the violent wind shook the branches of the trees, the younger ones folded under the breath, the beasts had to have hurried into their stables and henhouse. Luckily, the rivers had not yet come out of their beds, fortunately for the villages nearby.

In this storm, a herald accompanied by two knights rode to Highgarden, the sound of the clogs in the mud was barely audible, the breaking rain masked largely the surrounding sounds. The glimmers emanating from the castle windows were barely visible in the rain, which like a beacon guiding the messenger and his escort. At the time of passing the pat of the front door the three people were soaked to the bones, the servants had directly welcomed them and taken them to one of the large rooms of the castle, Lord Matthos Tyrell had joined them to discuss.

This is how your uncle spoke to your father about a scroll in his hands, protecting it from the sun.

“Viserys seems to get crazier and crazier with time.” Matthos sighed.

“Who would not, in his situation many would not have held.”

“Marry your own daughter to your brother? Celebrate future births?”

“The Targaryen are different, he had to consolidate his grip on the throne.”

“According to the Hightowers, Viserys accepted the marriage of Rhaenyra and Daemon, although the council is against it.” Matthos giggled for a moment. “He could have refused.”

Your father sighed, he understood that his brother reacted like this, the iron throne was very coveted, Viserys of his first union with Queen Aemma had not had a son, her death had mourned more than the Targaryen, She was appreciated and seemed to radiate during her presences. The fact that the king remarried was not a surprise, although the age of the very young bride was much talked about. At first, the lack of birth reassured the nobles and the people that Lady Laena’s age was inappropriate for marriage. In the coming years, this lack of birth slowly began to worry, perhaps the young queen could not give birth. Murmurs and rumours then began their way into the kingdom. What would happen when Viserys died? Who would take the throne? The houses that had passed their allegiances could equally break it, it risked imploding the kingdom. Rhaenyra, as the only child of the king, could assert his birthright on the throne, but none of the great Lords and the people were ready for a queen to rule the kingdom. Daemon as a brother of the king, was the direct heir, but having a bad reputation among the people and especially the nobles, was a complex choice. The union of Daemon and Rhaenyra a few years ago was intended to strengthen their «legitimacy» to the throne. Although many noble houses did not like it, the people were wary, for this marriage did not guarantee a long peace full of prosperity.

"Brother, why don’t you go to these festivities?"

“I have to deal with the requests from the villages, don’t forget, I don’t have time to go and celebrate.”

“I would take the applications directly, you could take the opportunity to find an fiance to my tender niece.”

 

Your father sighed, it was true that you had not yet engaged, it is not that you had no young and not so young men who wanted to court you, it is that for your father, you were still his little daughter, even though you are a young woman. He promised to think about it not wanting to tarnish this sunny day with a heated discussion, even though he knew that Matthos would repeat the question to him several times, until the moment your father snapped.

 

That’s how a week later, a carriage carrying the flower of the Tyrell house, headed for King’s Landing.

It was the first time you traveled to King’s Landing, you were only a child at the death of Queen Aemma, you had kept the blurred memory of your Uncle Matthos and your aunt being gone for several weeks, and that before their return Highgarden had become silent, for a few days. Your nanny had vaguely explained to you that it was customary to mourn for important people whether we knew him or not. It intrigued you, but you quickly forgot about the sadness, wanting to play with the other children present.

At the time of the king’s remarriage, you still remained at the castle, just as you remained for the various festivities that took place at the Red Keep, Highgarden satisfied you, you did not understand why the other ladies and young lady wanted so much to go there. Your nanny had repeatedly explained to you the misadventures that could occur in the capital, how the streets were covered with vermin and dirt. That this was no place for a girl.

Yet when you looked at the landscape through the screened opening, you could see large walls with black and red coats of arms. With difficulty you tried to see how the streets of the city really were, painfully observing colors and movement, you could not fully observe the life teeming around you.

When the carriage stopped, you waited to get out, the heel sounds of the boots echoed in the outer courtyard of the Red Keep.

Servants were the first to greet you, taking your luggage to the rooms that you would occupy during the festivities. A knight with a white beard and well cut came to greet you, explaining that the king being very absorbed by the preparations of the festivities apologized for not coming to welcome you in person.

Your father avoided giving a harsh answer to the knight, and thanked him. The castle never had him again. Perhaps it was due to not being at home or having to be always on guard whether it was for behaviour or words understood in the wrong way.

While your father joined the other lords already present, your mother offered to give your respect to the Queen, which simply meant, to say hello to her and luckily have a little conversation.

 

When you saw Queen Laenna, you were surprised by her look, it is true that you found her very beautiful, but her look was filled with a kind of melancholy, like a bird enclosing in a cage, a golden cage. With your mother you greeted him, exchange a few sentences about your visit, asking how she lived the future festivities. You were lost in her purple look almost erase.

"Is it true that you rode the greatest dragon in the world?"

This question had escaped you, you had heard lords and lady speak of it since Laenna had begun to ride the dragon. His words come out of your mouth, without thinking about all the protocols that reigned in the Red Keep.

To your question a kind of spark lit up the queen’s gaze.

« It’s true, even though I haven’t been able to do it for a few years.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, it must be extraordinary.”

“Much more.”

When you left your interview with Laenna, your mother scolded you for a few moments, it was not a good idea to speak so openly to the queen without her consent. You have a few seconds to apologize before continuing your way through the corridors of the Red Keep.

 

To say that the future festivities related to Princess Rhaenyra’s pregnancy were great was an understatement. During the day everything seemed calm, several lords and lady were chatting in the corridors and gardens of the castle, but on the first night of the banquet, calm gave way to fun, alcohol and food.

 

In the corridors of the castle several jugglers entertained the guests who waited before their entrances in the huge banquet hall. In the gardens, fire-eaters were getting ready, as was the band of musicians who accompanied them. 

At the festivities they had attended, such a show were not common. And it was only the first day. That night, the houses present were to present their respect and congratulations to future parents, while wearing the colors of his own home.

The entrance was generally spanned starting with the noblest houses, the vassal houses followed them, with a few exceptions.

“Don’t forget what I told you Y/n.”

“I know, mother, don’t speak without permission, don’t look them in the eye because it could be understood as disrespectful.”

“And above all, try to have fun, my dear child.” Your mother took your hand and gently squeezed it.

Your parents had explained to you that it would be interesting for you to get closer to a single young man from one of the houses present, whether they are the noblest houses or not.

If the little shows in the corridors had caught your attention, the size of the banquet hall did just as much. Many guests were already installed, music was audible through conversations. A large chandelier and many fabrics raised the ceiling and spaced far enough so that it did not catch fire.

The Tyrell House entered before the Hightower House, while you were waiting you exchanged a few words with the king’s daughter, Alicent, she seemed nice to you, she was talking about her recent marriage, with a young man from a vassal house in the Vale, This helped to strengthen the ties shaken when Prince Daemon’s first wife died. Although the agreement seemed cordial to you, Alicent was holding her hands, looking at them you could see that she passed her thumbnail on the skin surrounding her other nails.

The royal table, which was located on a platform, allowed them to observe their guests although it was not very high, two markets hardly separated them from the remains of the guests. Your father stood in front of you and your mother. After bowing in front of the people present, your father exchanged a few words with King Viserys. During this time, you watched who was sitting at the table, with your back straight and your head held high, watching from left to right. There was a man wearing the emblem of the king’s hand on his chest, his beard gray, and his look was hard and you seemed calculating, if this man was indeed the father of the sweet Alicent, she seemed to have held more of her dead mother than of her father. The Velaryons were standing on her left side, they seemed to you to be the queen’s parents, for she separated them from the king and spoke to them much more openly and seemed to be out of her good mood. The king in the center of the table seemed to you to be older than the age he had. He was starting to lose hair, his complexion was more greyish, almost a sick complexion. To the left of the king was a young woman barely older than you, her plump belly and silver hair made you understand that it was the king’s daughter, Princess Rhaenyra. You did not dwell on the details, for your gaze was like drawing by the person standing next to you.

A Targaryen, dressed in black was standing in his chair, one hand resting on the table. He didn’t seem so old to you, you looked up from his hand up to his chest, slowly going up to his neck, his jaw, his thin lips to finish on his eyes, by the distance you couldn’t see them clearly, but you imagined eyes of a bright purple. His hair was short and tied to the back of his head. Prince Daemon seemed even more attractive to you than the lady could say in the halls.

His gaze was fixed on something, it took you a few seconds to notice that he was staring at you, in an instant you felt like undressing under his gaze, perhaps it was because of your dress, Tyrell colors with a more plunging neckline than the rest of the women’s outfits present in these places, or was it due to her look that seemed to detail you, from head to toe, while gently licking her upper lip. You felt a gentle warmth mounted in your body as your hands became slightly moist, your mother pulled you out of this exchange by accompanying you to the table where you were installed.

On the first days of the banquets, all were feasting, drinking and eating much more than they should. Lord Baratheon had two nights during which he ended up being escorted by guards, so drunk that he fell trying to walk. Rhaenyra had only appeared at the opening banquet, locking himself in his room for the rest of the festivities.

The feeling of being observed had lasted all along the great meals. To try to forget it, you danced with several young lady, of one Alicent. Some less imposing house lords had asked for a dance that you had accepted. Although more chubby than the average woman present, you did not want to close on yourself, remaining smiling, you had confidence in your natural charm, but a part of you said that the name Tyrell was not at all at interactions, The young lords who had to find a wife did little to spank the fine mouths if their future wives were of noble lineage, you paid little attention, wanting to see the good side of things, you had fun and it was enough for you.

On the fourth night of festivities, you wanted to stay in the gardens, although livening, the places were quieter than the banquet hall. The feeling of being observed was for several hours faded, you were relaxing sitting on one of the benches of the largest garden, some knights were guarding the place, and some couples were watching the shows of the fire-eaters.

You were suddenly taken by a chill, it was not because of the light breeze that was blowing, it was even pleasant to you compared to the heat and dampness of the banquets, no other thing was going on you were sure.

"Lady Y/n. "

A man’s voice made you turn away from your contemplation of the place. You directed your head in the direction of sound, your heart missed a beat.

Prince Daemon was a few meters away from you. He was dressed in black boots and pants, and his jacket had scaly details and thin dark red trim. Her hair was always tied to the back of her head.

“Pr… Prince Daemon.” You were caught off guard.

"Don’t you like these festivities?" A smirk was attached to his lips.

“They’re nice, but I find the gardens more welcoming, so it’s good to be a little quiet.”

“My brother enjoys this kind of activity.”

"And you not my prince?" You could not hold this question.

“I’m less likely to like them, less strutting around.”

A relative silence settled in, not seeing him moved, you wondered why the prince was in the gardens, Daemon watched you, you did not look like the other lady, something in you had held his gaze, Maybe it’s your confidence, maybe it’s your less-dressed clothes. To put an end to this silence and its administration, which was beginning to make you nervous, you asked him the first question that came to your mind.

“Is it true that you fought the crabs for three years? “

You opened your eyes, you forgot the manners, and addressed yourself to the prince. You lowered your head gently, murmuring an excuse. Daemon rie slightly.

"It is true, why such a question, Lady Tyrell?" He leaned his head gently to the side.

“We heard about the war at the Highgarden, but never in detail, one day you were at war and suddenly you had won.”

“I can tell you what happened.”

“With pleasure, my prince, but… you don’t have to.”

Daemon did not answer you, he just approached to sit beside you. For several hours you listened, how the crabs had become dangerous for Westeros, how the years of war had unfolded to end with the king’s decision to come and help them after three years of war. You did not refrain from commenting on the king’s behavior, apologizing afterwards to Daemon, you did not have to speak thus of the crown. He smirk more at your words, but does not correct you, simply continuing to tell you his story.

The first glimmers of daylight appeared on the horizon, Daemon was staying by your side all night, chatting or just watching the shows. His presence although at first a little stressful, was almost comforting, his body letting pass a pleasant heat. The hours seemed like minutes. It is almost against your heart that the day rose, you had to go back to the castle, not to arouse the anxiety that might have your relatives not to see you in the morning.

On the following days and nights, Daemon seemed more present, taking part in a discussion with your father on subjects that escaped you. The prince offered you walks in the castle, offering you books for your future reading, Daemon was even interested in your life in Highgarden, leaving you little time to be really alone. In the rare moments when he was not with you, you had offered to keep company with the queen before Alicent, with whom you had made a gentle friendship, persuaded you to visit Princess Rhaenyra. Part of you felt guilty for spending all that time with her husband, when he should have stayed close to her. But another felt flattered by the prince’s attention.

If the gaze of the queen seemed to be off, the gaze of the princess was filled with boredom, two young children with silver hair were playing in her room, a servant was watching them. Rhaenyra was sitting by the window, one hand laying on the sell. You stood by the door while Alicent saluted her, you could observe from their interactions that they had been friends for a long time. Alicent took a few minutes before he introduced you.

“Rhaenyra, this is Lady Y/n Tyrell, we have sympathized the last days. »

As much as the moments passing by Daemon had seemed to you to be fast, the one spending with Rhaenyra seemed endless. You learned the children’s names, and looked at them from afar, you smiled softly at their children’s squabbles. You kept a cordial conversation with the princess, though your heart beat faster than usual. A presentiment became more and more present in you, the one that the princess knew of moments spent with Daemon.

The weekend was quite classic for such festivities.

The last banquet was the most grandiose, fruits and vegetables from Essos were present, dishes flavored with varied spices whether meat or fish, wine reigned on the tables, the buckets were always filled, The musicians were from islands near Essos, which played music with different rhythms and tones than the one usually played in Westeros. Although according to the region the music was different each corner of Westeros had different styles.

At the beginning of the evening, you stood between your mother and Lady Alicent, exchanging opinions on the meal, the guests and the music. From the corner of your eye you could glimpse the king’s table, the guests who sat there had changed from one evening to the next. Moving from close family to the closest advisors and allies of the Targaryen. Only Viserys and Laenna were present every evening. Rhaenyra only had to attend the opening, Viserys explaining that the young mother had to rest.

As the hours went by and the people present began to dance, the centre of the room gradually began to fill with people. Contemplating the group of people dancing, their movement gradually becoming synchronized, you did not pay attention to the people behind you.

"Lady Tyrell, will you accept this dance?"

A young Lord of a vassal house of the Lannisters had just spoken, his voice in grave tones had surprised you, turning on a young man with dark brown hair, and amber eyes, you accepted, he was not unpleasant to look at and courteous. Your parents were staring at you two, wondering if they had planned this meeting.

The dance did not last all the music. Daemon was watching you from the beginning of the meal and the young Lord he called «asshole» in his thoughts, irritated him, he had passed several times behind you before talking to you and the way he had to watch you make Daemon want to tear his eyes out. It is annoyed that Daemon rose towards the dance floor.

When you changed partners, you found yourself face to face with the prince, he, who had not danced all week, began to dance with you.

A dance was followed by a second, then a third. Viserys was not positive to see his brother dancing with a young woman other than his daughter. He sighed, exasperated by the actions of Daemon, Otto had transmitted to him the rumors of the prince’s adventures with the young lady of the house Tyrell. He knew Daemon well enough to know that his brother had something in mind and that he would do anything to get it.

You didn’t finish the night at the banquet, your feet were getting sore and fatigue was working its way through your body. You told your parents and Alicent that you were going to your room. Your parents followed you, fatigue also took them.

On the morning of your departure, you accompanied your parents to greet one last time King Viserys and Queen Laenna, and passed your greetings to the young princess. Daemon was not present, it upset you a little but did not reveal.

This annoyance went away when you arrived home. You were welcomed by several servants as well as members of your family. In your room stood a small pile of letter and parchment saddled. Surprised you asked the maid who was standing by your side, when they had arrived.

“They started when you were in King’s Landing, my lady. Recently they’re crows coming.”

When you took the first parchment, you noticed the Targaryen seal, opened it and noticed a beautiful healing handwriting. It contained a poem about flowers and dragons. Gradually opening the letters you noticed that it was the same writing and that everything was signed in the same way. The same first and last name. Daemon Targaryen. Touched you began to write a letter to the prince, you reread his letters one after the other. Your heart was palpitating, a silly smile sticking to your face. In one of the last letters received the prince promised to go through Highgarden. You began to look forward to this day.

A first visit was made two weeks after the end of the festivities, Daemon had arrived at the back of Caraxes. Your uncle Matthos was pleased to have a member of the royal family come to visit, even though it was Prince Daemon. You stayed in the gardens most of your time, watching the dragon lying in the gardens. Flowers surrounded the animal and contrasted with its red color.

"One day I will take you on his back." Daemon’s promise was written in one of his letters.

This visit was followed by several others, all longer and longer. Most often you and Daemon stayed in the gardens or in the library of the castle, he offered you at his arrival several jewels, rings, earrings and necklaces. Very quickly the end of the year pointed his nose, the leaves of the trees fell and the temperature dropped, this was nothing to compare to the temperatures of the north, but having lived all your life in the south of Westeros, the climate was cold. Daemon had arrived several days before, he intended to ask your father for your hand. Valeryen tradition didn’t stop him from having a second wife, he just had to be persuasive enough.

The news of Rhaenyra’s delivery arrived by raven, Daemon received the message, but did not return to the capital, It was only two days later when a raven arrived to announce the good news of the birth of Prince Joffrey and of his ans Rhaenyra good health that Daemon go. Not without an answer.

Your father agreed to give your hand to the prince. He was not afraid of the Targaryen, but he had heard of the obsessions that the prince might have and that he did everything to get what he wanted. Your father was just hoping the princess wouldn’t take it too hard.

Rhaenyra sat on one of the armchairs of his room fulminaient of the absence of Daemon, it was not the first time that he did not attend a birth, three years in the screen, for the birth of Luke, he stayed in the corridor, for Luke, he had remained with Caraxes. But for Joffrey, he was not even present in the city, no raven had arrived with an answer. When Daemon walked through the door, he walked towards the baby, posing in the arms of one of the nannies, he looked at him, detailing his face, noticing a silver-haired birth. He took him in his arms, without even greeting his wife.

