#Ygritte oneshot

[cryingdoves]

˗ˋˏ about / rules! ˎˊ-

about: jaz/jazzy - hispanic - she/her - game of thrones & house of the dragon lover - gotg enthusiast - lauver - nineteen

what and who i will write for:

Game of Thrones & House of the Dragon:

House Stark: Cregan, Ned, Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran

House Lannister: Tyrion, Jaime, Cersei, Tywin, Tommen

House Targaryen: Rhaenyra, Daemon, Aemond, Aegon II, Helaena, Rhaenys, Daenerys

House Velaryon: Corlys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Laena

Extra: Sandor / the Hound, Theon, Yara, Oberyn, Brienne, Varys, Petyr / Littlefinger, Margaery, Tormund, Sam Tarly, Bronn, Jorah, Podrick, Missandei, Grey Worm, Daario, Alicent, Gwayne, Gendry, Shae, Ygritte

rules / what can be requested:

i will only write for character x reader, which can be requested as romantic or platonic. (please specify in the request which one you want.)

i will write for: ‘fluff��, angst, and smut (typically with plot).

i will write: chapter / multi. part stories, imagines / oneshots (most, if not all, will be 1k+ words), headcanons

i’m sorry but at the moment i will only be writing for female & gender neutral readers. if this does change, and i do start writing for male readers, smut will still remain only for female / afab readers.

- when requesting, please specify what you want in your request. if there is a certain plot you are expecting, feel free to include it!

(if you stumble across this please request, i need to get this account started up!)

- what i might start writing for in the future:

The walking dead (i have watched it, but stopped when glenn and abraham died), Harry Potter (have watched, you can request for this but please request it with popular characters), The last kingdom, Lord of the rings, Marvel (have watched the movies but not the x-men trilogy or show series.)

- this account focuses on ASOIAF, but with the shows / movies I have watched, feel free to request them with certain characters only, (regarding the parenthesis I added in.)

[random-imagines-blog]

Flirt {Ygritte x Female!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @starjane312​ Wordcount: 2623 Summary: The new boy at camp brings all sorts of trouble.

The new boy was staring. Ever since Ygritte had returned to the camp, bringing this puppy of a man, no, a boy, back with her, he’d been giving her the heart eyes whenever she wasn’t looking. You couldn’t blame him, Ygritte was the most amazing person that you had ever met, and you thanked the old Gods every day that you had been blessed enough to marry her. Same-gender relationships were extremely rare and frowned upon, even for the Wildlings when there was the pressure to have babies, but your father, Mance, had allowed it. So though that was allowed, this boy staring at your wife was not. You poked at the fire with your stick to push some of the wood further in towards the fire, while glaring at the boy. You retraced the story in your head - he had been found, and unfortunately saved, and then brought here. As if he belonged here. Anyone could see that he most certainly didn’t. Except for Ygritte who treated him kindly - or at least her version of kind.

“Yer barely eating,” Ygritte said, pushing a bit more of the bear meat towards you. “Whats a matter which-ya?

“Guess I’m not hungry,” You muttered, finally going from the boy’s dark eyes to Ygritte’s blue gray which rivaled the color of water. “Don’t you worry about me. You go on and eat it. You’re skin n’ bone.”

“Just cause I ain’t got blubber doesn’t mean I’m a guppy,” Ygritte said, reaching out and put a hand on your sturdy thigh. It was true, you weren’t the skinniest of the bunch, you had some meat on your bones. To the point where many of the men could be seen looking at your stomach and licking their lips when food was scarce. If your father wasn’t who he was, you probably would have been killed already. That was just the way that things sometimes went up here. You did what you had to do to survive.

“If you don’t wanna be a guppy, you better eat up then,” You said, pushing the meat right back to her and got up onto your feet. “I’m gonna go have a word with the crow.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Ygritte said, taking the meat in her gloved hand and got up to follow you. You stopped and looked over your shoulder at her, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t ask for an audience,” You said.

“I know tha’,” She crossed her arms, still chewing on what was in her mouth. “Tha’s exactly why I’m comin’. I’m not missin’ out on whatever talk that you’re going to give him. Remember the last person we found and rescued? I think ‘is nose is still broken.”

“He grabbed yer arse, you think I was gonna let him get away with that?”

“This one didn’t,” Ygritte said, nodding at new boy. “Besides, not like he’s got anythin’ in that head of his except for the wall. That Jon Snow, he knows nothin’.”

“So I’m gonna make sure that he knows somethin, and it’s to stop makin those goo-goo eyes at my wife,” You said, stepping closer to where the man was. He noticed you coming and seemed to tense up. Good. You stared at him for a moment, and then gave a little growl. He might have a direwolf - but you were the alpha wolf around these parts. “You gonna scar up his pretty face?” Ygritte asked, nudging you. “Like you did with the others? How many would that be now - five? Ten?”

“I los’ count about a year ago. Guess it’s my own fault then. I just had to go and fall in love with the prettiest lass this side of the Wall,” You grinned. She laughed, but gave your chest a bit of a slap in that way that she did. She was a tough and fearless woman, with a pretty face to boot. Many of the men around here wanted her, and any from outside, like Jon Snow, probably would too. Bastards, all of em.

“Ahh, you big softie, you’re like a gutted pig. All tough on the outside and steamy and warm on the inner,” Ygritte said, which was about as romantic as things tended to get around here. “You gonna go threaten him on my behalf now, wife?”

“Don’t know if I need to now that I’ve already got his attention,” You said, turning your body towards Ygritte. “I’ll just show him what’s what instead of having ta tell him.”

The furs were always something that came between you but with the heavy cold of the everlasting winter, they were something that had to be gotten used to. Still, you brushed up close enough to her to bring her soft, dainty pink lips into a kiss right there, in front of everybody. There were some whoops. Some hollers. Some of the men never got tired of seeing two women kiss, the bloody perverts. You were putting on a bit of a show but it wasn’t for anyone’s amusement. It was a warning.

You had grabby hands, always had, always would, and then went right down to that ass beneath the long fabric of her coat and gave it an audible slap. It was loud enough, sharp enough to sound like a branch breaking. Ygritte never minded when you got a bit rough. Turned her on in fact, something you knew very well. Some might call you a bit possessive, but you considered it your duty to guard the lovely lass who had stolen your heart. Even if she would blacken the eye of anyone else who would dare to call her lovely.

“I love ya,” You said, forgetting about the reason why you were doing this in front of everyone. She had her hands on both of your cheeks, feeling how warm they were, slightly squishing them so that you made a silly face in the way she always found amusing. You laughed, though the inside of your cheeks squished against your teeth.

“And I love ya, y/n Ryder,” She said in return, and pressed another kiss on those puckered lips of yours, right in front of crow-boy and everyone else.

-

The Battle at Castle Black. The name was fitting, because it was a black night for many who were involved. You had your suspicions about Snow since the beginning, though you had hoped that you were wrong. There was something fishy about this Castle Black, and so you had gone with your wife to spy on it, find out how many people were defending it. It was so strange to you, these wardens of the wall, because your father had been one of them and turned his back on it. They had made him give a pledge not to have relationships. These people - they didn’t want you to be born. To have your life.

“I’m havin’ second thoughts abou’ this,” Ygritte said, turning to you. And you had to agree. You were angry at these people, these wardens, but you also didn’t want any more of your people to have to die. It felt like there was a trap afoot. Everyone was preparing for the attack, you had your swords, and your bow at your back, that sick feeling remaining in your stomach. You thought about going to talk to the others about your instincts, but the warg snapped out of his trance at that very second. The signal had been given. It was time to move in.

It was too late to turn back now, so you ran ahead with your wife, sticking together through this. You absolutely refused to be separated. Where she went, you went. Where you went, she went. You both went towards the gate, and using your bows so you could stay a far distance, started to shoot at them. One of your arrows went right through the eye of a man at the gate. And you couldn’t say that you felt bad. They had signed up for this. They didn’t have a wife and kids that you should feel bad for. They made their bed and now they were going to damn well lay in it.

Your wife got some good shots as well, but there was no time to stop and celebrate her accuracy. The battle kept going, and would keep going until there was a victor. It was time to move in, to close the distance.

And what did you see but that stupid crow fighting alongside of his ‘brethren’ rather than the rightful side of the Wildlings. “I told you that boy could not be trusted,” You growled to Ygritte. She looked angry too. She had been taken in by him, had formed a friendship with him during the travels to the wall. Your ‘I told you so’ didn’t help matters much but you felt like it needed to be said. And now, you were determined to take him down.