« You were with that slut.” Rhaenyra’s tone of voice was dry.

“Don’t call her that in my presence.” Daemon looked up at Rhaenyra. “She will be my second wife.”

Rhaenyra understood, her husband, her uncle, was indeed in love with another young woman, she who thought that he would leave her before the end of the banquet, had been mistaken. She no longer spoke to him about the day, she was locked up in her room with the children. Viserys was more than despair of Daemon’s actions, he had just been a father for the third time and yet his spirit was elsewhere. Daemon explained to him that there would be no favouritism, that he would like them fairly.

But he was lying, whether it was to his brother or himself.

The ceremony of your marriage took place in the temple of Baelor, blessed by the septs, your house had asked to make a dress in a very «Tyrell» style, your dress, was less voluminous than that of the princess Rhaenyra at her wedding, the fabrics that made up the dress were fabrics of the greatest weavers of Reach and Essos, in the colors of your house, the nexkline was not too provocative, it just emphasized perfectly your chest, as well as the cut of the dress, which bent your silhouette. She also tackled fine embroidery, golden threads.

The marriages of the royal family attracted many people, the lords and lady of the noblest houses had been the first present, with a part of the people amassing at the entrance of the temple.

But this ceremony although official was not enough for Daemon, this ceremony had taken place to please your family and the king, but the ceremony that followed, before the eyes of some witnesses was much more official for the prince. The Valeryen ritual legitimately united you against Rhaenyra who had only the marriage of the seven to satisfy herself. This ceremony is the consequence of gossip, not for the least subtle. For the most part, they were insulting to your physique and your home. "It seems that the prince got her pregnant." "Did you see how big she is? Oh yes, she was already fat." Add giggles and you’ll only get a sample of the hallway gossip.

At the beginning of your marriage, Daemon visited you almost every night, the others he stayed with Rhaenyra, you could feel the princess’s gaze being more and more present and heavy, Your only ally in the Reed Keep was Queen Laenna and a surprising few knights of her close guard, from the young Sir Criston Cole. In the moments when Daemon was not with you, you visited the queen, although her visits were rare and spaced out.

The news of your pregnancy, did not surprise people, the prince ravages you almost every night, it was inevitable that you waited, by chance, so quickly, your first child. Rhaenyra already spoke to you very little, the communication was for a moment interrupted, Laenna ordered to her closest guards to watch on you and the unborn child. Your only refuge in the castle was the gardens that reminded you of home, Sir Cole working for your safety. He seemed to hold a kind of resentment towards the princess but you did not question him, for the first time, you had the feeling that the answer would not please you.

At the first delivery, Daemon was in the hallway of your room, he watched whether Cole who was posted at the entrance, Queen Laenna and Viserys were at his side, only the princess was again absent.

“Daemon she will be fine, she’s strong.”

Laenna tried to reassure him, but Daemon, listening to your incessant cries, was nothing more than a mixture of feelings, of anger towards the mestres, of fear, that something bad happened to you or the baby, of the joy of being a father again.

"DAEMON!!"

Your husband looked at the wall that separated him from your presence. For the first time in a long time he felt fear, true fear. With his heart racing to break everything, he held himself back.

“Go to your wife, Y/n needs you.” Viserys have spoked.

It was with trembling hands that Daemon entered, under the gaze of Sir Cole, the mestres present watched him astonish, never of the other births had he disdained entering before the end of the delivery.

“My Prince? The delivery is not over.”

Daemon was aware of it, if anything happened to you, he would be in the front row to kill the incompetent mestres.

The painful delivery ended after a very long day. You were exhausted, perspiration dripped from your forehead, the sheets were in places tearing so much that you had held them forcefully, you asked to carry your child, even though you were exhausted, you wanted to know that your child was well.

Y/s/n was your first son, he had purple eyes and a silver hair birth. Daemon placed a dragon egg in the cradle of Y/s/n. He stayed by your side for a full week, forcing the king’s advisors to wait in the corridor for an interview or a simple visit. Your parents, accompanied by Lord Matthos Tyrell and your aunt, were the first outside the Red Keep to visit you, Alicent followed closely, accompanied by her future husband.

Congratulations came from all over the kingdom, the birth of a child out of marriage between Targaryen was better seen. Gifts from all Westeros were sent, far more than Rhaenyra had ever had.

If the princess had never agreed to Daemon’s remarriage, she had not openly explained it to her family members. But the more her husband changed, the more a feeling of jealousy devoured her. She thought she was the only person for whom Daemon would remain faithful, she had believed him when he promised her that she would remain his priority. Now Rhaenyra no longer believed Daemon. In the vengeful years, her husband showed signs of favoritism, spending his days first teaching Y/s/n the High Valyrian, then defending herself while it was she who taught Jace and Luke the Valyrian. Joffrey grew up and although Daemon was present, he took him less and less for his father, Sir Strong who visited the princess gradually became a surrogate father. Rhaenyra ends up leaving an ultimatum to Daemon, one winter evening, she was waiting in the gardens, everyone knew that this was your refuge.

The same morning you were with your family in the dragon pit, Y/s/n was learning to lead d/n (dragon name), Daemon was more than proud of his children, your last-born, Baela was in your arms, you watched as your son’s eyes lit up in front of the little dragon following his requests, Caraxes was near, your twins born of the second pregnancy, caressed the great red dragon. Caraxes let a roar of satisfaction pass.

This warmth contrasted with the icy wind of the gardens, winter was at its zenith, the dormant flora, reminded you of Highgarden, which at times you missed.

Sir Cole was a few meters from you, Daemon knowing the resentment that the knight held against the princess, let him be your sworn shield, Criston would never have let Rhaenyra hurt you and he was sure of that.

Yet the princess was waiting for you, she wanted to secured her hold over her husband, even if it meant something bad.

"Princess?" Your voice echoed in the lifeless garden.

“I am not here for peace.”

« What peace? We’re not in conflict, princess." You were upset.

“Oh yes… Ever since MY husband fell in love with you. You are nothing, no more than a whore in the slums of King’s Landing.”

You felt Sir Cole stiffen up last, you could only imagine the knight holding his hand on the knob of his sword.

« You are badly placed Rhaenyra to speak to me in this way, when you, was less old than I was at my wedding be dragging a rumor about your visit to the debauchery places, more than one lord calls you, hanging around your back. Everyone thinks that you lost your maidenhood in its place and that your marriage to Daemon was there to avoid humiliating your father’s honor.”

"How dare you speak to me like this?! To your future queen!"

“The truth is painful to hear, I see.”

"I will make you! …"

"What are you going to do, Rhaenyra?"

Rhaenyra who had approached you looked up and saw behind you, Sir Cole sword in hand and Daemon standing by his side.

“D… Daemon… Nothing I promise you.”

Rhaenyra felt her blood freezing in her veins. She didn’t expect Daemon to be present. Daemon ordered Sir Criston to escort you to your children. He had to settle some conflicts with his niece.

Rhaenyra approached Daemon, a look that was meant to be sweet but also showed fear. As she placed a hand on his chest, he grabbed her by the throat tightening enough to hold her without choking her.

“If you threatenh Y/n or I learn that you orchestrate the slightest evil toward her or our children. You will regret it bitterly.”

“D… Daemon…” Rhaenyra was trying to free herself from the prince’s grip.

Daemon looked at her a few seconds before letting go of her grip. He left, without saying a word, walking towards the corridors of the Red Keep.

At the time of Viserys’s death, all were in mourning, Daemon had let his anger explode against the mestres who had not been able to heal his brother. Rhaenyra though devastated by the death of her father was thinking only of one thing, the throne, she would rule Westeros and could proclaim that your union with Daemon would be annulled and proclaimed that your children would be bastards. But… she was caught off guard.

On the morning of the coronation, Rhaenyra woke up in her room, usually the maids came to wake her up, and dressed her, but this time a man was sitting near the entrance, partially hidden by the shadow which was projected by the wardrobe nearby, A cane was visible. Rhaenyra knew this person, she had already met him before. Larys Strong was close to Alicent and close to you.

“Hello Princess”

"What are you doing here?"

“It just so happens that a plot to lose a friend has come to my ears.”

"Daemon will not leave you alive if anything happens to me! Guard!"

Rhaenyra got up rushing to his window to scream for help. But the one was blocked.

“No one will come to your aid at this time, princess, and I doubt that King Daemon will judge me if anything happens to you.”

Rhaenyra trembled, the fear she felt increased, her body trembled, her hands became sweaty and tears formed in her eyes.

 

On the other side of the city, Daemon was walking in the temple of Baelor, approaching the priest who held the crown of Aegon the conqueror. You stood beside Laenna, and your children, and his first children with Rhaenyra. In the future he was going to proclaim you queen consorts, Rhaenyra would have nothing, Jace, Luke and Joffrey sent through Westeros to marry with less important houses, to leave the crown when the time came to Y/s/n, spanking it noted and signed, reminding the lords each year that he would be the future king of Westeros. But for the moment he thought it could wait, he had a queen to proclaim. His sweet flower.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

Game of Thrones - 07 ARYA (pages 62-71)

Arya has a bad time, and peaces out on sewing class to join Jon watching their siblings swat at Lannisters.

-

When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith."

'Septa Mordane shut up and stop being an ass' Challenge 2022. Like, no wonder Arya has resentment about Sansa, a page in and it's all "Sansa's good at everything so everyone sees Arya as trash by comparison and never bother giving her the help she needs to improve so the skill gap only widens, and the backlash only strengthens." Sansa already started with a two-year lead, give Arya some slack.

"Our half-brother," Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today," she said.

Lines like this drive home the idea that Sansa Stans who are Anti-Arya, and Arya Stans who are Anti-Sansa and think the two sisters are irreconcilable, are probably only children. For the only children, let me spell it out: Sansa just lied to an authority figure and grouped them (herself and Arya) together. Arya just insulted the crown prince by proxy. If Sansa hated Arya as much as the anti-sister stans claim, she would have taken the chance to get Arya in trouble, not cover it with an authority figure who, by comparison to later characters, isn't even all that bad.

Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister's disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf.

Or Sansa genuinely doesn't enjoy her sister's distress. This just goes on, full on Jan and Marsha. "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!" Could someone just stop, and tell Arya that she's doing a good job, please? She's still learning, people learn at different rates, but if you keep telling them they're no good or never good enough, they don't want to learn because what's the point? They'll never reach the goal post on account of you keep bloody moving it!

Joffrey shrugged. "Come see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old." There was laughter from the Lannister men.

His mother pays them to laugh at all his jokes... at anything that might be a joke... to laugh frequently. (He can't tell a joke to save his life and there's no telling what's supposed to be funny or not.)

"You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You'll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers."

Knowing Arya names her sword Needle: if this is foreshadowing GRRM and I are going to sit down for the most strongly worded chat I can muster. And let me tell you, I can muster some very strong words.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part Xl

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually) 

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,375

Note: Hey guys!! It’s been a year since I started this series and I was really excited to continue, I really was. But months flew by and my life began to take a different course, now, I can’t make promises that I’ll be uploading soon again, though I will try if I have time to spare and my imagination cooperates :) Hope you enjoy this chapter! And thank you all for your patience, it’ll be rewarded!

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10

Months have flew by way too fast. And now you were feeling more confident around the northern lady and your family. You’d keep her from any harm they would try to inflict on her no matter the consequences, yet you were cautions cause Joffrey was still so damn annoying. Though since Margaery arrived to the capital she has been keeping him rather distracted.

“Because the truth is always either terrible or boring.”

“Am I boring?” You approached Sansa from behind, daintily kissing her cheek.

“Not at all.” She answered with a broad simper.

“You shouldn’t be too obvious in plain sight.” Shae subtly advised.

“You are right. We should be more careful.” You peered up to see if the guards were staring your way, when you confirmed they were not you stole a kiss on her silky lips. She giggled.

“Have a lovely day. I’ll meet you later. My grandfather requested my presence.” It was true... Tywin wanted to speak privately with you, and you sort of imagined why.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“My ladies.” You winked playfully at Sansa before walking away.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Shae asked Sansa well knowing the answer to her own question.

“She is perfect.” She let out a love sigh.

“You trust her?”

“The princess has always treated me with respect. I always dreamed with a handsome knight or a sweet prince, then I met her and she is far more better than any of that.” Sansa confessed.

“She seems to be a good girl.” Lord Baelish approached the two women.

“Lovely day for it. May I speak with lady Sansa alone for a moment?” Shae stood up and walked back to Ros.

“I saw your mother not long ago. She’s very eager to see you. And your sister.” He commented.

“Arya’s alive?”

“Oh yes. Indeed she is. But... I’ve noticed you’ve grown quite attached to princess Y/N.” He chose carefully his words.

“I have. She is and extraordinary friend.” Sansa added. “I’m very lucky to be her friend.”

“You are. I’m waiting for word on an assignment that will take me far away from the capital. When I set sail, I might be able to bring you with me. But you’d need to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice.” Sansa widen her eyes. She didn’t really want to leave now... did she? After all she knew she’ll never be truly free here.

“I... I’m not sure if that’s a wise idea, Lord Baelish.” She conflicted admitted.

“And why’s that? Other than the risks it involves of course.”

“Well, as I said before, King’s Landing is my home now. It has good things despite the corruption.” Only Y/N, she thought.

“All right then. The offer stands, my lady. Keep it in mind.” He turned around to leave Sansa wondering if she’d abandon you to return home or staying here by your side.

“You are glowing, granddaughter of mine.”

Tywin was jotting down something with a quill. “Is there a boy already?” It sounded more like a statement rather than a question. You tried not blush as Sansa’s picture coming to your mind.

“Mmm... no. There is not a... boy.” You concluded kinda nervous.

“If there is not then you should be looking for a suitable swain. I reckon you have many admirers waiting to receive your attention.” He said with a serious tone. Does he really mind? Of course he does. He wants to get a hold of another loyalty for House Lannister. “Many lords would give their whole lands to marry you. And we might need that.”

“But that’s not what I need.” You responded nonchalantly. It was true. All you truly needed and longed for was the love of someone who valued you. And you already found that in a northern lass. You knew he disapprove entirely your “reckless” choices, same as your mother. You’d fight back and won’t allow them to throw you into some random man’s arms.

You stepped inside Joffrey’s dining table. You always enjoyed to hang with the Tyrell siblings, but now that she’s engaged to your brother... you wonder how she’s been managing to handle him. After all, she’s one of the cleverest persons you know.

“Margaery does a great deal of work with the poor back in Hightgarden. I’ve heard Y/N do charity for the poor here as well.” Loras commented. You nodded. The soon to be queen smiled softly your way.

“The lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a chance and approach them with an open heart.” You mirrored her act.

“An open heart is what you’ll get in Flee Bottom if you’re not careful, my dear. Not long ago, we were attached by a mob there. We had a full complement of guards that didn’t stop them. The king barely escaped his life.” You hid your smirk.

“My mother’s always had a penchant for drama. Facts become less and less important to her as she grows older. Our lives were never truly in danger.” You rolled your eyes at his lies.

“Oh but they were. You didn’t even care about sending the guards to get lady Sansa back to the Keep. A king is supposed to ensure the safety of all the ones that are in need. You seem to keep failing on that, big brother.” You sensed his furious glare upon you.

“Who cares about her anyway.” You clenched your jaw tightly. Loras and Margaery keep their eyes on their dinner.

There was an awkward pause as the main course was brought to the table. The rest of the evening was all about the same. Joffrey flaunting about his “bravery” and Cersei flattering him all along. Margaery showing off a wide smile at his non sense.

~~~~~~

You strolled to your room exhausted after training with the bow and horse-riding with little Tommen. Before that you decided to pay a visit to Sansa’s chambers. You knocked the door twice and she beamed with delight.

“I hope it isn’t too late to stop by.”

“No, I was about to get under the sheets. Perhaps you can join me?” She suggested with a gaily grin. You chuckled. Seeing Sansa being so... awfully bold was so nice and pure. Being around you made her forget about the fact she’s a prisoner. It didn’t matter as much when you were together.

“I’d love that.” You entered the room, holding her by the waist and leading both of you to the bed.

“How was your day then?” You smoothly asked. She tossed to be face to face with you.

“Actually, it was wonderful! Ser Loras escorted me to the gardens with Lady Margaery and Lady Olenna. They were very kind to me. We had lunch together and chatted for a while.”

“That sounds lovely, my lady. I’ve always consider Lady Olenna as the grandmother I never had. She knows me since I was a baby. Now that they are here I’ve been reminiscing about the good old days when we wouldn’t stop joshing Loras about me beating him on a single duel. We were so young back then... I’ll always hold dear those moments. He may be moody and brash at times, still, he is complete gentleman. Water’s sometimes thicker than blood. That’s for sure.” The Tyrells were your second family, they welcomed you with open arms and never once judge you. Unlike your own blood, with exceptions of course.

“Back in Winterfell I was so focused on learning how to properly be a lady and all that, that I missed many things... I should’ve been closer to Robb, Arya, even Jon. I was mean.” Sansa’s voice cracked.

“Don’t lose faith, Sansa. I know it’s too much to ask for but life takes unexpected turns.” You brushed one of her ginger locks with your right hand.

“I found a new home.” She whispered lightly. “Not Kings Landing. Not this castle. You.” She unhurriedly closed her crystal eyes. Your heart was at her mercy, that was a fact. You caressed gently her cheek and sealed the night with the most tender kiss anyone could dream of.

“You are my home too, my love.” You breathed against her lips.

[myreygn]

Intimacy

thanks for your patience with me @ticklishfrog and i hope this piece can make up for the wait! this is a post for @ticklishraspberries femslashfeburary fic exchange and i’m a little late but alas, at least it’s here now!

prompt: Margaery is getting a new gown fitted, and can't stop giggling. Sansa asks her about it and finds out she's ticklish. (i changed the asking part a bit, i hope that’s not ruining it for you ^^’)

wordcount: 2188

~~~~~

“M-Marge, stop it!”, Sansa blushed like crazy and tried to shove the insatiable lips away from her neck, but the brunette was relentless. Her hands wrapped around the younger one's waist and pulled her closer, lips still at her neck, making her shiver. “Marge! Not now!”

“Why not?” Margaery rested her chin on Sansa's breasts and looked up at her with big, shimmering brown eyes. “Am I not allowed to kiss my beloved when I want to? What kind of world is this?”

“That kind where you're engaged to a king who's just waiting for me to give him a reason to kill me and who'll get one pretty soon if the tailors walk in on us being intimate with each other.”

Margaery sighed and shuffled away a bit. “Fair point. Let me at least brush your hair. I don't think Joffrey can punish you for beauty care.” She grabbed a hair brush, then positioned behind Sansa.

The red head showed one of those rare, soft smiles that her brothers used to drag out of her by inappropriately fooling around and that were now an expression only Margaery got to see, and leaned back into the light contact of the hair brush. Being with Margaery was exciting and relaxing at the same time. She had learned to love the little smirks the about-to-be-queen threw her way, had learned to close her eyes around her and to fully indulge in her touches, to trust her enough to let her do things with her body she hadn't imagined someone doing since Sandor Clegane had saved her from the men who had tried to rape her. But Margaery was different. Margaery was sweet and gentle and never did anything to make Sansa uncomfortable. Margaery was simply everything she had wished for in Joffrey and she felt blessed by the Seven to have her here in King's Landing.

A careful knock on the door made Sansa flinch and almost immediately she felt Margaery's hand on her shoulder, reassuring and calming. She relaxed against the brunette's chest for a moment. “You're so good to me”, she whispered and breathed in Margaery's scent. “I just wish I could give something back to you.” Margaery chuckled. “You're here, aren't you? That's really all I need.”

It knocked again, louder this time, and they heard a woman's voice asking from the other side of the door: “My lady? Are you in there? The tailors are here.” Margaery stood up. “Let them in!”

She was already only wearing her underwear, welcoming the tailors with a wide smile. “Good morning, come in! I hope you don't mind Lady Sansa joining us?”

Said Lady Sansa gave the servants a gentle nod when they bowed and claimed how happy they were to have her here with the king's fiancee and she knew they were telling the truth; who wouldn't happily take the opportunity to spend time with the scandalous northern traitor-daughter?

But Margaery did not seem to be willing to throw her beloved to the wolves just like that. Chatting and joking she kept the tailors' attention focused on her, showing interest in the draperies they used and complimenting their skills, praising the results and asking them, who made which one of her favorite dresses she had in the closet. An hour passed by, another and the tailors seemed to have fully forgotten about Sansa, Margaery's kind smile and her sweet words and how stunning she looked, even in just the draperies. From time to time she smiled at Sansa and the redhead had never felt so safe and happy since she had left the North. Margaery was here. Margaery would look out for her.

The dress was beautiful. And even though Sansa felt amazement at the sight of all the unfinished, yet dazzling outfit, she couldn't help but being immensely relieved that it wasn't her who would have to wear it. No, it was Margaery and Sansa felt sorry immediately – how could she be so egoistic to be happy about the marriage? Not that she was really happy, of course she would've rather had Margaery all to herself, but it felt good to know that Joffrey wouldn't have her like that.

“Something like that”, the first tailor, a man named Rusko with a harsh bravosian accent, said and plucked at the high collar. “We'll probably make this more round”, his hands wandered down to the light silk lying on the lady's shoulders, “and maybe we'll just leave that out, it's distracting. And here –”, his hand gave Margaery's waist a light squeeze and he was cut off by a giggle. He looked up to her confused, but she waved his gaze off with twitching lips. “It's nothing, please continue.”

Rusko did as asked, explained how they'd change the dress, how loose or tight it would be in certain areas and where the embroidery would go, constantly accompanied by giggles and twitches from Margaery. She seemed to quiet literally tremble under the careful touches and while the tailors clearly ignored it, Sansa's thoughts wandered to the memories she had from a long time ago.

Robb pressing Jon to the ground and squeezing his ribs rapidly until the bastard was crying with laughter. Jon, Arya and Bran ganging up on Robb, making him scream through the whole castle. Robb and Jon tickling Arya and Bran to make them listen to them. Bran and Robb carefully tickling Rickon to cheer him up. Sansa herself had never been part of their little games; Arya had tried to include her once but had gotten screamed at by Septa Mordane who had been convinced that this would be no appropriate behavior for a lady. Sansa had always enjoyed watching her siblings from afar though. A smile parted her lips.

It took the tailors another hour until everything was sorted out and they grabbed their stuff to leave, not without looking at Sansa, disappointed – understandable, they practically threw away their shot to squeeze out the biggest scandal in all of Kings Landing. Margaery had done a good job distracting them from it and came now over to Sansa as soon as they were alone again. “Everything alright?”

Instead of an answer, Sansa stood up and reached for Margaery who quirked an eyebrow – it wasn't very alike for the Stark girl to seek physical contact in such an open way, but who was she to refuse to hug her beloved? A happy grin spread across her lips as the king's fiancee literally hopped into the open arms, pulled Sansa over to the bed and let herself fall on it, pulling the younger one with her. They shuffled around a bit until everything was comfortable, then Sansa sat on Margaery's hips and smirked down at her.

The about-to-be-queen folded her arms behind her head and grinned. “I like where this is going!”

“Oh do you?”, Sansa asked softly, laying her hands on Margaery's sides and stroking up and down over the thin dress. She waited until the brunette had fully relaxed into the touch, then she gave her unprotected torso a few rapid squeezes.

Margaery's eyes literally bulged out of her head and she quickly darted down to grab the attacking hands. “Wha-AH! Sansa! Naha ah!” She squirmed, bucking her hips, but Sansa's seat was steady.

“What is it, Marge?” More squeezes, dragging a few chuckles out of the other girl. “Are you hurt? Wait, let me check for bruises.” She began to poke up an down Margaery's sides and all over her tummy. “Where does it hurt the most? Here? Or here? Marge, you need to talk to me!”

Sansa smiled, noticing Margaery's surprise because of the unusual behavior as well as her hands still grabbing Sansa's wrists but not pushing her away – also she hadn't said Stop once yet! The Stark girl wasn't really sure how to read that, but at least she had by now figured out why she was behaving so strange herself: Margaery always comforted and took care of her and Sansa remembered tickling to be something fun – this was her chance to reward her beloved! Now, back to the hands...

“So it doesn't hurt, hm? It must be tickling then – are you ticklish, Marge?” The brunette shot her a glance through the laughter and flushed cheeks, clearly saying something like 'Well, what do you think?!'. Sansa nodded slowly and allowed herself another smirk, making Margaery blush even more. “I see. And say, do you like it? I'm just asking because you're not trying to stop me.”

“I-I doho!”, Margaery gasped and Sansa raised an eyebrow, surprised – she knew that Robb had always liked it too, but she also remembered how long it had taken Jon and Theon to make him admit that every time. But alright, Robb wasn't Margaery and Highgarden seemed to have its very own policy with intimacy anyways.

“I see. So you don't mind if I do this, do you?” Sansa grabbed her prey's hips and began to massage deep circles with her thumbs into the prominent bones, a technique she had seen Arya using to Jon  and with Margaery it appeared to work just as well. The brunette shrieked and bubbly laughter escaped her lips. “Ahanaha Sahahansaa! Ihit tihickles!”

“Yes, you know, that's kind of the point, Marge”, the Stark girl proclaimed sweetly, letting her hands explore more of her beloved's beautiful body. Said beloved giggled breathy. “Buhut I dohNAHA SEHEVEN HELLSAHAH!”

Sansa almost took her hands off – almost. She hadn't expected this kind of reaction from the usually so calm and collected lady but fine, nothing to be bothered by.

“Oh? Your thighs, hm? Is this a good spot?” She continued to squeeze the soft flesh, making Margaery shriek and weakly kick her legs. A tear rolled down her reddened cheek. “Pleahaese!”

“Please what?”, Sansa imitated a phrase that Theon had often used on Robb and Jon. Now she had to pay attention – if Margaery told her to stop, it would be serious since she had refused to say it yet, but if she just repeated herself, Sansa could continue. That's what she had observed in her siblings' tickle fights and Margaery seemed to enjoy herself, so Sansa didn't by all means want to do something wrong and make her uncomfortable.

It appeared she didn't have to worry about it; neither did Margaery say Stop nor did she begin to cry like Bran did once. On the contrary, she squirmed into the touch rather than away from it, making Sansa smile and doubling her efforts. After a minute though, Margaery seemed to be out of breath and more tears followed so Sansa slowed down. “Too much?”

“A-a bihit”, the brunette giggled, then smiled widely. “But ihit's fun!”

“Where do you want me to tickle you then?” As inexperienced as Sansa was, as good did Margaery seem to know about this particular preference of hers and working together could improve this experience further for both of them. Sansa had noticed that she had a lot of fun with this as well and it took their relationship to a whole new dimension – not only regarding the kinds of intimacy, but also her chance to grasp the nettle of their interactions from time to time.

Margaery thought about it for a bit, probably to take the chance and catch her breath, then raised her arms above her head and looked at Sansa promptly. “But be nice, will you?”

“Of course, dear, why would I not?” Sansa smiled, glad that she hadn't crossed any boundaries, and lightly scribbled over the smooth skin of Margaery's armpits, making the brunette giggle and grasp the bed sheets. “Quiet sensitive here, aren't you?”, the redhead mumbled. As an answer, Margaery just leaned back further and purred between the giggles.

Sansa chuckled with her, continuing the soft touches for a bit more until Margaery squeaked and took her arms down, panting and keeping her eyes shut. Sansa handed her some water and let her sit up, giving her the time to recover. Margaery took it gratefully, then smirked at her. “Now where the hells did that come from?”

The Stark girl shrugged her shoulders. “I told you already today: you're always so good and sweet and I wanted to give something back. Then I saw you twitch at the tailors' touches and it wasn't hard to conclude what made you flinch. My siblings always did it and I thought it might be fun.”

“It was, it was!” Margaery laughed. “But you were so teasy, it was... a bit out of character.”

“Well, I had the best teacher”, Sansa said and Margaery beamed with pride. “Oh, did you?”

Sansa nodded seriously. “Theon Greyjoy.”

“Oh, you!”, the brunette cried and threw her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. “How about a taste of yours and Theon's”, she frowned, “own medicine then, hm?” Her expression softened at the excited yet nervous look on Sansa's face. “I'll be gentle. Promise.”

Sansa nodded.

[itsmionet]

Challenge accepted

Fake dating AU

Robert Baratheon is retiring from politics and the Lannisters throw a little retirement party. Out of courtesy and politeness, Eddard Stark forces his family to go. After a while, Joffrey starts poking fun at Sansa until Margaery sweeps in to save the night by pretending to date Sansa.

“So I’m standing there barefoot, my lasagne only mid-eaten, the car has caught on fire and my boyfriend is coming out of the portable toilet with a roll of toilette paper rolled up his torso-“

Sansa walked past Arya as fast as she could. She didn’t want to listen again to that unrefined story of hers. The first time she had to sit through that story had scarred her enough for life. She did not want to hear it ever again.

Sansa made her way over to the table where the drinks were being served. She hated the party. The only reason she was there is because her father had forced all Starks to go. ‘It’s important that we all attend. To show our gratitude to Robert for his services.’ Sansa could still hear Robb’s snort and Arya mumbling disgruntledly upon their father’s words.

This year Robert Baratheon retired from politics after nearly 40 years in the office. Everyone at the Stark household except for Ned had cheered upon the news, but their bliss had quickly faded away as soon as they learnt whose name was among the candidates running for the open position. The list was pretty dreadful as it were –with names like Baelish, Stannis and Euron Greyjoy– but when you added Joffrey to the bunch, it only made it that much worse. And because Eddard Stark had a place on the council, he had been invited to Robert’s retirement party, which the Lannisters pretty much singlehandedly organised, aided with the Tyrells’ money.

Sansa poured herself a double whiskey and downed it all in one go. The drink burnt her throat but in a pleasant way. She sighed contently whilst filling her glass up again.

“Thought I’d find you by the alcohol stand.” A voice called out from behind her. Sansa pursed her lips together and clutched her glass tightly in her hand. “You picked up that trait from your father, surely.” Cersei Lannister chuckled dryly as she stood alongside Sansa. She didn’t cast her even once glance before she grabbed the closest bottle of wine and emptied it all on her glass.

“Nice party.” The redhead forced a smile on her face but she knew Cersei could see right through her. Not that she particularly cared, but she still had to put on a façade for her father’s sake.

“Oh, is it? You’ve barely been here for 10 minutes, most of which you’ve spent drinking my alcohol.” Cersei had drank half glass by the time she turned to face Sansa. Once she did, she looked at Sansa up and down, as if searching for something in particular.

“You can scarcely call it ‘your alcohol’ when it’s meant for the guests, can’t you?” Sansa flashed the blonde woman her brightest smile, albeit it was a fake one. Both women knew. Still, they both had to keep up the appearances.

“Hmm, I see that, unlike your dress, your boldness has grown larger.” The redhead was wearing a navy blue cocktail dress, with a golden strip on both shoulders. She’d found the exact dress that combined perfectly sophistication with a hint of sexiness. It was cut right above her knees, which meant it was short enough to be considered seducing, but still long enough to be an appropriate option to wear among her father’s colleagues. She completed the look with a pair of black heels.

“What can I say?” Sansa titled her head to the side casually. Her tone was polite and even borderline playful. “Time does wonders to a person, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed, it does.” Cersei tried to suppress the growl out of her voice, but she didn’t hide it quite as well as she would have wanted. “So” the woman scanned the room lazily when a thought popped into her head “is that uncivilised sister of yours around?” Cersei smirked, thinking she’d hit the nail on the head to get a rise out of the girl, but instead Sansa’s eyes lit up. She titled her head towards where Arya was standing.

“Hmm” she hummed “I believe she’s telling an uncivilised story to your kids.”

Cersei’s head couldn’t have spun faster. She looked across the room until her eyes landed on Arya. She was with Tommen and Myrcella and it seemed both kids were extremely enjoying themselves. Cersei didn’t like that one bit. Not only were her children getting along with a Stark, but by the hand gestures Arya was making Cersei knew that story was not for kids.

Before Sansa had the chance to add some witty remark, Cersei sprinted across the room to snatch Tommen and Myrcella away from Arya. The brunette blinked at the abruptness at which Cersei had taken the kids away, but she didn’t give it much thought and made her way to the alcohol stand instead.

Sansa grinned once Arya was by her side. “I take it Cersei didn’t like your story?”

Arya shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t see why not. That story had everything: action, drama, suspense...”

The redhead chuckled and shook her head “I’m sure once you think it through you’ll know why she didn’t find it so amusing.”

“What about you?” Arya redirected the conversation as she grabbed another beer. Sansa was not entirely certain, but she could’ve sworn that was Arya’s fourth. “Anything I missed?”

“Not really. I only made small chat with Cersei.”

“Nothing with Cersei is ever ‘small chat’.” Arya puffed. “How much longer must we stay here?”

“I don’t know.” Sansa scratched her chin. “I believe Father wants us to stay at least long enough to hear Robert’s speech.”

Arya growled audibly at that. “Well, that’s gonna take forever then.” Sansa agreed.

Both sisters turned their back to the stand and looked at the attendants. There was Robb chatting amicably with Theon Greyjoy, who hadn’t been previously invited but Robb had essentially begged their Father to let the boy come and so after much pleading he’d reluctantly agreed. If only for Robb’s sake. His son had said Theon would be the only thing that would keep him sane for the night. Sansa believed Greyjoy would have the contrary effect on her brother, but she didn’t say anything. At least he had a friend to keep him company.

Then there was Jon, standing awkwardly in a corner. He was talking with some other boy Sansa did not know but he seemed comfortable enough around him so she was happy for him. And because of their young age, Bran and Rickon had been left at home with Hodor, their sitter.

Lastly, the remaining Starks, Ned and Catelyn, were stood next to Robert Baratheon himself. The man laughed loudly at something her Father had said and Sansa was glad that, despite being surrounded by Lannisters, Ned had found somewhat of a friend.

There were more people than Sansa would have expected, still she only knew a handful of them, half of whom were her own family. As for the rest, Sansa either straight up didn’t like them or didn’t deem none of them interesting enough to strike a conversation with.

“I’m gonna go pee.” Arya said, ever so ladylike. “If I haven’t come back in 5 minutes, don’t come looking for me. Presume me dead.”

“Ugh, please do come back instead of sneaking off with Gendy again!” Sansa called out after Arya as the brunette walked away. She didn’t know if her sister had heard her or not. She supposed she had.

Sansa sighed and finished her drink. She turned to the table and started to pour herself another one, already planning on joining Robb and Theon when someone came up beside her. Sansa prayed to the Old Gods that it wasn’t Cersei again.

“That’s a bold choice for a dress.” It was not Cersei who spoke, but at that moment Sansa wished it had been. “That’s too slutty even for you.”

Sansa turned around slowly, whilst displaying the fakest smile she’d ever put on. “Joffrey” she said lightly. “How are you?”

“Better than you, that’s for sure.” He snickered. “What’s up with the whore attire? It’s not like you’ve got someone to impress. Unless” his eyes gleamed in a way that made Sansa shiver “you’ve dressed up like this for me”.

“I’m afraid that would not be the case.” Sansa pursed her lips together. Being around Joffrey always made her feel uneasy, even while they were dating. There just was something that was not right with the boy. After everything that happened, Sansa believed she’d grown stronger but being there, alone with him, she felt every hair at the back of her head stand up. Her whole body already tensing.

“Oh?” Joffrey furrowed his brow, his tone growing unkinder by the minute. “What then? Are you trying to rig the elections by showing off your cunt? So that dear ol’ daddy will win? I hate democracy.”

“My Father is not even running for the position.” Sansa’s hand closed around the glass tightly. She was determined not to lose her temper if only for her Father’s sake. Even so, Joffrey was making that task very challenging for her.