“Damn traitor ain’t even worth it,” Ygritte said, spitting onto the ground at what she had seen. She took hold of your hand, gave it a squeeze, then went back to preparing her bow to fire again. You took out your sword, getting ready for blade to blade combat against these so called men. You didn’t believe that they were men at all. Your father, Tormund, your friends among the wildlings, those were men. They did what they had to do to survive.

They went down. So did some of your own people. You noticed that some of the crows in their black jackets were running, trying to hide. That alone was a sign of victory. None of your people were trying to hide. None of your people were cowards. Slash, slash, clash of blades, sparks flying from how fast and how hard they hit each other. Stab, stab, cutting through flesh, entering it, becoming a butcher of fine human meat. Groans from the injured, you put them out of their misery.

And then the moment seemed to fall silent as you turned to see that Ygritte had her bow pointed right at Jon Snow, who stood above Styr’s body. You looked at the corpse on the ground, your heart beating fast, rage flooding through your veins. You would never forgive this. You had your blade out and you pointed it towards Jon as well. But this was more so Ygritte’s revenge. Let her kill the traitor, for it was her that he had blinded. You looked about you, refusing to be distracted by the confrontation beside you. You couldn’t let yourself be blinded as well.

You heard the arrow, and your instincts took over. You pushed Ygritte out of the way and caught the arrow yourself, it lodging into your side. It barely penetrated through the thickness of your skin, you could feel that. It was almost like a bug bite. But for Ygritte, calculating by how she had been standing, it might have been fatal. You turned to the boy who fired it, and you charged, pulling the arrow out of the fur and skin, taking it out in one piece, your blood turning the stone on the end a deep red color. Jon was shouting at you to stop. That Olly was just a boy. But Ygritte silenced him with a shouting of her own.

You took hold of the boy, who seemed startled that you had stopped his attack. You held the arrow that he had shot at your wife to the soft underside of his chin. “May you live this moment forever,” You cursed, then thrust the arrow upwards, right into his skull. At that, Jon roared at you. Something about how he was only a kid.

“A killer is a killer,” You said, marching back towards him. As you did, the war kept going on. The death of one didn’t matter much in this war of thousands. But then a weapon was released - a sort of scythe that started to cut through your people. It sent ice into your heart far more effectively than the cold had. You took Ygritte’s hand and she didn’t fight you. “We must go to the meeting spot,” You told her.

“Yeah,” She said, a little shaken at how near death she had gotten, but then her fearless expression came back onto her pale features. She turned her bow towards Jon, arrow still drawn, her fingers trembling to let it go. “If ye even think of followin’ us, traitor, I’ll kill ye where ye stand. I mean it. You deserve worse than that.”

“He sure does,” You grumbled, but then heard more screams of your people. “We gotta go, now,” You said. And you tugged her along, being quite fast despite the bit of fat that you had on your body which people used to make fun of you for. But you were also quite sturdy, able to push people out of the way to get out of Castle Black and make your return to the woods where your father was waiting for you. The Haunted Forest, where you would meet again with your brethren, your family, and speak of the defenses of the crows.

-

Your father was burning. Ygritte and some of the others had to hold you back, hand clamped over your mouth as you cursed the names of Baratheon, of Stark, of Davos, of everyone that was involved in your fathers death. You could feel the heat of the flames over your own body as you were told about it. Your father was strong until the end - he did not bow. He would never kneel. For you were free folk. It was a lesson that many people needed reminding of.

It had a huge effect on you, because as Mance’s daughter, you were the one that they looked at for advice now, for guidance. But also as a woman, they didn’t completely respect the advice that you gave. That didn’t matter. They could listen to you, go along with what had been your father’s plan, or they could die here. They could get killed by the white walkers. It didn’t matter much to you anymore. You were more in this for the fight than the results, which Ygritte saw in you right away. You had that inner fire that was needed to survive in the winter wasteland.

“I’m sorry,” Ygritte said as you took a walk to try to work off this angry energy. “It’s all my fault. I shoulda listened to ya. Ya knew right from the start that he couldn’t be trusted. That he could never be one of us.”