“You’re doing it for me then?” Joffrey took a step closer to Sansa. His breath reeked of cheap vodka and Sansa had to suppress a grimace. She noticed the glass on his left hand was full, which meant that was not his first drink of the night. “You know, tonight after this, I could come pay you a little visit-“ He grabbed her arm forcefully as he inched even closer.

“Joffrey, don’t-“

“Sans, darling!” Both heads turned around and were greeted by the sight of one Margaery Tyrell, who has approaching them with a beaming smile. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You had me worried.” She hugged Sansa tightly and planted a soundly kiss on her right cheek as she withdrew away. Her eyes never leaving Sansa’s face. “What a beautiful dress! You look absolutely stunning.”

The fact that she’d completely ignored Joffrey made the boy furious. “Margaery” he called, malice dripping off his voice, but he tried to disguise as courtesy. Only he didn’t fool anyone. “I was not aware you were coming.”

Finally, Margaery looked at the boy. She smiled easily at him, as if she was actually pleased to be talking to him. “Oh, I would’ve arrived sooner, but Grandmother ran into an old friend of hers by the entrance and we were held back a few minutes.”

“I see.” Joffrey nodded his head. He didn’t match Margaery’s smile, opting instead for a scowl. He had planned to have his fun with Sansa for a while longer, but it didn’t look like Margaery would be leaving them alone anytime soon. Instead, the brunette slipped her arm around Sansa’s waist and pulled her flush against her.

Sansa for the life of her didn’t know what to make of it. Joffrey and Margaery were staring each other down, not saying a word, and the redhead felt as if the lion and the rose were silently trying to scare the other away.

“I’m sorry I had to make you wait for so long” Margaery told Sansa casually after some time, as if the latter had been actually waiting for her.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” Sansa smiled back at her. She realised Margaery’s smile seemed more sincere when it was directed at her, in contrast to the one’s she threw at Joffrey which –in Sansa’s opinion– appeared to be mocking the boy.

“I didn’t know you two were friends.” Joffrey spat at them. At that, Margaery actually threw her head back and so laughed loudly you’d think she’d just heard the greatest joke of all time. “Did I say something amusing?” He growled. Sansa could feel rather than see the tension between Joffrey and Margaery. She didn’t like it one bit and wanted so desperately to make it stop. But she didn’t know how to cut in. It looked like they were playing at a game Sansa did not know the rules of.

“Well, yes.” Margaery chuckled as her laughter died down. Then, she turned to Sansa right as Joffrey chose the worst possible time to try and end his drink in one go. “I thought you would’ve told him by now we’re dating.”

If Sansa hadn’t been so busy choking on air, she would’ve laughed at the way Joffrey accidentally spat out half of his drink on his clothes and his eyes bulged comically. Margaery noticed straight away Sansa’s confusion, so she took advantage of the fact that Joffrey was distracted drying the alcohol stains on his clothes and inched close to Sansa’s ear. “I can get rid of this little bastard in no time, just play along.”

Sansa nodded her approval and silently thanked her lucky stars for Margaery. She’d known the girl for a few years now, and ever since the beginning, she’d looked up at the older girl with such admiration. Everything about Margaery fascinated Sansa.

A couple of months into their friendship and Sansa was already enamoured with everything the brunette did. It wasn’t until Margaery casually told the redhead about her preference for women that Sansa’s mind began to wonder whether she had a shot with her. The thought scared her at first, back when she deemed herself to be as straight as an arrow, but as weeks and months passed, she realised she’d started to see Margaery in a different light. Or maybe it wasn’t a different light at all. Maybe her feeling had always been there but she had not realised it until then.

The thing is, ever since Sansa found out this new piece of information, she couldn’t help but notice every single little thing about Margaery. Like the way her nose would scrunch whenever she smelt something she didn’t like –like curry, smoke or gasoline– and the way she would close her eyes and breathe in contently when she smelt something she fancied –like roses, fresh pastries, the sea or Sansa’s perfume, although Sansa tried not to think too much about the last; lest she allowed herself to get her hopes up when she was certain a girl as stunning and perfect as Margaery wouldn’t notice a silly girl like herself.

Still, from time to time, she would let herself dream about what it would be like to be with Margaery, to be able to wake up next to her every day and be the reason behind her smiles and giggles, to be the first and last thing on her mind, to be the one Margaery wanted to spend her days and nights with.

It was Joffrey’s voice that brought Sansa out of her trance and back to reality. “You what?!” He was looking directly at Sansa as if she’d done him a great wrong. His face was bright red and his hand gripped too tightly on the glass. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be more disgusting, you do this.” He gestured at Sansa’s general direction, as if that would be explanation enough. “You dragged poor sweet Margaery into this fucking mess of yours. You perverted her with your deviating ways.”

Sansa had kept her cool this long and she had intended on doing so until Joffrey got bored and walked away on his own, but the very same moment he had demeaned Margaery like that was all it took for Sansa to snap at him. She took a daring step closer to him. “You talk to her again with such insolence and I promise you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do?” Joffrey mocked.

“I’ll send Lady whilst you sleep to make sure you’re reminded of your place.” She gritted her teeth together.

“You, bitch.” Joffrey spat. “You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Of course I can” Sansa countered. Her blood was boiling and she felt like she was seconds away from doing something her Father would without a doubt chastise her later for. Still, she didn’t find it in herself to care. Not when Joffrey had insulted Margaery so blatantly. “If you knew what’s best for you, you’d walk the fuck away.”

Margaery widened her eyes and turned her head towards Sansa. It was the first time she’d ever heard the Northerner curse.

“Last time I saw you” the boy foolishly charged once more against the redhead, thinking he could still win the argument “you were dating that Bolton boy; so what happened that turned you into a dyke?” He snarled “Wasn’t his cock good enough?” Sansa didn’t know whether it was the remark or the laugh that came after that infuriated her most. She clenched her fists as her shoulders began to shake. It wouldn’t take long before she lost whatever remained of her composure. But Sansa had long lost interest in looking calm and collected, her sole attention being now focused on the boy.

“Pardon me” Margaery’s voice came out mellow and calm, but she was ready to throw hands. She let go of Sansa in order to stand between Joffrey and the redhead. She would’ve blocked Sansa’s view if it weren’t for Sansa’s height. Still, she intended on becoming some sort of human shield for the Northerner. “And who do you think you are to talk to my girl like that?” She took a defiantly step closer to the boy “she can dress however she pleases” another step “say whatever she pleases” another one “and date whomever she pleases.” Joffrey ended having to recoil a couple of steps back in order to maintain his balance. “Let this be the last time you disrespect Sansa, because so help me Gods, if I ever hear you say a single bad thing about her again I will hunt your ass down and beat you up so badly your own mother won’t recognise you.” Margaery was normally a very diplomatic and collected person, but Joffrey was managing to push every single one of her buttons.

“Come on, Margaery. You can’t possibly want to be around her.” He pronounced the last word as if it actually physically pained him to say it. “Let me take you out instead. I’ll show you what a real relationship looks like.”

“I’ll say this one more time and I swear it will be the last.” Margaery blinked almost flirtatiously. Her tone was soft but her eyes left no room for misinterpretation. She was furious. “Step the fuck away from my girl.”

Realising now Margaery had also turned on him, he decided to back down. “You know what? I have no use for her anyway.” Joffrey took a step closer to Margaery, which was compensated by Sansa stepping forward as well. The action resulted on Sansa being pressed firmly against Margaery’s back; the latter had to use some strength to hold the redhead back, lest she lost her nerves and pounced on the blonde. “You can keep your bitch.”

And that was that. It was then, right as the boy laughed cruelly at his own comment that she lost it. Even though Sansa’s anger was off the roof, it was Margaery’s punch that collided with his face. He threw some insults her way but Margaery couldn’t make out the words, given that his hands were cupping his bloody nose.

“You fucking dykes! You’ll regret this! You both will!” He yelled before storming off. As he ran to the bathroom, the brunette noticed the silence surrounding them and she casted her glance to the side in order to see the other attendant’s reaction.

The first person she saw was Cersei Lannister. The woman pursed her lips together but said nothing. She just stared at Margaery down for a few seconds before running after her son to aid him. Robert Baratheon cursed aloud and begrudgingly went to the bathroom as well. Margaery also noticed both Tommen and Myrcella offering her a tiny smile, displaying no kind of sympathy for their brother before Jaime Lannister was by their side. He calmly told them to go with him outside.

On the other end of the room was Theon, wearing a shit-eating grin and no doubt already planning on congratulating Margaery afterwards. Stood by his side was Robb, and although his face betrayed no emotion, he gave the brunette a subtle thumbs up.

“Wooooo!” Arya suddenly yelled, throwing both her hands up in the air, as if celebrating a touchdown. Her beer long gone. “Now this is a party!” Her smile matched Theon’s.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.” Came a voice from behind Margaery. “I mean, I would’ve, I definitely would’ve because that douchebag had it coming but” Sansa grabbed Margaery’s bruised hand with much delicacy “I’m not sure that’s gonna sit well with your Grandmother, and much less the Lannisters.”

“Well” Margaery chuckled despite what happened “someone had to shut him up. Let me worry about them later.”

“Thank you” Sansa relaxed now that Joffrey was out of sight; her smile was timid but sincere “really.”

“No need to thank me, sweet girl.” Margaery smiled brightly at the redhead. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages, if I’m being honest.” That earned her a chuckle from Sansa.

“Margaery.” The brunette’s smile faltered away as soon as the voice came. She turned around slowly.

“Grandmother.” Margaery pursed her lips together. She knew her act would have consequences and even though she was well aware Grandmother Olenna didn’t like the Lannister boy one bit, she knew she’d have to deal with the result of her actions.

“May we speak alone?” It was a question, but the tone of voice with which it was accompanied left no room for objections. Margaery nodded, muttered ‘Sorry’ to Sansa and started to walk behind her Grandmother.

Not a full ten seconds had passed that Arya was by her sister’s side. “So, you two banging?” Arya bluntly asked Sansa once Margaery was out of earshot. She grabbed a beer from the table and took a large sip. “I heard Joffrey muttering something about you two dating. Although” she added “he used a much crasser terminology.”

For the second time that night, Sansa choked on her spit. “Wha- we’re not- I mean” she corrected herself, remembering Margaery had indeed referred to herself as her girlfriend. Not wanting to blow the Highgardener’s cover she quickly said: “We started out as friends!”

“Your point?” Arya tilted her head to the side and watched her sister expectantly. She didn’t particularly care about who Sansa was or wasn’t shagging, but she figured watching the redhead ramble would be a close second to the most fun she’d have that night so she was determined to stretch this conversation as much as she possibly could.

“I mean, you know…” Sansa was visibly struggling to find the right words but given that Arya was in no rush she watched amusedly as the taller girl gesticulated ambiguously with her hand in the air. “We were friends, so we decided to take it slow.”

“How come none of us knew you two were a thing?” The shorter girl asked.

“It’s still pretty new. We didn’t want to jinx it.” Arya hummed, seemingly content with the answer.

“I have to say” she paused to take another sip of her beer “your girl does clean up pretty nice. She’s caught the attention of every single man –and some women– since the moment she entered the building.”

The jealousy that coursed through Sansa’s body then was both unexpected and foreign. She had definitely noticed how extremely beautiful Margaery looked that night. The dress she wore was a shade of deep forest green and whereas Sansa’s straps had been relatively thin, Margaery’s were fairly broad, to make up for the plunging neckline she was showing off. The top half of her back was bare but her hair cascaded down flawlessly and covered some skin.

Sansa couldn’t blame the attendants for staring, because the sight was truly mesmerizing, what she did disapprove of, however, was how most of those looks seemed to only be directed at her cleavage. When the realisation crossed her mind Sansa felt a sense of possessiveness and, although she wouldn’t admit it even to herself, the thought ‘mine’ did come to mind.

As Arya cleared her throat, it occurred to Sansa that her sister was still waiting for an answer. “No surprise here.” Sansa shrugged casually as her gaze was directed at Margaery. The older girl was at the far end of the room, speaking with Lady Olenna. “She’s beautiful.”

Arya followed Sansa’s eyes until she saw Margaery. It did not go unnoticed by her sister the fact Sansa’s expression softened upon seeing the older girl. Arya smiled softly –mostly to herself. She’d known from the very first instant that Margaery had lied about dating Sansa, but she also knew about her sister’s feelings for the Tyrell girl. The redhead was pretty good at disguising her emotions, so only a very observant person would notice it. And despite her many flaws, if Arya was one thing was observant.

“You’ll still want to be careful around Cersei, though.” The shorter girl warned after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence. “She’s gonna want to strangle you as soon as the bastard is okay. The Lannisters are going to take Joffrey’s ex-girlfriend dating a lesbian as a great insult. It hurts their pride or some shit.”

“I know” Sansa sighed. She turned around and poured herself another glass of whiskey. “Let’s worry about that later, okay?” Arya nodded. She was about to add something else when she spotted out of the corner of her eye Margaery and her Grandmother approaching them. Arya excused herself in order to give her sister some privacy.

“Sansa, I would like you to meet my Grandmother.” Margaery offered her Grandmother a glass of wine and poured herself another one.

“Olenna Tyrell, dear.” Sansa was expecting her to hold out her hand but the woman never did. “I take it you’ve heard about me.” She took a sip of her own drink which prompted Margaery to do the same.

“I have, ma’am.” Sansa nodded. “I apologise for causing such a scene tonight.” She lamented.

“Nonsense.” The woman shook her head, taking the heat out of it. “The only thing I’m sorry for is that you couldn’t take a swing at him yourself as well.” Sansa smiled timidly.

“Grandmother!” Margaery snickered. “What will Sansa think of us? You raised me to be well-mannered.”

“And so I’ve done, dear.” Lady Olenna solemnly said. “You did well by your girlfriend when you knocked the troubled boy off his high horse.” Sansa blushed as she noticed Lady Olenna had referred to her as her granddaughter’s ‘girlfriend’.

“I take it you’re not angry at Margaery, then?” The Northerner sheepishly asked.

“I would have preferred my granddaughter to have had the decency to wait to pull off something like away from so many prying eyes, but” Lady Olenna sighed “I know just how loyal the girl can be to the people she loves and if your honour was on the table, well then, there was nothing nobody could’ve done to stop her.”

Sansa glanced at Margaery and was surprised when the older girl blushed and refused to meet her gaze. “That’s very kind of you to say, ma’am.” The redhead thanked the woman.

Lady Olenna hummed. “Anyway, I’m spotting the cheese plate I was promised about 10 minutes ago” She looked over her shoulder. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to eat the food I paid for.” The woman bid her goodbyes, leaving the two girls alone.

“Sorry about her.” Margaery shook her head. “She can be a tad blunt sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” Sansa shrugged. “I like her.”

“I’m glad.” Margaery smiled easily at Sansa.

There was something at the back of her mind that was nagging Sansa. She didn’t know how to subtly approach the subject so she just dove right in. “Why did you say we were dating?” The question and the boldness with which Sansa said it took Margaery aback. “I mean, if you wanted to defend me” upon the lack of a direct response Sansa decided to clarify “you could’ve just done so without telling him we were a couple.” Sansa tilted her head to the side expectantly.

“And where’s the fun in that?” Margaery winked flirtatiously. The gesture made Sansa blush once again. “Besides, you look marvellous, darling. It would only be fit for you to have a date for the night.” Sansa tried not to think about the fact that her heart was beating faster with every word Margaery spoke. “Unless” she added on second thought “you wanted to be with someone else?”

“No!” It was almost embarrassing how quick Sansa declined the suggestion. She felt her face turn even redder, so she cleared her throat. “So, does this mean we have to keep up the charade all night long?” She chuckled to cover up her eagerness.

There was a gleam in Margaery’s eye that made Sansa shiver, but in a good way. “Wanna find out how many people we can scandalise by being extra affectionate in public?”

And if there was something Sansa was unable to do was deny Margaery anything. “Game on.”

Chapter 2

[vivilove-jonsa]

Hey, my sweetest! Number 80, for the angst prompt, pretty please? Love you!

Hey, honey!  Thank you for the dialogue prompt!  This one starts angsty but turns fluffy...lol!  I hope you like it :)

**

“What does it mean?”

“Well, I know what I think it means,” Margaery replies with that knowing, pitying look that made her want to vomit.  “Why don’t you ask him though?  I’m sure he’d never lie to you.”

Margaery’s tone is nothing short of scathing.  She’s never liked Jon, never thought he was good enough for Sansa.  Their friendship had already been on the rocks before Sansa started dating Jon last year and now, it’s barely a friendship at all.  Jon’s not to blame for that.  They were once friends but there’s been too many times where Margaery has rattled her faith and trust and left her bruised to call it friendship anymore.  Sansa’s not sure she wants to continue the acquaintance even.  The fracture between the two young women had begun well before Sansa had looked at Jon Snow as anything more than Robb’s friend.  

Why’d she agree to this lunch today?  

And why in the name of the gods did she have to witness her boyfriend coming out of the jewelry shop across the street with another woman when she was with Margaery of all people?!

He’d said he had to work all day though.  What was he doing downtown at the jewelry shop if he had to work all day?

She watches them walk down the street, chatting amiably, oblivious to her hurt and confusion.  

“I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Hmmm.  Do you know her?” Margaery prods, her lips twitching.

Sansa nods slowly.  “Yes, that’s Alys.  She’s a friend of Jon’s from university.”  

Alright, Jon had admitted they’d dated briefly back then but it was never anything serious.  It was ages ago and they’re just friends now.  Meanwhile, his friend from university has her arm looped around Jon’s as they share a laugh.

“They seem quite chummy,” Margaery says, a pleased hum.  Who doesn’t enjoy discovering some juicy gossip?  Well, a real friend wouldn’t react that way when she thinks her friend’s boyfriend might be stepping out on her.  

“I’ve got to go.”

“Of course, darling!  Want me to call you later or-“

“No, don’t call me.”  Don’t bother calling me again.

 She’d tried calling him after she got home but his phone went straight to voicemail and she hadn’t worked up the courage to leave one.  He always leaves his phone off when he’s working.  It’s part of the job.  

She sits in her room feeling sick with jealousy and heartbreak the rest of the afternoon.  She thinks anything would be better than this doubt, this not knowing.  But, when the doorbell rings downstairs, she gasps and almost wishes she’d told her mother to turn him away, to tell him she’s out…or moved to Dorne unexpectedly.

Joffrey had seemed so perfect but that was just on the surface.  You didn’t have to scratch very much of it to find the ugly truth.

Harry had been different than Joffrey and she’d thought him a great improvement at first.  He’d been terribly charming…but his charm won him more hearts than Sansa’s and she’d soon realized he liked it that way.  Monogamy was a foreign word to him.

And Jon had been like neither of them, she’d thought.  She’d never expected to fall in love with Jon Snow. She’d never expected them to be anything more than acquaintances through Robb.  She’d never expected he’d be exactly what she’d been looking for.  But he is.  Or at least, she’d thought he was.

She looks around her bedroom, the childhood room she’s been living in since finishing her degree last year.  She’s redecorated more than once since she was a teen but it feels so juvenile now.  Jon’s been out on his own since he turned eighteen, has his own place.  He’s a grownup and she’s still living with her parents.  What could he really see in her?  He’s been jewelry shopping with Alys Karstark, too.

He knocks softly on her bedroom door and she hates that she’s probably going to cry before she can even get the words out.

“I saw you today,” she says as soon as she opens the door.  She doesn’t want to let these doubts linger. One way or another, she’ll get it out.

He blinks, surprised by her tone and expression.  “You did?”

“I saw you downtown…with Alys.”

“Where?  Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you said you were working today and then I saw you coming out of Manderly’s with her.”

“I was at work all day.  I went there on my lunchbreak and asked Alys if she’d mind meeting me since she works at the museum nearby.”

Sansa knew that.  Jon had taken her to the museum on a date last winter and Alys had allowed them back behind the scenes of a few exhibits since she knew them.  It had been a marvelous day.  

“Why did you ask her to join you?”

“I, uh…wanted some advice,” he says, scrubbing at the back of his neck like he does when he’s embarrassed.  Why is he embarrassed?

“But why?  Please, tell me the truth, Jon.”

“I’ve always been honest with you.”

It’s true.  He has. He’s not Harry.  He’s not Joffrey.  He’s not Margaery.  

“I just saw you with her and…I felt like…I thought you might be…” She can hardly breathe with how much the thought of him cheating on her, leaving her hurts.  She loves him so much and apparently love can make you a little crazy at times.  

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her forehead.  “It’s nothing like that, I promise.  But I’m sorry if seeing us upset you.  I know that it might’ve looked odd out of context.”  He understands.  She’s shared her fears and insecurities with him, things she’s not shared with anyone else. He’s always so patient, understanding and honest.  She feels silly.

“I’m sorry to sound accusatory.”

“It’s alright.  How was Margaery?” he asks with the barest hint of a smirk.  He knows about Margaery, knows about the knives she’s left in Sansa’s back in the past.  

“Her usual self.  But what were you doing at the jewelry shop?” she asks now, a grin spreading across her face.

“If I ask to not answer your question just yet, will you trust me?”

She takes a deep breath.  The room suddenly feels like it’s spinning as the possible reasons why her boyfriend might’ve asked his friend Alys to go to a jewelry shop with him.  

Alys has very discerning taste and Jon’s expressed his own securities to Sansa in the past about being good enough for her, of getting things right for her.  He doesn’t need to worry at all but sometimes we can’t help our insecurities.

They’ve been dating nearly a year. Their dating anniversary is in three weeks and what if he’s…

“I trust you,” she says with a gulp before kissing him with all the love she has in her heart.    

[takerfoxx]

When trying to write a big balloon of good feelings with the EXPRESS INTENTION of bursting it... how big is too big before it's just cruel?

A very good question, and it comes down to purpose, execution, and follow-through.

Now, given my history and reputation, those sorts of situations are something of my forte, and I’ve had a lot of experience and trial and error to work things out, so here’s how you get maximum impact out of your dark, cruel plot-twists.

First, ask yourself why are you doing this? Is it purely for shock value, or does it serve some greater purpose for the plot and characters? If it’s the second, then go ahead and skip to the next section. If it’s the first, then go ahead and put that idea back in the oven because it’s totally not ready yet.

Look, as a writer, I get the appeal of shock value. Shock value got Imperfect Metamorphosis on the map. Shock value is in my blood. But if all you have is that shock and nothing else, then it’s shock value for shock value’s sake, which is just shallow and useless. You want to shock and disturb, yes, but you also want your audience to keep going to find out what happens next! Dangle that emotional catharsis in front of them! Give them some measure of hope that this is leading somewhere satisfying! Even stories like Chinatown and The Mist, which ended with the protagonists losing in horrible ways despite all their efforts, still felt like they were saying something bigger about the human existence and didn’t feel like they were cheating the audience.

For example: Marisa’s death in IM. I’ll freely admit, the idea first occurred to me and became part of the plan for the shock value, a way to throw down the gauntlet and show that no one is safe. But since the idea came to me early in IM’s run, I had literal years to refine the idea, build towards it, and map out how the fallout would go down, so that by the time it came around, it had turned into an essential part of the plot, from which the rest of the story would lead.

See, here’s the thing you need to understand about dark plot twists: they follow the same rule as edgy humor that breaks societal taboo. And that is this: the twist is not the payoff; the twist is the set-up. Think of the difference of between a rookie “comedian” who thinks that saying shocking things that you’re not supposed to say constitutes as “funny” and those who are offended just don’t have a sense of humor, and a genuine master like George Carlin, who used edge subject matter and taboo breaking not as the punchline, but as the set-up to the bigger joke and thus earn the big laughs when he managed to land the punchline and say something bigger about the topic at hand. It’s a wire act without a net, something that is spectacular if you can pull it off and lead to something greater, but will end in disaster if you don’t know what you’re doing.

Now, let’s move onto the next part: execution. Here you have to be careful, because while it’s perfectly acceptable (and in fact encouraged) to break the rules and conventions of the story’s genre, you still have to ensure that it’s keeping with your story’s internal consistency and rules, and that it makes sense! You want such-and-such a character to betray their friends and turn bad guy? Okay, but it has to make sense and be consistent with their backstory and motivations. You want to pull the rug out from under the heroes and ruin everything they had been working toward? Okay, but it has to be consistent with the rules that you had set up.

I’ll give you a few examples. Now, Game of Thrones might be in the doghouse due the dumpsterfire of a final season, but there was a time when it was upheld as the gold standard of dark plot twists, with the two big examples being Ned Stark’s execution and the Red Wedding. The reason why those moments were so shocking and effective wasn’t because they came out of nowhere, but because they broke the conventional rules of storytelling. OF COURSE the main character would survive! They even gave him an out by having him sentence to the Wall where his bastard son was, where they would no doubt reunite and plan their next steps! Ned’s the hero, after all! Except no, this isn’t that kind of story, Joffrey is still a sociopathic narcissist, doing what sociopathic narcissists do.

And the Red Wedding? OF COURSE it would work! Walder Frey had accepted the compromise, and we’ve put a lot of time and investment in Rob and Cate and their retainers. Rob was practically the new main character, and the driving force against the Lannisters. What was more, he was winning, and he was going to keep winning, even with his one or two slip-ups...except no, he wasn’t, because he had been warned about Walder Frey’s easily bruised ego, he had broken his word, so there was going to be consequences when the Frey’s cut a deal with the Lannisters, so welcome to Medieval-style skullduggery!

Hell, you can have some real fun with this too! And if I may toot my own horn, let’s look at the most recent dark twist from IM: the return of the Shadow Youkai.

Now, I know what my reputation is, and what people expect from me. As such, I can use those expectations to play a sort of follow-the-cup game with the plot. Everyone knew that the Shadow Youkai wasn’t gone for good; the epilogue of Fires of the Sun pretty much showed that. But no one knew when she’d be back, and that let’s me play with expectations a bit.

So I put together a big beach trip, where Rin takes all of her friends, new and old, out into public. And since this is Rin’s story, everyone expects it to go wrong. She expects it to go wrong. Because things always go wrong for Rin!

Sure enough, here comes Hong Meiling and Koakuma, two people with reasons to ruin Rin’s life! Surely they’ll catch and bust her! In fact, it turns out that Koakuma is Elis’s cousin, so surely that would mean she would...except no, they have a short chat, Koakuma doesn’t expose them, and they all go their separate ways. Nothing happens.

Oh shit, here comes Reimu! Not only does she know Rin, she also knows everyone in Team Nineball, and has fought most of the other girls as well! This isn’t good, how will Rin wriggle out of this (no pun intended)...except she doesn’t need to. Reimu and Rin’s various friends walk right past each other over and over without noticing, she chitchats with Hong Meiling and Koakuma for a bit, and then she’s called away to the next chapter’s plot. Rin never even so much as realizes that Reimu was there. Nothing happens.

But wait! Flandre is still a problem, and Seija’s still loose out there! And there she is, taking advantage of Rin’s absence to trigger Flandre’s madness! Surely THIS is the big disaster that’ll...except no, Kogasa quickly gets Seija to piss off and Wriggle coaxes Flandre back to sleep. Nothing happens.

Wait, the beach party was...a success? Nothing bad happened? Everyone had fun and made friends like they were supposed to? And it ends with Rin actually saving a stranger’s life and getting praised for it? Which story was I reading again?

Oh hey, there’s Minoriko, someone who hasn’t been seen a long time, and she says that Hina successfully devoured the Shadow Youkai’s essence, so there’s nothing to worry about. Well, that’s a relief! Strange though that a little curse goddess could handle something of the Shadow Youkai’s caliber, seeing how Sariel already mentioned how unsafe it is to use anything other than the original sword to do so, and how Rhapsody of Subconscious Desire already established that the Shadow Youkai is capable of taking over a secondary host, provided that she had access to their subconscious, and-

Click.

Boom.

So if you’re going to do it, make sure you set up believable reasons why it would happen in advance, even if the audience doesn’t notice them at first. Otherwise, you get Vince Russo’s booking of late-90′s WCW, where everyone was switching allegiances on a dime left and right just for the sake of having a SHOCKING SWERVE! Remember: it’s a highwire act without a net. Know what you’re doing.

Also, for the love of God, if you’re going to have a bad guy do a really bad, shocking thing in one part of the story but later join the good guys later on, don’t just sweep said bad thing under the rug. If Cain the Bloodspiller butchers little Timmy in book one but becomes Cammy the Bloodsaver in book five, then don’t let little Timmy be forgotten. Make sure that there’s still consequences.

And finally, the follow-through. Justify this shocking twist. Have it mean something. Take your time to explore the consequences. Show how it affects the characters. Dig deep into their psyches and make it feel real. The reason people STILL talk about Aeris’s death in Final Fantasy 7 is that the gameplay itself was designed to make you feel her loss, both from the viewpoint of the characters and you, the player.

One of my favorite dark twists is Mami’s death in PMMM, because it follows all of these conditions and does so spectacularly. It sets up how dangerous fighting witches is and explains that someone could really die while doing it, while tricking us into not expecting that to happen by already showing us how Mami kicks ass and establishing her as a main character with a promise to form a lasting bond with Madoka right before pulling the trigger. And afterward, it takes the time to really dig into the consequences of her death, from Madoka’s depression to Sayaka’s increased recklessness to being the catalyst that brought Kyoko into the story in the first place. Everything that happens after does so as a result of that moment.

So yeah, by all means, do that shocking thing, but make sure you put in the work to both earn and justify it.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Epilogue: What the Future Holds

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Five years later...

A/N: Here we are, folks. This is the end. I would like to thank everyone who helped me get this story to where it is. From my wonderful editors to my faithful readers — I appreciate every single one of you amazing people. Thank you so much! For reading, commenting, helping me out, talking to me, believing in me, encouraging me to continue even when it was hard. I hope the ending is satisfying enough, and that we will hang out soon when I work on my other projects. Best of regards, Mariana. ♥

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

There was nothing better than a wedding to get the old gang back together.

It had been a while since you'd seen everyone all at once.

Five long years — ever since you'd graduated high school.

There were times when it felt as if it had happened yesterday. As if you'd just said goodbye to your friends before everyone went their own way, their own direction, colleges and jobs calling.

Time sure liked to fly.

You made sure to stay in contact with everyone. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram; all tools you readily used. They were your friends. Some distance couldn't change that.

The seven of you had your own Facebook chat group that was filled to the brim with messages. Memes were shared. Laughs exchanged — in emoji form, but laughs nonetheless. News, good and bad, were told. Advices asked for and given.

It almost felt like old times.

Almost.

But not quite.

The truth was, despite how hard you tried to maintain your friendship, things changed.

Life happened.

Sam had gone to Stanford on full scholarship, dreaming big of contributing to the world, helping save it. With the way things were going, you were confident he would do it. If anyone could help make the world a better place, it was him.

In his free time, he liked to give speeches on healthy lifestyles, which, for some bizarre reason, consisted of consuming a lot of kale.

A kale smoothie had become a signature of his, the cup seemingly glued to his hand.

He'd become a hit on the internet for it. A meme everyone in your friend group shared and poked fun at. Light-heartedly, of course.

Dean was convinced Sam was doing it to embarrass him.

Sam, in turn, had told him a healthier diet would do him good.

Dean wasn't interested, and, a few hours later, had posted a picture of himself stuffing a big, greasy hamburger into his mouth with the caption #DownWithKale.

Sam was not amused.

Crowley had changed his name as soon as he'd turned eighteen. Crowley had officially become his name, Fergus long forgotten, thrown in the trash where he felt it belonged.

His family still called him Fergus.

Well, Rowena and his mother did. Gavin, the good boy that he was, had always referred to him as Crowley, which was why he was Crowley's favorite family member (his only family member, if he had any say in it).

He'd gone into studying business, rich businessman future planned out to the smallest details. He'd intended to work his way to the top; it would take a while, but he was confident hard work, combined with his cunning, ambitious nature, would earn him the throne.

Maybe, he'd mused, he could eventually open his own company. Be his own boss. Set his own terms.

May he have the best of luck.

Castiel had gone into teaching. A surprising choice of career, especially considering his awkward nature, but it was what he wanted to do. Helping kids. Guiding them by his own example.

He certainly had the drive for it.

Who knows? Maybe kids would like him. Maybe they would like his awkwardness.

Meg, not really the scholarly type, had gone to community college and had found herself working in a supermarket.

She hated her job, and she hated the customers even more. The chat was frequently filled with her rants about one thing or another that had occurred at work that particular day.

Funny stuff, usually.

Especially when she snapped at customers and got reprimanded for it, but kept doing it anyway because her boss knew all too well he couldn't afford to lose her as an employee.

Instead of a college, Dean had gone into trades. He'd opened his own little mechanic shop back in Lawrence. It was hard work, far from ideal, paid just enough to cover the costs of living, but he enjoyed it. He was happy.

That was all that mattered.

Rowena had worked hard on her intensive at Joffrey. It was a difficult three months; she was always practicing, always dancing, on her feet from dawn to dusk. You'd barely gotten to talk, aside from the weekends, which you'd spent in front of your phones or laptops, Skype open, smiles wide as you talked about each week's events.

You'd missed her so much.

Too much.

But, as with all things, the intensive had eventually ended and you'd gotten to have her home for a week — a whole week! — before college officially started.

The two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other that entire time.

It wasn't enough — seven measly days was far from enough — but it was something.

After three months of drought, it was the welcome, desperately awaited rain.

Parting for college was even more difficult. You'd each gone your own way, different as you were, each pursuing your own dream.

It was a struggle, but, like the intensive, you'd made it work.

You'd kept in contact. Skyped at every available moment. Traveled to one another's schools when the opportunity arose. Made sure to spend the holidays (the most important ones) together.

And, just like that, years had gone by, and soon enough school was behind you and you were together once again.

The decision to move in together was a mutual one. It was more of an understanding, really. With school behind you, jobs calling, and the relationship stronger than ever even all these years later, it just made sense to take it a step further.

Why wouldn't you live together?

You did everything else together, so you might as well, to quote Crowley every time he walked in on you making out, get a room.

So you did.

You rented an apartment in Manhattan. A small one that, despite its size, was warm and pleasant and felt just like home.

Your and Rowena's home.

Sometimes it felt like a dream.

As if, every moment now, you would wake up and realize the last five years of your life were nothing but a fantasy, a product of your sleeping mind.

Then you would kiss Rowena's cheek, take a sip of tea from her mug just to tease her (her glares and pouts were adorable), and smile, and the reality — your reality, one you'd worked hard to accomplish, your so wished for future — would settle in and all the silly thoughts would go away as if they'd never existed.

You'd made it.

The future you'd dreamed of, that you and Rowena had planned for so thoroughly, had come to be.

It wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

Rowena had found work at Broadway. She was a dancer, and an excellent one; with Joffrey on her resume, the job was hers the moment she'd stepped into the audition room.

You were having difficulty with finding employment yourself, but, luckily, her pay was enough to cover the living costs of the two of you.

You felt bad; the last thing you wanted was to look as if you were taking advantage. But she'd made it clear she didn't mind. You were together. A family, for no other word could describe what you had, what you'd built and grew together. What was hers was yours, and vice versa.

Being a housewife wasn't your ideal profession, if one could call it that, but it wasn't bad.

It was, dare you say it, fun.

You found yourself enjoying awaiting Rowena's return after a long, exhausting day on her feet — literally — with a loving hug, a peck on the lips, and a warm meal on the table — a delivery from a restaurant or a warmed up can, for cooking was a skill you were still far from perfecting.

You were happy.

And so was she.

The two of you made it work.

Lately, Rowena had been considering joining the Royal Ballet. It was a big step, one that required careful thinking and plenty of discussions.

Moving to another city was one thing.

Moving to another country, half across the world, on the other hand…

She'd made it clear she wasn't going to make the decision without you. This concerned you, too; if you wanted to stay in New York, you would stay.