“A lot of people trusted him, not just you,” You said, stopping to turn to her. You could see, and feel, the guilt coming off of her in waves. And the anger. That unstoppable rage that came with redheads. You’d been on the other side of it before, so seeing it now pointed towards those who deserved it - you were sure that you were going to get your revenge. Maybe not tonight, nor tomorrow, but one day. You were going to make sure that your father was not forgotten. You were never going to bend the knee. You were going to be the fire that killed the traitor. And with your wife by your side, you knew, you could do anything.

[myriadimagines]

Lying to Herself

Game of Thrones One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Ygritte

Other Characters: Tormund Giantsbane, Jon Snow, Orell

Warnings: violence, mentions of death and injury

Request: “forget what i said, an idea popped up. Tell me if I didn’t respect your rules! I’d love to read a Ygritte one shot where reader is a Free Folk and they always have been very close. Ygritte thought she had no chance with reader, that’s why she had this relation with Jon. Jon and reader thought when Jon betrayed them and got hurt. Ygritte feels guilty and tells her that she always had been in love with reader as she tends her wounds? ty if you do it, if not, tell me what i forgot to respect 💘” – @mahvericks

Word Count: 1,972

A/N: GOD i miss Ygritte but anyway ahhh I hope you like it Manon!!! + everyone be sure to check out her blog and send requests!!! Also this is like the RARE one shot i’ve written where i actually prefer the ending over the beginning, so i apologize if things are slow at first but please stick around to the end LMAO

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

You run alongside your fellow Free Folk, boots padding against the grass as you all spread out across the field, rapidly advancing towards the old horse breeder’s home. Tormund takes the lead, and you run next to Ygritte, your sword drawn as her fingers grip tightly around her bow. You can see the horses tied outside the home becoming restless, their ears pricking up as they begin to neigh in alarm, and the old man steps outside, eyes widening as he sees the Free Folk charging towards him. He quickly mounts one of the closest horses, and Ygritte stops as she aims an arrow, eyes full of focus as the tensile strings of her bow stretches.

“Ygritte.” Jon suddenly calls out her name, and you can see her flinch as you turn around to glare at him. Her focus is now gone, face twisted in annoyance, and she releases the arrow only for it to bury itself in the nearby tree as the old man gallops off. 

You reach over to give Jon a shove, and he avoids eye contact with you as he simply looks at Ygritte before wordlessly moving past the two of you. Ygritte watches him leave, eyebrows furrowed, before you scowl, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he did that on purpose.”

Ygritte doesn’t respond, her insides feeling like their curling in on itself as she knows the truth but chooses not to acknowledge it. Shaking her head, she mumbles, “It was a mistake.”

You scoff, taking a step closer to her, and Ygritte can feel her breath hitch as your gaze sweeps up and down her face. She has to use every ounce of self control not to look at your lips, your lips that are so close to hers, as you remark, “Aye. A mistake.”

You storm off, leaving Ygritte speechless before she quickly follows behind you. The both of you startle as lightning suddenly cracks against the sky, a bright vein flashing through the clouds before it disappears, and after a beat, thunder rumbles in the distance. You exchange a glance with her before tilting her head, urging, “Storm’s coming. We best find the old man before he gets far away.”

Ygritte nods in agreement, the both of you picking up your walk into a jog as you can see the other Free Folk running in the direction the old man galloped down, some of them stealing his horses to do so while others remain behind to ransack his small cottage. Rain begins to prickle down on your heads, the ground turning muddy as you splash through the puddles on the path leading from the cottage to a small tower in the distance. You hear loud shouting, distant commotion, and you know the old man must’ve been caught. You can see him now, crumpled on the ground, blood dripping down his nose as Tormund circles around him, with Jon already standing behind the old man. 

The old man pulls out a knife, pointing it at Tormund as he kneels down, and Jon screws his eyes shut and looks away. Beside you, Ygritte defensively draws back an arrow, and Tormund says, “That won’t help you, grandpa.” 

Tormund holds out his hand, and the old man defeatedly lets him take it before Tormund throws it aside, and it clatters against the sodden soil. He leans forward on one knee as he asks, “Where’re you riding?”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” the old man snaps.

“No.” Tormund shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Orell suddenly approaches, his voice barely audible over the pouring rain as he orders, “Cut his throat, or he’ll tell the crows we’re here.” 

Tormund rises to his feet, unsheathing his sword, his giant blade startling the man as you can see him stiffen, holding out his hand in a meek attempt to defend himself from his inevitable fate. Holding out his arms, Tormund says, “You understand.”

“Let me stand, at least.” the old man pleads, and Tormund exchanges a glance with you as you shrug. It sounds like an excuse to buy himself some more time, perhaps an excuse to try and escape, but you suppose you’ll indulge the old man in his last moments. “Let me go with a big of dignity.”

You grab his hand, pulling him to his feet as Tormund readjusts his grip on his sword. The old man lets out a soft whimper, face contorted in pain and fear, and you step back as Tormund prepares to swing his sword when Orell pipes up, “Let the crow kill him.”

All heads swivel towards Jon as Orell walks up closer to him. Rain drips down Jon’s raven hair, the strands plastered to his face obscuring his horrified expression as Orell continues, “You’re one of us now. Prove it.”

The old man turns to look at Jon, and Tormund takes a step back as Jon pulls out his sword. He slowly places it by the old man’s neck, and the old man glances down at it before remarking, “Sure looks sharp.”

Jon nods, unable to respond, and the old man closes his eyes, his mouth moving in a silent prayer as his head tilts towards the sky, towards the Gods that will not save him. You can see the conflicting emotions on Jon’s face, the pain and the fear twisting his features as the longer he waits, the more you realize he won’t be able to do it. Orell studies him carefully, his eyes never once leaving Jon’s face, and behind him, Ygritte urges, “Do it. Do it!” 

“Told ya.” Orell gloats. “Still one of ’em.”

“Come on, boy!” Tormund yells, and anger flashes in Jon’s eyes. “Go on!”

Jon lets out a loud grunt as he swings his sword back, and you hold your breath as you wait for him to swing it back down on the old man’s neck, but the movement never follows. Jon’s grip on his sword loosens, and your eyes widen as Ygritte draws back an arrow. Lunging forward, you yell, “Ygritte, no-”

The arrow thuds into the man’s chest, and he collapses onto the ground. Everyone flinches, grabbing their weapons as Orell announces, “He’s a crow! He’ll always be a crow, and here’s his crow wife guardin’ him. He’ll stab us in the back, first chance he gets.”

Jon holds out his sword defensively as Ygritte stands beside him, loading another arrow as the Free Folk surround them. You shake your head at Ygritte, and it pains her to see the look of betrayal in your eyes as you silently urge her to make the right decision. You look over your shoulder at Tormund, and you can see betrayal mirroring in his eyes too, his features warped before he growls, “Kill him!” 

Everyone lunges into action, and Jon smashes his body against Ygrittes before she falls to the ground. She scrambles to her feet, grabbing her bow before Tormund tackles her to the ground, firmly holding her down as he yells at her over the clashing of swords to not get herself killed over Jon. She struggles against him, enough to peek her head up to where you and Orell battle against Jon. Orell lets out a cry as his brings down his sword on Jon, who’s quick to block him, and he shoves Orell back as you swing your sword at him, aiming for his legs as he narrowly jumps back. He stabs his sword towards you, the tip of his blade ripping through the thin material of your coat, and the fabric snags on his sword as you yank away. You barely have time to spin around to face Jon again when he slashes his sword at you, and you let out an anguished cry as the blade slices against your arm. 

Ygritte cries out helplessly as you stumble backwards, hand clamped over your wound, and another scream escapes her lips as your body is pummeled to the ground by a wolf, its snarling teeth inches away from your face as you struggling against it. It lashes out at your arm, claws digging into your flesh. Now, no longer fighting to help Jon, Ygritte breaks free from Tormund to grab her bow, firing an arrow straight through the wolfs head. Jon and Orell continue to battle against one another as Ygritte runs towards you, collapsing on the ground beside you as you weakly struggle to sit upright. Breathless, and you and Ygritte look over just in time to see Jon mounting one of the horses. You and Ygritte shield your faces from the muddy splatter as the horse gallops through the nearby puddle, and Jon leaves without so much as a glance to Ygritte. You angrily glare at Jon’s retreating back while Ygritte watches him with wide eyes, fury lacing itself into her features as the sound of hooves slowly diminishes into the thundering rain. 

—

You let out a sharp yelp, wincing in pain as Ygritte accidentally fixes the bandage too tightly around your arm. Placing a hand over hers, you laugh slightly as you remind her, “Be gentle. Please.”