Both of you.

She just wanted you to think about it, weigh in cons and pros.

And you did.

You'd been thinking about it for weeks.

Bless her heart, Rowena was patient. She didn't push you, or rush you, or try to guilt you. She left you to your own pace.

You were immensely grateful for it.

By the time the wedding came, you were pretty sure you'd made up your mind.

In a day or two — hell, maybe even today, after the ceremony — you would tell her.

It was a small wedding, closest family and friends only. Sam was never one for parties. He and Eileen had rented a small cottage with a beautiful yard they'd decorated themselves. Quite cheap, as far as American weddings went, but lovely.

This was a wedding for love, not luxury.

When Sam had announced he was engaged in the group chat a year ago, you weren't surprised. You'd always had a feeling he would go for it first. While Dean was a one night stand kind of guy, Sam was more the settle down type. The kind of guy who kicked ass at work during the day and then cuddled with his wife and kids at night. The picture of a family man.

And, god, would he be a good one!

He was sweet and caring, a wonderful friend, and, no doubt, an even more wonderful boyfriend. Husband material, if you ever knew one.

Eileen was equally sweet, equally amazing. A lovely girl who treated everyone like a friend and loved Sam with all her heart.

They were perfect for each other.

Seeing your gang together after five years, in person, in full color, was an experience that was almost supernatural. There was screaming and squealing and hugging and teasing. You'd forgotten how noisy you were all together.

Your mind flashed back to high school, to afternoons at Biggerson's, sipping at your smoothies and coffees and stealing fries off each other's plates.

Those were the days.

There wasn't much difference to either of you. You were older, but other than that, you still looked the same. You teased each other as you'd used to, joked as if you were still that bunch of high schoolers who had the whole world under their feet.

There were changes, obviously. Inevitably. Some subtle, others not so much.

Sam's hair was an inch or so shorter, or so it looked in the pictures (he was still getting ready, having not yet shown himself to the guests).

You followed his example, having never been one for big change. Shorter hair was shorter hair, even if only a bit.

Dean bore — proudly — a few scars. Work injuries, though you were willing to bet he'd earned a couple in the bar fights he liked to brag about.

"You should see the other guy," he always said.

You never had any particular desire to.

Crowley had a small beard, and wore it well; it made him look older, more mature.

Emphasis on look, for he and Rowena still bickered like brats.

Gavin, the actual child of the family, was more mature than the two of them.

Rowena wore less sparkly clothes (she now saved those for special occasions). Instead, she preferred to wear dress pants and blouses that you found strangely arousing.

Sometimes you got her to role-play in them. She made one delicious businesswoman.

Castiel dressed the same, trench coat over everything (even wore the damn thing to the wedding), looked the same, acted the same, however, his change was big.

It tied right into Meg's for she was seven months pregnant, and her stomach was appropriately swollen to showcase it.

She'd gained a bit of weight and dyed her hair blonde, but her character remained the same.

She was still that same foul-mouthed, opinionated firecracker of a girl.

And you loved her for it.

"You look great!" you told her first thing you saw her. Then you threw an arm around her, your other one wrapping around Castiel, and said, "I couldn't wait to congratulate you guys in person! I'm so happy for you!"

You were.

Happy from the bottom of your heart.

Ecstatic.

Proud.

The two of them had done well for themselves. Like your and Rowena's, their life wasn't perfect, but they made it work. They lived it to the fullest.

They were happy.

In love.

Excited for the baby, a joyous little accident.

You weren't the parenting type, (neither was Rowena), however, while raising a family wasn't your particular dream, you couldn't have been more excited for them.

This was what they wanted.

What kind of a friend would you be if you judged?

Families came in all shapes and sizes.

As did dreams. Ambitions. Aspirations.

Supporting them, wishing them well in any and every form — that was the true meaning of friendship.

Meg and Castiel would make amazing parents.

Weird and eccentric, but still amazing.

That baby would be one happy, very loved kid. Surrounded by a large family of aunts and uncles, all loving, caring, eager to spoil them.

Blood-related and not.

As far as Meg and Castiel were concerned, your group was family.

It was definitely better than some actual family members.

Like Castiel's father, good old Principal Shurley, who'd, a couple years ago, gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble for embezzlement.

The news didn't quite shock you as it should have. There was always something about him.

Lucifer never stopped getting in trouble. Only, once he was out of school, his daddy couldn't sweet talk his way out of it (not that he hadn't tried; Castiel talked quite a bit about Chuck's restless attempts, and failures, to save him) and thus the darling little angel had gotten himself quite a record.

Assault.

Harassment.

Battery.

You name it, he'd done it.

It turned out that the police didn't give a damn about what daddy Shurley had to say about his son's character.

They surely gave even less of a damn now that he was serving his sentence for embezzlement.

Lucifer was currently with him, doing a two year stint for… something.

It was hard to keep track when it came to him.

The current Lawrence Hugh's principal was Amara Shurley, Chuck's sister, because of course she was.

Nepotism for the win!

Though, from everything you'd heard, she was, so far, doing a great job. Far better than her brother ever did.

Castiel had cut all ties with his father and brother. He'd considered doing so earlier, but now that he was expecting a child, the decision came with ease.

He didn't want his child around criminals. Didn't want them to set the wrong example.

That alone told you he was going to be a great father.

The ceremony, modest as it was, was beautiful. Eileen, in her snow-white dress, looked like a princess. No — a queen, the veil a doubling as a crown. Sam was equally handsome, clad in a black suit that made him look somewhat older, more mature, a fairy tale prince come to life.

They said their vows with so much love on their faces you were one hundred percent certain they would make do on them to the letter.

Til death did them part.

There were smiles. Tears. So much joy it was overwhelming.

Meg was the lucky one who caught the bouquet, only to promptly, in a deadpan tone, say, "No," and shove it in Crowley's hands.

Crowley shoved it in Dean's, who shoved it back to him and started what was basically a struggle over the damn thing.

Not marriage material, your group.

Sam was the black sheep.

Laughter was exchanged.

Food — delicious! — eaten.

Drinks downed and refilled.

Dances had.

Aside from the newlyweds, Rowena had proven herself to be quite an attraction with her precise, professional moves. Everyone wanted to be her partner.

Not a dancer yourself, you had no problem with it.

However, after what had to be the tenth request, you considered charging people to dance with your girlfriend.

It was only fair.

The celebration extended long into the night. There was enough alcohol to keep everyone going.

The place, located in the middle of nowhere, was perfect for a party. No neighbors to complain about the noise. No busybodies sticking their nose in. Just a group of people having the fun of their lives, drunk out of their minds.

By the time you and Rowena arrived to your hotel, you were exhausted. There was more alcohol than blood in your veins. Your feet were killing you. Your throat ached from singing and shouting.

You hadn't even removed your clothes — shaking off your shoes, you plopped on the bed, curled up against each other, and drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, Rowena was looking at you with a smile on her face. Your head pounding as if someone were whacking it with a hammer, eyes stinging, it took a bit of willpower to pull on one of your own.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Your voice was raspy, broken. You cleared your throat. Sucked in a breath.

God.

Singing had been a mistake.

Her smile melted into a smirk. She shrugged, nonchalant. Denying not a single thing. "I was just thinking."

"Should I be worried?" you teased.

"I'd hope not."

Her face grew serious.

Uh oh.

Now you definitely were worried.

Morning — a hungover one at that — was the worst possible time for serious conversations.

It wasn't a surprise, though.

Rowena prided herself in her unpredictability.

"What is it?" you asked, light draining from your face. Preparing for news that, at best, would be unpleasant, and, at worst, absolutely horrible.

"Sam and Eileen seem happy."

They did.

They were happy.

You nodded.

Rowena sighed, "Do you think we're happy?"

What was she trying to say? Heart racing, lump forming in your throat, you uttered a tad too defensively, "Do you think we're not?"

"Of course not!"

She seemed genuine, so there was that.

You allowed yourself a moment of relief. "Me, neither. I'm happy."

"As am I."

Good.

That was good.

You were on the same level.

She was silent for a few moments. Thought her words through. "I was just wondering if we should… take it a step further."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

You had an inkling, but you wanted to hear it from her.

You wanted her to confirm it.

Rowena swallowed. "Get married."

It was as if all air had vanished from your lungs. Your throat was dry. Heart, once again, running a marathon. Hands shaking as if you were cold.

You weren't — you couldn't be — for as soon as the words left her mouth, a wave of heat flooded you, filled you up from head to toe.

Marriage wasn't on your list of priorities.

Wasn't on any of your lists, as a matter of fact.

You and Rowena loved each other — you didn't need a piece of paper to prove it.

But…

It would be a lie if you said you hadn't considered it once or twice.

What would it be like to call yourself her wife? To wear her ring; a promise in the form of shimmery gold?

"Or maybe just get engaged," she said after a few moments of uncomfortable, deafening silence. "Wear the rings."

You looked at her, eyes wide. Mouth trembling.

She gulped. Uncertain. Frightened. Nervous to the bone. "We don't have to. I was just… thinking out loud." She pulled on another smile — a fake on this time, hurt flickering over her face no matter how hard she tried to mask it. "Forget I said anything."

"No." You reached for her hand, twined your fingers with hers in a tight knot. "We could try."

She was stunned. "Really?"

"I don't see why not."

What was the worst that could happen?

You were already together. Already happy and crazy in love.

"We could try the engagement thing, see if it works," you said.

You had nothing to lose.

At this point, you could only gain.

Rowena beamed. A chuckle escaped her; lovely, happy. Adorable. "Okay!"

It was a perfect arrangement.

"I will get you a ring," she added. "Make it official."

"How about we both get rings?" you said. This was kind of a mutual proposal, after all. And also… "There's nice jewelry shops in the UK, right?"

It was her turn to be confused. "What?"

Your decision.

The one you'd been planning to relay to her.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

"We don't have to get engaged in USA, right?" you said. "Think about it. You, a Royal Ballerina. Me, a not-so-royal couch potato. That's a romance movie right there!"

Rowena gasped. Swallowed. Breathed in and out in attempts to contain her excitement. "You want to move to Britain?"

"That's what I'm saying, aren't I?" You grinned. Squeezed her hand. "I've been meaning to tell you. I figured now's the perfect time."

"Y/N, I…" She brought your linked hands to her mouth, kissed your knuckles. "Thank you! I just… Thank you, darling!"

You locked your lips with hers. Deepened the kiss, melted into it. Thought of millions of more you would share.

The future was yours.

All you had to do was seize it. Take it. Dig your claws in and never let go.

"Don't you forget me when you become a world-famous ballerina," you teased.

"Och, darling," she purred, "don't you know by now you're quite unforgettable?"

You chuckled. "Just making sure."

She pecked you on the mouth. "I love you."

"Me, too."

You'd loved her for five years.

You'd loved her when she was bad, and even more when she became good.

You'd loved her when she was away, and you'd loved her when she was here.

You'd loved her in your apartment.

You'd loved her in the United States.

And you would love her in the United Kingdom.

You loved her now, and you would love her in the future.

Forever.

And ever.

Til death did you part.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

[jonsastan]

Jonsa prompt idea (if you want to use any part of this, although no pressure if you don’t): Could you do a Pride & Prejudice-style AU where Jon and Sansa meet at a dance and each instantly think the other is gorgeous and want to get to know each other better but there is a miscommunication where each one thinks the other is making fun of them? Thank you!

This ended up being longer than I anticipated and took longer than I would have liked, but I hope it’s okay! Feel free to send me prompts!

Jon Snow stood as far away from the gaggle of giggling ladies without partners as he could without actually leaving the ballroom. He was desperately trying not to make eye contact with any of the young ladies. 

“Come on Snow, you have to dance with at least one lady tonight” Theon Greyjoy said, sidling up to him. “Your father will hear if you don’t.”

“Leave me be, Theon.” Jon hissed trying to press himself further into the wall. 

“There are plenty of pretty fine young ladies who would give their left ear to dance with the heir Summerhall.” 

The bastard heir of Summerhall.

“I don’t want to dance.” 

“How are you not tempted by the fine forms-” Jon stopped paying  attention as Theon waxed poetical about the various ladies around the room. “Look at her!” Theon elbowed Jon. “She’s almost an angel.” Jon followed Theon’s gaze, fully prepared to dismiss the lady in question when his breath caught in his throat. 

She was angelic. 

Her hair a delightful auburn piled up on her head with a few curls temptingly brushing her collarbone. Her eyes a dancing blue that she had matched with the ribbon around her slender waist. Her lips a gentle pink, with an enchanting smile. 

“She’s - She’s” Jon stammered, watching as she let out a delicate laugh and grasped the hands of one of her friends. 

“Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard of Winterfell.” Theon informed him, that frustrating smile on his face. “She’s rather angelic in both temperament and beauty, but I was referring to her friend Jeyn-”