She flashes you an apologetic smile, carefully tucking the bandage under your arm before wrapping it over your wound again, trying her best to ignore the crimson stains of blood she can see seeping through the material. She grunts slightly as she crudely rips the fabric, tying a knot to secure the bandage, before she leans back and diverts her attention to sharpening her arrowheads. 

“I’m going to kill him.” she growls under her breath, holding out an arrow as she inspects the point. “I told him, I told him, don’t ever betray me.”

“We’ll get him.” you reassure her, reaching out to grip her arm and giving it the slightest shake. Eyes darkening, you continue, “No one gets to betray you, us, and get away with it.”

Ygritte studies your expression, and she doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she looks away and breathes again. You leave her breathless on a daily basis, you have been ever since the day she met you, and during times like these where she can’t escape the intricate trap that is your eyes, she wonders why she ever let herself believe she was in love with Jon. A determined smile curls at the edge of your lips, and Ygritte wonders how many times she finds herself thinking about your lips, and how they would feel against hers.

And suddenly, she thinks about how close she was to losing you. Her gaze flickers to your wounded arm again, unable to ignore the splotches of blood, and she realizes she almost lost you because she had defended Jon.

Why did she continue to lie to herself about who she truly loved?

“I never loved the crow.” she suddenly declares, and you blink at her in surprise. Her words are desperate, eyes anxiously scanning yours as she knows that she can’t go back now. “Aye, I never loved him. I’ve only ever loved you.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips moving to form a question Ygritte already knows you’re going to ask. Quickly interrupting, her anxiousness twisting within her stomach and snaking up her throat, she adds, “But I- I never thought you’d love me back.”

You straighten, the moments of silence excruciating for Ygritte as she awaits your answer. The air seems to thicken, clogging her nose and mouth as she finds herself choking on the tension. Finally, you move, practically toppling her over as you grab her, fervidly kissing her as your hands tangles through her auburn hair. She recovers quickly from her initial shock, and she pulls you closer, smiling slightly to herself as she now knows what your lips feel like.

Soft, she thinks, so tender and sweet. So very sweet. 

tags: @chinike​ / @gofandomsandotherstuff / @emmacata / @pascalisthepunkest ↳ want to be added to the tag list?

[urwarriorangel]

‘we know you know’ (robb stark drabble)

hello angels! this is a darker take on robb stark and I’m so sorry that most of this is dialogue and buildup for the meeting with robb. I’ll happily do a part two! pls tell me what you think!

(remember no gifs r mine!!!)

There’ve been whisperings around town that you and your family are witches, vampires, werewolves, just about every supernatural creature to possibly exist. I’m not generally one to speculate and I roll my eyes at the rumours and the town gossip, but I’ve seen some things. I believe in the supernatural. And no, you don’t turn into wolves at every full moon. You hate those damned creatures. You guys are fucking vampires and I have no idea how to turn down your “Monster Ball” Halloween Party. Fuck. (feat Robb Stark)

You just got a letter in the mail from that family. From the newest family in town with the oldest money and crazy gorgeous genes. The letter indicated that the family would be having a Halloween party and they tastefully dubbed it the “Monster Bash”. Of course they did. They’re taunting the town, well they’re taunting you. The town talks about them being ghosts or witches or werewolves, and this play on words is a joke to tell the town the family is okay with it. That’s because they’re not ghosts or witches or werewolves, they’re vampires!

You’re the only one who knows and you plan to keep it that way, hoping that if you keep to yourself, you’d be keeping people safe, too. God how were you gonna get out of this one?

Rrrinnngggg! The sound of a phone call pulls you out of your thoughts and you sigh, relieved to see it’s your best friend calling.

“Hey, Ygritte what’s--?”

“Tell me you got the invitation!”

“I got the invitation but--”

“Tell me you’re going to go!”

“Well to honest, I don’t think--”

“Don’t think just go! You have to go!”

“Ygritte for fuck’s sake, stop interrupting me and tell my WHY do I have to go? I don’t wanna, I need a plan first!” You place the invitation on the table and sit down on the couch.

“You have to go because I’m going. Have you seen Jon Snow?”

“Yes, I have. I’ve also seen him bleed a man dry!” You whisper loudly, paranoid that the family could somehow hear you.