“She’s lovely.” Jon whispered.

~~~~~~~

Sansa laughed delicately as Jeyne explained the drama surrounding her dress.

“And my mother says to simply wear my- my- my-” Jeyne trailed off, looking just over Sansa’s shoulder. 

“Wear your?” Sansa prompted. 

“That is Jon Snow, Lord of Summerhall and son of Rhaegar Targaryen.” Jeyne stated, her eyes wide, her voice just audible above the music. Sansa frowned at the bastard surname of the north. 

“He’s said to be worth twenty thousand pounds a year.” Jeyne continued. “He’s standing with Theon Greyjoy and he’s staring at you.” 

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at the young man standing next to her brother’s friend.

Sansa took a sharp breathe. He looked Northern. His hair dark and curling, his eyes a deep grey but kind eyes, he had a chiselled jaw covered in a light bread that was common among men in the North. 

Their eyes met across the ballroom and Sansa quickly looked away, a blush warming her cheeks. 

Oh goodness.

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

Jon began to move around the ballroom, slowly, to not attract attention. Usually, when with his brother and sister, he was almost invisible to people. Without them he felt exposed as if all eyes were turned to him, whispering about his father. 

He had to talk to her though. He had to hear her voice, see if Theon was right.

Angelic in both temperament and beauty.

He felt her gaze flicker to him as he made his way around the room. Soon he was out of her line of sight. He could see her slender form facing away from him, the curve of her hip hinted at by the palest of blue muslin of her dress. 

“Maybe you should ask another lady to dance first?” Theon said, his hand coming down on Jon’s shoulder. “She’s the first lady you’ll dance with outside of your father’s estate, some might see that as an intention.” 

Jon shrugged off Theon’s grasp and moved toward Sansa Stark. 

“I want to dance with Miss Stark.” He hissed. 

“You’ll be declaring something.” Theon said, moving closer to Jon. “Miss Stark is like family to me and you can’t just -”

“I don’t want to dance with some silly, frivolous girl. I want to dance with Miss Stark.” Jon turned and faced Theon. “Will you make the introductions?” 

Theon sighed before nodding his head and moving toward Miss Stark. 

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

Sansa had watched as Jon Snow began to make his way around the ballroom toward her and Jeyne. He was slow in his movement toward her but purposeful. She lost sight of him as he neared her and felt a tingle of anticipation race down her spine. 

Gods, please let him ask me to dance. She pleaded silently. 

“Miss Stark is like family to me.” She caught the phrase spoken in the familiar tones of Theon Greyjoy, her brother’s closest friend. 

Then the deep tones of an unfamiliar voice spoke, the voice that must belong to Mr Snow, spoke but Sansa could only catch a few words.

“Some silly, frivolous girl. I want to dance with Miss Stark.”

Sansa’s jaw tighten at the words of this stranger. Words she’d heard utter about her by her sister, her father, her old beau Joffrey Baratheon. 

Before she had time to order her thoughts, her emotions, Theon was standing in front of her, the handsome, rude, stranger beside him. 

“Miss Stark, you look truly lovely this evening.” Theon greeted. 

“Thank you Mr Greyjoy.” Sansa curtsied as the gentlemen bowed. 

“Please, allow me to introduce my good friend, Mister Jon Snow of Summerhall.”  Sansa extended her hand.

“Miss Stark.” Jon Snow said, gently grasping her hand and bowing over it, the same voice as the one that has called her silly and frivolous. “I was hoping to secure your hand for the next set?” 

“Oh.” Sansa said, her mind racing, trying to think of an excuse. “ I- I- well,” She glanced down and realised her hand was still grasped in his. She pulled it back to her. “I would be honoured.” 

Mr Snow, smiled a soft, charming smile. 

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

Miss Stark had excused herself and Jon stood, watching the dancing, anticipating a set like he never had before. 

She had been polite and seemed a little flustered that he had asked her to dance. Maybe she was unused to public dances. 

She smelled of lavender and lemons. 

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

Sansa sipped a glass of punch and looked around at the crowd. She saw her brother dancing with Wynafryd Manderly, and Theon chatting with Jeyne, but she could not see Jon Snow from her current position.

Gods why could I not think of an excuse? 

She did not want to spend an entire set with another condescending Lordling who only cared about her pretty face and her dowry. 

Her blood cooled in her veins when she saw the pale blue eyes of Ramsay Bolton. She slowly moved away from him, trying not to catch the eye of the brutish man who fancied himself her suitor, when she bumped into Jeyne. 

“Can you believe the kind of people they allow into these public balls?” She said to Jeyne nodding her head toward Mr Bolton. 

“Oh my goodness!” Jeyne brought her hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe he even had the gall to come.” 

“After the rumours about his father, I can hardly believe he’d show himself in public.”

The sudden demise of Lord Bolton had been grist for the gossip mill of the North for the past few months. 

The music of the next set, the set she had promised to Mr Snow, began to play. 

“Excuse me Jeyne, I have promised this set to-” She turned and almost ran into the young man. “Oh.” 

The charming smile had disappeared off of Mr Snow’s face, but he held his hand out for her. 

“Miss Stark.” Her hand slipped into his and he led her to the dance.

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

“The kind of people they allow into public balls.”

Jon gritted his teeth as he followed the turns and moves of the dance, trying not to make eye contact with the beautiful and cruel young woman he was now forced to spend an entire set with. 

Her feet moved swiftly and with grace as she danced. Her face was set in a porcelain mask of neutral emotions.  

If she was so disgusted by me why accept my offer to dance?

“Do you often come to public balls, Mr Snow?” She asked as the dance brought them together.

“No.” He replied. 

“That might explain why I haven’t met you before.”

“This is my first time in the North.” 

“Oh.” 

The dance pulled them from each other and Jon could not help but admire her elegant form, even if her conversation was trite and her words sharp. 

“How are you finding the cold of the North?” She asked as they came together. 

“Tolerable.” 

They moved in silence for a few moments before Miss Stark spoke again.

“Do you enjoy dancing?” 

“When one’s partner is agreeable, dancing can be enjoyable.” Miss Stark almost flinched at his words and he felt a stab of guilt. 

“After the rumours about his father.”

The guilt dissipated. 

“Do you talk to your dance partners by rule?” He asked.

“What is dancing if not a means to get to know ones partner?”

Jon was silent at that retort. 

“What kind of pursuits interest you?” She asked. Jon looked down and saw her blue eyes were hard and cold. Why does she insist on talking when it can bring her no pleasure?

“Fencing, hunting, riding.” 

“Oh.” She looked taken aback for a moment. “There is wonderful hunting on my father’s estate. I’m sure Theon and yourself shall be invited to join my father and brother for a hunt soon.”  Jon merely nodded his acknowledgement. 

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

“What kind of pursuits interest you?” Sansa asked, expecting him to reel off a list of intellectual and cerebral activities. 

“Fencing, hunting, riding.”

“Oh.” So he may be frivolous but women must of course develop their minds. She made a comment about the hunting at Winterfell and the invitation that would inevitably be offered. 

After what seemed an age the set was finally over. Sansa curtsied as Mr Snow bowed. She had expected him to merely leave her on the dance floor, but he offered her his arm and she gently placed her hand on his coat sleeve. She hated the small shiver that travelled up her spine at this touch. 

He guided her across to where Jeyne and Theon stood, conversing. Bowing again he spoke.

“Thank you for your company Miss Stark.” 

She curtsied.

“And yours, Mr Snow.” Theon smiled at her before escorting Mr Snow away.

“So how was dancing with the heir to Summerhall?” 

“Tolerable.” Sansa replied, her voice deepening into a mocking tone of the young man. Jeyne giggled. 

“Oh come now Sansa. He maybe a little brooding, but even you must admit he had handsome and well situated. I doubt even you, Miss Sansa Stark, would refuse to dance with him again.”

“I believe I can safely promise you, Miss Jeyne Poole, to never dance with Mr Snow again.”

[waitingforanangel]

Growing up with and dating Robb Stark would include Part 3

(This won’t follow the correct storyline of the show)

(Requests are open so just look at my profile to see what I wrote for and send requests if you want to)

Part 1

Part 2

-You could sense a new feeling of hope once the army had gained a hostage that mattered to the opposing side alongside the fact that Robb’s army had no lost a battle yet. Any Lords that doubted Robb’s ability to act as the leader of an army had soon turned around their opinions as your husband continuously demonstrated signs of great warlike strategy. Battle after battle led to more and more hostages being taken and the army getting closer and closer to Kings landing.

As Robb’s wife, you had clearance to sit in and listen to the war meetings held daily by Robb and his fellow bannermen but they sometimes went on for the full day and you understood next to none of what they were saying so you spent time with either Catelyn or your personal handmaiden, Johanna, that refused to stay in Winterfell and followed you into the middle of nowhere.

-On this current day you found yourself chatting with Johanna about a young soldier who had stolen her eye when a young boy that the army used as a spy and messenger ran up to you with a letter in his hand. The seal had already been broken so you knew that someone had already read it and as you opened it yourself you immediately knew who had.

You murmured a quick apology to Johanna before running as fast as you could to the other side of the camp where yours and Robb’s tent lay. The messenger boy stopped you, however, before you made it a few steps and pointed in the direction of the woods that stood to the East of the camp. With a small smile thrown his way you hurriedly changed course and slipped across the mud, trying to make it to your husband as fast as possible.

Walking through the camp led to a few soldiers giving you sympathetic looks. Word must spread fast in a camp as closely knit as this one. You felt tears started to well up in your eyes but you kept your head up high. You needed to stay strong for your husband and for the men that were looking at you in the absence of your husband. You needed to be strong. It was just too unreal to be true.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Wardon of the North was dead.

-As you get closer to the treeline you can hear Robb from within. You pause and stand beside the first few trees to catch your breath. You had just found out that your husbands’ father had died and trying to walk to Robb gasping for breath would not help you comforting him. You had never seen Robb fully upset, you never had a reason to, so nervousness built inside of you as you walked closer to where Robb currently was. You had no idea how he would react to being disturbed but you were wife and to hell with him if he wanted you to leave him alone when he was this vulnerable.

-You walked past a close cluster of trees into a small clearing where you found Robb, sword in hand, violently attacking a tree. You moved to your left, so you were in his peripheral vision and he was aware that you were there and slowly started to walk towards him. He didn’t stop hitting the tree which caused you to stop a couple metres from his person. He took a few more swings at the tree before throwing his sword on the ground and turning towards you.

You stared at each other for a few seconds. You could tell him a never-ending speech about how sorry you are, but you know that wouldn’t help in the slightest. He knew that you were close to his father also and so you simply walked up to him and put your arms around him. He stood completely still for a fraction of a second before grabbing onto you and putting his head into your neck. It only took a few more seconds for him to start crying.

Over the course of knowing Robb you had never seen him cry, yet alone break apart in front of you like he was now, and it terrified you. All you could do in that moment was wrap your arms tightly around him to assure him that you were still beside him. You stayed like that for a couple of minutes. The both of you standing there, silently mourning a father figure to the both of you and assuring yourselves that you were both there.

Robb straightened up which caused you to release him and turn to look behind you and your face dropped even lower. You turned back to Robb, gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand before walking over to his mother who was watching the both of you with a smile on her face. Robb gave you a small smile back before you walked over to your mother in law, hugged her and walked back towards the camp. You wanted to be there for your husband but at the same time you knew that the person who could comfort him the most was his mother. You wiped away the singular tear that fell before heading back to your tent.

-The next few days were tense. The army had lost its spirit and its main cause for fighting. They trudged between the tents like the dead and the gleam and fire in their eyes was gone. Your husband still fought on though. In the presence of his soldiers, he couldn’t show any weakness for fear of even more doubt spreading through the camp and so the only true Robb you saw was in private and even then, talk was hardly exchanged. You could see the fight slowly leaving him also and with no word yet to be heard about Arya or Sansa you could understand why.

-The men had decided to throw a little party of sorts to try and lighten everybody’s spirits. Sure, it was just a group of men drinking together but it would have been one of the best things they’ve done since leaving their homes to fight this war.

Everyone was laughing and joking together as the night was young. Even Robb let loose and drank and smiled with his friends, just the sight of his smile gave you hopes for the future you both had together but as the night grew older the talk, as it always did, turned to more serious topics and debates.

-The men were planning their course of action on who to team up with against the Lannister’s-Stannis or Renly. You knew that Stannis was the legitimate heir to the throne and yet rumours had started to spread into your camp at how Stannis ruled his followers with a red woman beside him who worshipped the ‘lord of light’. Renly was nice enough, apparently, but had only seen wealth and comfort with slaves answering to his every will, not to mention that he was the younger sibling. This debate was what Robb’s men were arguing about.

-The men were saying that Robb’s armies should pledge fealty to Renly and yet Robb voiced your opinions about the problems that came with us supporting Renly. This left the army with a dilemma. The army didn’t want to side with Renly or Stannis and Joffrey was an obvious decision to avoid so the men were starting to get restless.

“My lords” Lord Umber made his presence known by standing up and walking to the centre of the group.

“Here is what I say to these two Kings” He said before spitting on the ground. You playfully rolled your eyes at his stereotypical behaviour but smiled none the less.

“Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither” From the corner of your eye you saw Robb straighten. You understood his curiosity on what Lord Umber was going to say next.

“Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? Even their Gods are wrong” and laughter rose from the people surrounding him. You leaned forward slightly in your chair, not entirely sure where this point was going to end up.

“It was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead” He pull his sword from its sheath, the noise of metal slicing through the air, before pointing it at Robb.

“There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee to. The King in the North”. Voices broke out around the camp as your eyebrows raised considerably. You didn’t know a lot about Northern history, that is true, but you knew that there hadn’t been a King in the North for centuries.

Beside you, Robb stood up and looked, almost challengingly, into the crowd that had grown suddenly quiet.

“Ill have peace on those terms” Another bannerman stood up to agree.

“They can keep their red castle and their iron chair too. The King in the North” From beside you you felt Catelyn tense up. You could see where this was leading to and you could tell that it frightened her as much as it did you.

You turned to your left to see Theon approach Robb.

“Am I your brother, now and always ?” He asked your husband to which he responded “Now and always” and Theon joined the first two men at Robb’s feet.

Lord Umber shouted from his kneeling position “The King in the North” and the night was filled with the responding shouts of every man at the scene. Swords were taken from their sheaths and everyone bowed down towards your husband as they crowned him the first King in the North in centuries.

He slowly looked around at all of them before turning to look at you and holding out his hand to you. You realised with a jolt that if he was King in the North, you were his Queen. You turned to Catelyn with worry and nervousness but she simply took your hand and smiled before gesturing back to Robb. You could see the worry in her eyes but you both knew that you couldn’t stop or change what had just happened so you looked back up at your husband, let him take your hand and stood up beside him and the cheers changed:

“The King and Queen in the North”

@icouldbeyourpatronus for being my n1 fan so far and @tsuupa just because

[thedetectiveinthefunnyhat]

The Fan Tag Game! 

I was tagged by @cxpaldi - thank you!

Sorry this took so long - I don’t even have an excuse XD

three tv shows i would have joined friend groups in: 

Not sure about this one but... Doctor Who, The West Wing (although they’re all probably too clever for me), Primeval

(The fact that half of these friend groups are often in mortal peril suggests that I would be fine in a crisis and I highly doubt that’s true but oh well XD)

three animated universes i wouldn’t have minded living in:

Tangled is so pretty, Lion King (I wanna be a lion!!), Kiki’s Delivery Service (that place seems so sweet).

three fictional characters i relate to:

Donna Noble (Doctor Who), Ben Wyatt (Doctor Who), Gansey (Raven Cycle)

three fictional characters i wouldn’t vibe with:

Ronan Lynch (Raven Cycle, sorry I love him I just wouldn’t be able to deal with him being mean to me), Joffrey Baratheon (GOT, hate him), Kylo Ren (Star Wars, That guy would annoy me SO MUCH).

three fictional characters i’d be really good friends with:

Merlin (BBC, the cutie), The Doctor (Doctor Who, I hope? If they liked me?), Abby Maitland (Primeval).

three fictional characters i would probably most definitely have feelings for:

uhhhh I really don’t know (I’m not sure what it’s like to have feelings for someone)... probably Merlin again because yeah, Jack Frost (Rise of the Guardians), and maybe young Charles Xavier (when he had hair and was James McAvoy)... I don't know XD

three villains i’d want to have a chat with over coffee (tea in my case):

Erik Lehnsherr (X-men), Mordred (Merlin), Hades (Hercules)

three superheroes i'd want to be for a day:

Professor X (I just want to know what people think about okay), Iron Man (flyinggggg), Spiderman (it would be fun yet scary to swing around).

three abilities i would want to have:

Elemental powers, Telepathy (but like not overwhelming telepathy), and flying.

three ships i sail as the fierce captain i am!

Merthur (I will go down with this ship), Arthur & Eames (Inception), Henry and Alex (Red, White, and Royal Blue).

three fictional female characters i feel empowered by:

CJ Cregg (The West Wing), Martha Jones (Doctor Who), Lila Bard (Shades of Magic)

three fictional male characters with good ethics and morals i believe deserve more recognition:

Alucard (Shades of Magic), Connor Temple (Primeval), Lancelot (Merlin)

three fictional lgbtq+ characters i would take bullets for:

Simon (Love, Simon), Henry (Red, White, and Royal Blue), Sissix (The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet).

three fictional places i would have liked to visit:

Narnia, Tal’Dorei (Critical Roll), Red London (Shades of Magic).

three costumes worn by fictional characters i would have rocked:

I like to think I would suit Thirteen’s costume (Doctor Who), would love to wear Kell’s coat (Shades of Magic), and Obi-Wan Kenobi’s (I just really want to try wearing Jedi Robes okay).

three character tropes to describe myself: 

Cuteness Proximity, Nature Lover, Pacifist

This was hard but fun!! Not going to tag anyone but if you want something to do then feel free!

[angelicdestieldemon]

I wasn’t expecting to do that Beric Dondarrion x Sansa Stark

Hi, back again. This has been in my head for a while and since I have tons of studying to do, naturally I write it now because who would study rather than think about Richard Dormer’s lovely voice and beard. Anyway this may become a series or a multi-chapter fic in the future but for the moment its just a one-shot.

Hope you enjoy x

I’m sick and tired of these stupid little boys! For the gods sake, just grow up already. 

Sansa Stark had been stood up, once again, by Joffrey Baratheon. The blonde haired, green eyed boy of her dreams was turning out to be a complete and utter arsehole and she had finally had enough. 

She was walking home from the restaurant the date was supposed to be held and was passing the pub she usually just walked past, for some reason however, the decided to pause outside. The pub had a menu on display at the door, pub classics such as steak pie, bangers and mash and fish and chips had her mouth watering and her stomach grumble. She hadn’t eaten at the restaurant out of embarrassment of eating alone after sitting for so long, insisting she was waiting on someone to the staff. But here would be less public, the pub was lowly lit, with a few dark corners she could hide from the world in, and even better she doesn’t need to cook for herself or do the dishes afterwards.

After contemplating for a few more seconds, she decides to enter the pub and grab an empty booth in the back corner, where she could see the world but the world couldn’t see her, perfect. 

The menu card on the table had a little more information than the one inside and she decides upon the steak pie, it’s a little expensive, and Joffrey was supposed to be treating her tonight so she hasn’t got a lot of cash handy, so she decides against desert. She approaches the bar, the bartender was serving an older gentlemen who looks to be in his early forty’s with blonde hair and a mix of ginger, grey and blonde beard. His voice sounds like liquid gold to her ears and Sansa can feel her skin reddening slightly at the sound of it, it's a good thing the lights aren’t too bright otherwise the bartender and the man would notice.

Finally, she gets the bartenders attention and orders her food.

“Do you have any barbecue sauce for the table?” She asks, her favourite sauce is always able to improve her mood drastically.

“Give me a minute, darling. I think we got some in the back.” The kindly old bartender tells her, and disappears through the door behind the bar.

As she waits, she feels as though someone is watching her and fair enough when she glances to the man with the rich deep voice he is staring at her. She returns the stare with a raised eyebrow, forcing herself not to blush under his attention.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just whenever I ask for anything, he tells me where to go.” He says, a grin pulling at his lips under the beard and she can’t help but smile at him.

“Maybe you didn’t ask as politely as I did.” She replies, a hint of sass in her voice.

He smiles a little wider and his eyes crinkle in a gorgeous way that makes Sansa feel extremely warm.

“Or maybe I’m just not pretty enough for him.” He teases and that definitely had a strong effect on Sansa’s skin tone, luckily for her however, the bartender comes back with a small dish with barbecue sauce in it.

“There you are, darling.” He says, placing the dish on the counter, before noticing Sansa’s reddened face and the bearded man’s smile. “He’s not been harassing you, has he?” His face quite serious.

“What kind of man do you think I am, George?” The bearded man says in outrage.

“No, actually, I was just asking him join me at my table, I don’t like sitting alone in pubs or restaurants.” Sansa responds, the bartender looking at her as though trying to decipher whether she is lying or not. Before he can say anything else, Sansa turns her attention to the bearded man whose eyes have widened at her response. “Care to join me…”

“Beric. Beric Dondarrion,” He responds at her pause. “Sure, who am I to deny a lady such as yourself.” He responds, making Sansa smile again.

“Thank you for the sauce, George.” She says, before leading the finally named, Beric over to her isolated corner of the pub.

Once he’s seated across from her, pint glass in his right hand on the table.

“You didn’t need to do that, invite me over I mean. George knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t say or do anything to make you uncomfortable.” Beric says, his eyes catching hers. She can feel herself being drawn in by them so she breaks eye contact and smiles a little.

“It’s ok, I’ll admit I wasn’t completely lying. I don’t enjoy eating on my own so if you’re okay with it, I don’t mind if you keep me company while I'm here.” She says, trying to keep her blush under control. 

The longer she stared at him the more qualities of his appearance she found attractive. This was something almost entirely new to her. This wasn’t a date, but she had been on many dates before but all those were boys here age. Having a crush, because it was a crush at this point, on an older man was not something she had experienced before (apart from Jaime Lannister, but he was a famous football player, most girls her age had a crush on him).

“Fair enough, I can go with that.” He replies, removing his outer jacket and placing it on the bench space beside him to reveal a black ribbed jumper, that made him look cosy. “If you don’t mind me asking, if you don’t like eating alone, why are you here on you own?” He asks, his forearms leaning on the table.

“I was supposed to be on a date right now but my boyfriend stood me up, I should probably say ex-boyfriend now though, this was his last chance to get his act to gather and he’s blown it.” She replies, finally making the decision she had been pondering since she left the restaurant in embarrassment.

“What kind of boy would stand up a girl like you, fucking idiot.” He says, the last part muttered under his breath, but Sansa still heard it and couldn’t help but smile at his sweet if foul-mouthed response.

“Anyway, enough about me, tell me about you.”

The next hour or so are spent chatting, Beric turns out to be a very intelligent man if a bit rough around the edges and when Sansa’s food arrives he tells her stories so she can eat without needing to respond. When she finally finishes her steak pie, which was completely worth the money, she wishes she had savoured it more because now that she’s finished she has no reason to stay, she’s not much of a drinker, especially when she still has a few blocks to walk on her own at ten-thirty at night.

“I suppose I should start walking home now, before it gets too late.” Sansa says, genuinely feeling sad she has to leave.

“You’re walking?” Beric asks, as he helps her put on her coat.

“I don’t live that far away and taxis around here are almost non-existent.” She replies.

“Let me walk you home.” Before she can say anything else he speaks again, “ Please, I wouldn’t feel right if I let a pretty girl like you walk home alone at this time of night.” Sansa nods her head, internally pleased that she doesn’t have to say goodbye yet.

As they walk, Beric continues to make her laugh, this time with stories about his friend Thoros who is a complete disaster when he’s drunk. As they arrive fifteen minutes later on the doorstep of her apartment she shares with her best friend Margaery Tyrell who is spending the weekend with her grandmother, the feeling of sadness returns. 

“It was nice meeting you Sansa Stark,” he says, his eyes shining in the moonlight and before she can second guess herself, Sansa tugs Beric by his soft looking jumper towards her and kisses him.

He freezes for a second before he begins to respond to the kiss, his beard scratching softly at her lips and skin, his hands cupping her face. She tries to deepen the kiss before he pulls away, not enough to remove himself from her grasp but enough to look her properly in the eyes.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that.” His voice has grown gruffer and Sansa almost melts at the sound of it.

“I wasn’t expecting to do it, but I’m glad I did.” She says, growing more confidant by the second, now that she has not been rejected or pushed away completely. “I like the beard,” she says her fingers stroking down the side of he cheek, the strands of hair softer than she thought they would be, he must take great care of it.

He laughs lightly at her statement. “I’m glad, but I have to ask, where are you going with this Sansa Stark, what are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? I’m twice your age.”

“Twenty-three, I don’t mind the gap if you don’t.” She responds, trying to keep her confidence which is beginning to fade and turn into embarrassment.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re a dream come true for a man like me,” he responds and Sansa can see his pupils growing wider by the second. “That’s settled then,” she says before leaning forward to kiss him again, this time when she swipes her tongue across the seam of his lips he doesn’t pull away,  instead he moves his hands down to her small waist to pull her closer against him. Kissing her breath away as he walks her backwards until the length of her is trapped between the door and the warmth of his body.

[amaidasfairassummer]

Starter for @sansa-jonquil-stark

Most days on the journey from Winterfell to the capital so far, Joanna had been on horseback, riding alongside her Uncle Jaime or a friend. Today, however, she had decided to join Cersei, her cousins, and Sansa Stark in the wheelhouse. Being cooped up with the queen all day had been an ordeal, but she had wanted to chat with Tommen and Myrcella and get to know the Stark girl a little better. Joanna’s interest had been peaked by her today, particularly the way she spoke about Joffrey, who rumour had it she was to marry. 

The Lannister had not been able to question Sansa further in the manner she had wanted whilst they were still in front of Joffrey’s mother, but now that they had all stopped at a large inn for the night and Cersei was elsewhere and almost everyone busy with their own activities and conversations, it seemed like a good time to bring the matter up, although Joanna was aware that she would still need to be careful. 

“I hear that your father and King Robert have arranged a betrothal for you and Prince Joffrey- is that true, or just a rumour?” She began by asking casually. 

[gameofthronesimaginesss-blog]

♡ Preferences #1: How the two of you meet [Female Version] ♡

                                     ♡ How the two of you meet ♡ 

Daenerys Targaryen: You first met the Dragon Queen in the city of Mereen, where you had recently been taken after you were stolen away by slavers from your home, the island of Naath. Your master treated you cruelly and beat you, and when Daenerys Stormborn and her Dothraki army took the city, he refused to bend the knee, blinded by his pride. The man died screaming, burnt alive and eaten by her dragons, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, who tore at his meat as if it were a mere snack. The Mother of Dragons was instantly drawn to you, unlike most people, you didn’t flinch or look away in fear when saw the dragons, nor when they roared louder than any warhorn and breathed fire and killed your former master and tore him apart. Instead, you found them beautiful, and magnificent. Daenerys Targaryen told you to take off your collar, and to live freely. You shall have no master, she said. Yet  she had saved you from a cruel and merciless fate, you owed your life to her. You vowed to serve her until your death, and the two of you quickly grew close. You soon became one of her closest advisors, and Mereen flourished as a prosperous and peaceful regime under your guidance.

Yara/Asha Greyjoy: You first met Yara/Asha Greyjoy in Volantis, where she and her brother Theon had stopped for food and rest, before sailing East to Slaver’s Bay, where Daenerys Targaryen ruled in the city of Mereen. She’d first noticed you in the crowded market, and was instantly drawn by your radiant beauty, which stood out from the cold, grey crowd. Whenever you’d walk by she’d wolf whistle and eye you up and down cheekily, just to make you flustered as you blushed and hurried off. You were slightly frightened and embarrassed at first, as you’d heard of the ironborn’s boldness, but you became slowly accustomed to her behaviour, and when the two of you finally began talking, you instantly hit it off, and Yara invited you to sail with her. You accepted, as you saw a chance for a more easy and peaceful life, instead of living off stale bread in the dangerous streets of Volantis, surrounded by thieves and brutes. The two of you became especially close when you and her crew sailed out on her Black Witch, where she jokingly taught you how to steer her ship, standing behind you and guiding your hands on the steering wheel, as the wind of the salty sea blew in your hair, which still remained one of your best memories for the both of you.

Sansa Stark: You first met Sansa Stark in King’s Landing, when you, the youngest Tyrell, travelled with your grandmother Olenna Tyrell, your father Mace Tyrell, your sister Margaery, and your brother, Loras, the Knight of Flowers. Your sister was to marry the King, and the whole way to King’s Landing she’d been ecstatic, already thinking about a dream wedding, whereas you and Loras sulked, dreading stepping foot in the Capital. When you’d finally gotten there, and your sister professed her love for King Joffrey, your eyes fell on his betrothed, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You instantly felt sympathy for her, her face fell from her usual pretty smile, and she looked as if she were about to cry, lost and confused. When the King called off her proposal, and instead promised to marry the Rose of Highgarden, she practically ran off, tears threatening to fall from her eyes, when you ran after her. When you’d caught up to her as she was on her way to her chambers, you comforted her and reminded her of the cruelties Joffrey committed, and how she wouldn’t be a victim of his evil games, after all, Sansa knew that Joffrey was a monster. She began to feel better, and by the end of the evening she was laughing wildly, which she hadn’t done in months. Since that day, you became one of her only true friends in King’s Landing, and the both of you stayed by each other’s side.

Arya Stark: You met Arya Stark, when you, the daughter of Lord Umber, was staying in Winterfell since your father was Lord Eddard Stark’s bannerman. You were training with Robb in the yard, where many of the Stark children, including Arya, had circled around to watch. The young she-wolf was instantly drawn to you, since you were one of the few people she had ever seen handling a blade so well for your age, and even beat Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and the heir to Winterfell in combat. The two of you became close when you’d rounded an unknown corner one day, only to find Arya training with a dummy, with a small, thin sword in hand - Needle. When she finally took notice of your presence, she gasped and blushed red, embarrassed to have been seen with a sword, only for you to smile warmly, and correct the way she was holding the blade, before turning on your heel and walking away. Since then, Arya had undoubtedly fallen head over heels for you.

Ellaria Sand: You first met Ellaria Sand when she and Oberyn Martell had travelled to King’s Landing for your nephew’s marriage, in which he was to wed Margaery Tyrell. You were the middle child of Tywin and Joanna Lannister, and had refused to leave Tyrion alone to face Oberyn Martell, who was known for his hate of Lannisters. You’d entered Littlefinger’s brothel, and of course found the Red Viper himself, and his paramour Ellaria there, surrounded by half a dozen of Littlefinger’s finest whores. You weren’t surprised of this, Oberyn and his paramour were known for their vast sexual appetites, yet what did surprise you was the way Ellaria kept staring at you, instead of Tyrion, or the heavily armed City Watchmen that surrounded them. Her eyes were transfixed on you, as if hypnotised, before she leaned into Oberyn’s ear and whispered something, before they both chuckled and look back at you. Tyrion sighed. “I would appreciate it if you and your lovely paramour would stop eye-fucking my dear sister/brother”. You flush immediately, and gape at Tyrion, while the two lovers laugh, Ellaria still gazing up at you.

Margaery Tyrell:  The two of you met when you and your family had been summoned to King Renly Baratheon’s tourney, during the War of the Five Kings. As your family was one of his allies, and your father his bannerman, it was only natural that you had to travel to Storm’s End, as much as you didn’t want to. The kingsroad was dangerous, and these were dark times. Despite this, you rode out with your family and guards, dreading the arrival. Storm’s end was named such for a reason. It was known for it’s stormy seas and cold nights. However all this changed when you entered Dragonstone, and were greeted by Renly Baratheon, and his new Queen, Margaery Tyrell. She was beautiful and kind, and instantly made you feel welcome as the two of you chatted amongst yourselves during the tourney. She too, was intrigued by your gentleness and intelligence, and dreaded the time when her husband would call her off to their chambers for the night, wishing she could stay and talk to you for as long as she could before you had to travel back to your ancestral home.

Brienne of Tarth: You first met Brienne of Tarth during the War of the Five Kings, when she’d returned to the North with Lady Catelyn Stark. You were the child of Rickard Karstark, and had the honour of fighting in the Vanguard, beside Robb Stark and his bannermen. While the bannermen were preparing to attack Jaime Lannister’s forces at Whispering Wood, the soldiers made campfires all around, and were having a pleasant time over food, wine and sharing various stories from all around Westeros. You were having a fairly good time, and noticed Brienne of Tarth standing alone, by herself next to Lady Catelyn’s tent. “My lady, I insist you join us, we have a fire going, and plenty of food and wine”. You said, smiling, yet her calm complexion remained the same. “I swore an oath that I would protect Lady Catelyn”. Brienne was a painfully honourable women, a trait many admired. “We’re not facing any danger, are we? Lady Catelyn has plenty o’ guards defending her should there be any threat. Come, you look hungry, and tired. Some food and the warmth of a fire would do you good”. You weren’t lying. She was clearly tired, and her eyes were slightly red, whether from exhaustion or tears you couldn’t tell. But you did know the death of the King she loved and swore an oath to protect was dead, and it was taking it’s toll. But wordlessly, she agreed and joined you around the fire. You’d filled her a cup of wine, when an obnoxious boy squealed, “Aah! Brienne the Beauty, how does m’lady fair?” He grinned a toothy grin, while the men around cackled out loud. You frowned. You knew that nickname. Brienne the Beauty. It was often used as mockery for the poor woman. And yes, it wasn’t as if Brienne was particularly alluring. Her hair was a nest the yellow colour of straw, her teeth prominent and crooked, her nose had clearly been broken more than once. But her eyes. Her eyes were large, and blue shade of the sea by day. Her beautiful eyes were innocent and pure. “Take a look at yourself, you fucking son of a pox-ridden ass”, you growled, glaring ferociously at him, before he and the other men got up and wandered off, not daring to argue against a child of Lord Karstark. A quiet, timid “Thank you”, arose from Brienne, “for standing up for me”. You smiled. Ever since then Brienne had a soft spot for you, and swore to protect you from any harm.

Ygritte: You first met the wildling girl during an expedition beyond the wall. Your hard work had payed off well, and you were picked as a ranger, and part of a small scouting group sent beyond the wall to search for Benjen Stark, the First Ranger.. When camped out at the Fist of the First Men, you had run into a dozen of wildlings. Jax, Emmet, Fornio and you were forced to kill nine of the wildlings, who refused to drop their weapons and attempted to attack you, but managed to capture three. One of whom was a quick-witted, bold redhead, who had teased you nonstop the entire time. By the time your brothers were asleep, you were still awake, listening to her voice, teasing you of your commitment to the Night’s Watch, joking that you couldn’t take a woman, reciting lines in a deep, gruff voice such as “I am the sword in the darkness”, or “I am the watcher on the walls for this night, and all nights to come”, before giggling at her own banter. As much as you tried to find her aggravating, she brought a ghost of a smile to your lips, and instead you found her amusing. Everyone had made out the free folk to be savages, and brutes, thieves and murderers, rapists and beasts, yet here was one of them, with you wrapped around their finger.

Cersei Lannister: The two of you first met in King’s Landing, where you travelled in stead of your father, Prince Doran Martell, to a grand tourney, in the name of the new ruler, King Tommen. As much as Cersei longed to hate a Martell, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. When Cersei watched you step out of the carriage in front of the Red Keep, she took note of your grace and beauty, but did not expect for you to be hand-in-hand with her daughter, Princess Myrcella. Cersei gaped, eyes open wide with shock as if she were a deer caught in the headlights, wondering if she was dreaming or if her daughter, the one she hadn’t seen in years, was standing there, a mere few metres away from her. Getting over her initial shock, she ran over and hugged Myrcella as if her life depend on it. “My sweet baby lioness”, she whispered, stroking Myrcella’s blonde Lannister locks. “It is an honour to meet you, your grace. I hope you are not angry with me for bringing Princess Myrcella, I thought the two you would want to see each other.”, a sultry voice called out. Cersei turned around and met with those wild Martell eyes. “Yes, thank you, Princess/Prince. I appreciate your kindness to reunite me and my daughter”. Cersei kept her cool complexion, yet beneath that cold exterior, her heart was pounding fiercely with longing. She was enchanted, and wished to get to know you better.

                             [Gifs aren’t mine - Credit to owners]

[lions-and-dandelions]

Ok, I’ve read a few more chapters in my A Game of Thrones reread, and wanted to share my thoughts. Please feel free to message me if you wanna talk about any of this stuff, I love getting to chat about these books with fellow fans! 

To start with- the first Ned chapter, and it’s got some great stuff in it! The Lannisters have arrived and its great to get our first descriptions of them. 

The Robert and Ned convo is brilliant- I love their relationship so much, honestly. Ned being all disappointed that Robert isn’t hot anymore is brilliant! Also, when they’re talking about Robert Arryn- ‘Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin’. Me too Ned, me too. On the subject of the Arryns, I definitely think Jon Arryn would have named a second son, if he’d had one, Eddard. And it’s also really cute that Ned named his Jon after Jon Arryn!

Speaking of Jon (Snow), he then gets his first chapter and I love reading his descriptions of the Lannisters. Honestly don’t Cersei and Jaime just sound like the two most beautiful human beings in existence?? Also, George’s decision to give Lannisters green eyes was a brilliant one, I love it! In Jon’s description of Jaime in particular- ‘Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like.’ First of all, he is very bi. Secondly, I think in many ways Jon has a storybook/idealized view of the world at the start of the series. This is a theme that has been discussed widely by the fandom in relation to other characters, often female ones, but not much in relation to Jon, not that I’ve read anyway. There are a few pieces of evidence I’ve picked up on already which make me think it’s true. Judging from this quote, he seems to have an idealized image of what a king should be. Also in this chapter, he seems to have constructed a very heroic image of Daeron Targaryen, a figure he has heard about in stories and who he admires and wants to emulate. When volunteering to join the Night’s Watch, he wants to be like a hero boy in the tales, going off on an adventure and gaining honour and glory even though they’re young. 

Then there’s this- ‘Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.’ Is this not the most adorable thing ever? And, I mean, Rickon loves Jon so much and wants to stop to talk to him, I just?? It’s so precious. 

And then Jon gets jealous of a seven-year-old girl (Myrcella) because she and Robb are smiling at each other and I … Jon, I know your drunk mate, but seriously, you’re being ridiculous. Also, the reason Theon and Jon don’t like each other much is 100% because they’re rivals for Robb’s love, I’m sorry but…

It’s interesting to me that twelve-year-old Joffrey is taller than fourteen-year-olds Jon and Robb. It makes sense that Joffrey is tall, that’s a Lannister trait, but still, Jon and Robb must be quite short. I’ve long had suspicions that Jon is short actually, but Robb I thought was tall- I certainly think he is described as such later on, he must go through a major growth spurt. 

Jon and Ghost are so precious together in this chapter as well. Also I had forgotten til now that they call Benjen Ben? 

Ok, so, I think I need to mention the things Jon does whilst majorly pissed: 

-asks to join the Night Watch 

-throws his magnificent ‘I will never father a bastard!’ tantrum.

-trips, knocks over a flagon of wine and starts crying. 

I mean???

Next, the image of Tyrion perching on the wall looking like a gargoyle is brilliant! Also, I had it in my mind that his gymnastics skills weren’t brought up until ADWD but they’re right here in the first chapter in which he has dialogue?? Which is so cool. 

‘I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother’. Damn, I love this. How many times has Tyrion vomited on Jaime do we reckon? First as a baby and then later whilst drunk, so potentially quite a few times. 

This conversation is brilliant overall. Some great Tyrion and Jon stuff in this chapter (as separate characters and as friends) and this chapter overall has made me remember why I loved Jon so much? I adored him whilst reading the first book then became a bit more indifferent. I’m sure I’ll talk about this more later but I just love him at the beginning, he’s such a sweet cinnamon roll and so very young. 

I’ve got to mention the ‘Just for a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king’ because it’s magnificent.

Next in Cat II, Cat wants more Ned babies and honestly, I remember when I was reading the books for the first time wondering what it would be like if Cat found out she was pregnant after Ned had died. That could have been really interesting- the timing probably wouldn’t work out but imagine if CAT was pregnant at the time of the Red Wedding?! 

Also, it’s really interesting that Ned had an older brother. He seems so suited to the job of being lord of Winterfell, it very much seems like that’s how it should be when you read about him in this role in AGOT, and we’re so used to thinking about his kids as the heirs to Winterfell, but actually… that wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It could all have been Brandon’s. 

Cat doesn’t do a very good job at hiding that her fave is Bran when she and Ned are dividing up the kids. Ned describing him as ‘a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love’, is so gorgeous and accurate too?

Also, NED, DON’T LEAVE THE NORTH, PLEASE, I JUST…

Hope you enjoyed this, more to come soon!