“Okay but you also said that man was a wanted felon, so why does that even matter?”

“Ygritte it matters because he did it. He could do it. The oldest one watched and then they drank the blood together. Does that not freak you out at all?” You rub your forehead as you think back to the time you were almost caught stumbling upon the Starks in the woods.

“It’s actually kind of hot if I’m being honest,” your best friend giggles as you groan, annoyed at her antics. “Y/N I’m going to go to the party and you’re coming, too. Pick your sexiest dress and go with me.”

“Ugh fine, but you owe me!” You say your goodbyes and hang up, anxious as ever about the coming week.

“Earlier this week you said you weren’t coming and now you’ve decided to go as one of them. Are you crazy?” Ygritte yells at you as you roll your eyes and put on the finishing touches of your makeup. Your face paler than usual, traces of fake blood around your mouth, fangs.

“Earlier this week, all you said was that I had to wear a sexy dress. Will you let up?” You get up and put on your heels. “Besides, you’re dressed up as a witch!”

“And what?” She scoffs and walks out the door, knowing you’re right behind her.

“And you know people accuse Jon of being a witch, so you’ve dressed up for him,” you grab your purse and phone and walk out, catching up with Ygritte in the process.

“Oh just shut up and try not to get eaten.”

The entire way over, you and Ygritte came up with ways to signal one another if you were in danger. When you finally reached the mansion, you managed to agree on some code words and actions and agreed to give each other 10 minute text updates if you were ever separated throughout the night.

It was dark and chilly and the party was well underway by the time you two made it. You walked into the large, immaculate, old-fashioned building and a wave of familiarity coursed through your veins. You feel calm almost immediately, the place had a homey feel to it and it somehow felt like you belonged.

Ygritte, on the other hand, made eye contact with Jon Snow as soon as she walked in. The two smiled at each other for a while before she whispered something to you and made her way over to the man she would not stop fawning over.

You mindlessly nodded, unable to take your eyes off the intricate details of the palace. Your hands roam over the walls, the chic tables, the majestic stairway. You slowly make your way up the stairs so caught up with studying the bars and the railings that you forget to watch where you’re going: you ram right into the eldest son whose name escapes you.

“Oof, I’m so sorry!” You whisper, the look of mischief on his face both frightening and exciting. His plump lips are turned up in a smirk and those eyes pierce your very soul. The trace of his fingers on your upper arms burns through your skin as he slowly lets you go.

“You’re fine, love. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of you,” his voice comes out in a gruff whisper, the odd accent taking you completely by surprise.

“And I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the intricacies that make up your beautiful home,” you both chuckle softly as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Welcome to our home, I’m Robb” he smiles and grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips as he watches you with those piercing deep blue eyes.

“I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to be here,” you smile softly back at him and he lets your hand go.

“To be honest, we were scared you wouldn’t make an appearance tonight,” he holds out his arm and you fold yours through it as you two walk downstairs.

“And why is that?”

“Well you’re the only one who’s seen our true colours. To everyone else, we’re just a mystery, Y/N,” he smirks and you look up at him with wide eyes, happy that you’ve made it to the bottom of the stairwell otherwise you’re sure you’d have fallen over in fear.

“W-what are you saying?” You whisper, walking backwards only to be met with the column of the railing. Robb only walks closer, taking your every breath away as he leans down, pressing his nose against your jaw and those red lips against your throat.

“We know you know.”

[musings-and-moans]

In Another Fantasy (A Fantasy AU Collab)

Close your eyes and imagine your favorite fantasy universe, TV show, movie, anime, or otherwise. Did you do that? Good, how did that make you feel? Special? I bet it did. Now, imagine that you're there with your favorite anime character, and you could do, just about anything, from making potions in Hogwarts to walking along the streets of the Upper East Side, to traveling in a time machine that camouflages as a police box, to kissing Zuko in the fire nation, having sex in that secret sex cave where Jon Snow lost his virginity to Ygritte. Well, this collab is especially for you. <33

To celebrate 100+ followers for my NSFW side blog (and 250+ on my main, thank you all so so so much btw), I thought of coming up with a collab that would enable us, writers and artists, to showcase our love for our anime characters but in different universes. It's an NSFW Multifandom Fantasy AU Collab, where the reader and/or the anime character(s) of your choosing must be in an alternate universe. (Eg: Time Lord!Tetsuro Kuroo, Wizard!Kento Nanami, Khaleesi!Mikasa Ackerman, Dr. Strange!Satoru Gojo, and so on)

Fandoms I accept for this collab: Haikyuu, Jujutsu Kaisen, Attack on Titan, Tokyo Revengers, SPY x FAMILY, Hunter x Hunter, Kuroko No Basket, My Hero Academia, Demon Slayer, Naruto, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Obey Me, Genshin Impact, Black Clover

Alternate Universes (for ideas): Any TV Shows (Gossip Girl, Bridgerton, Stranger Things), Disney, Star Wars, Marvel, DC, Avatar the Last Airbender, The Legend of Korra, The Hunger Games, Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, any of the Studio Ghibli movies, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, AND one anime character in another anime (Gojo in HxH or Itadori in KNB, etc) or one game character in anime (Leviathan in Black Clover, for etc). Feel free to brainstorm with me <33

Due date: November 23, 2023 (Doctor Who's 60th anniversary <3) (in case you want to submit it later, I don't mind at all :D)

Rules (under the cut)

-> As it is a NSFW collab, all genres are allowed, INCLUDING dark content. That being said, minors, please please please DNI with this collab.

-> You don't have to be following me for this collab, but it's preferable (since it's a follower celebration collab), and I'd appreciate it if you don't unfollow me after everyone's posted <3

-> You can club your entry for this collab with other collabs as well <3

-> I accept character x reader, character x character, poly ships, love triangles, crossover ships (anime crossovers) , heck even selfships :D

-> All forms of writing are allowed (drabbles, fics, oneshots, headcanons, moodboards, etc)

-> No limit to word count, however, please do include a read more if your fic is 500+ words to avoid clogging the dashboard.

-> Multiple repeats of characters are possible, however, if they're repeated 4 times, then I'm locking them.

-> Exceptions: Tetsuro Kuroo (4 more slots open for him, but not Doctor Who!Kuroo), Ken Ryuguji ‘Draken’ (3 more slots open for Draken but not Divergent AU Draken or Hunger Games Draken) and Mitsuya (4 more slots open for him but not Hunger Games Mitsuya)

-> While the repetition of a character is allowed, it MUST be with a different au/role (Eg, once Doctor Strange!Satoru Gojo is locked, another entry on Doctor Strange!Satoru Gojo would not be accepted). Variety matters!

-> If you're including multiple characters in one story, the characters' entries are counted (love triangles especially)

-> When your entry is accepted, please reblog this post as much as you can. When you’re done, please tag me at @/musings-and-moans and use the following hashtag: #🧙‍♀️.inanotherfantasycollab for a guaranteed reblog :D and please don’t forget to attach a link to the master list. If you’re the first to write for any fandom that’s not listed, I’ll add that accordingly.

How to join:

-> Please send me your application requests for the collab through asks and not private DMs, and do specify if it’s a write-up or artwork, and please be respectful in your asks.

-> I will also allow changes if necessary (change of character/sport, dropping from the collab). So, you can send me an ask or DM me (only if we're server moots) if you want to drop out or change anything in your collab entry.

-> Do specify if it will be a writeup or an artwork, sfw, nsfw, angst or dc. (it can be nsfw and dc or sfw and angst, etc)

Format: [Role] Character x [Role] Reader by @[url] (SFW/NSFW/DC/Angst)

Eg: [Fire Lord Zuko] Shoto Todoroki x [Fire Nation Soldier] Reader by @[url] (NSFW)

Members' List: Here!!

tagging moots & networks (@tokyometronetwork @hanayanetwork )<33

@mrskenmakozume @blueparadis (thank you so much you two for brainstorming with me ily) @beware-of-the-rogue @scandescent @decayish @mxonigirimiya @ry0m3n @arcanestage @thoughtfullyrainynightmare @wakasa-wifey @wakatshi @haikyutiehoe @oikawas-milk-bread @aizumie @mekiza @hyeque @bxnten @xshinigamikittenx @portfolio-of-dreams @jordyn-degas @simpingforthisonedeer @festive @ceo-of-daichi @p-antomime @lunarmins @maitaro @sweetsbysatori @sweetforlevi @atsumeii @izu-fi @chronic-claire-universe @megumischubbycheeks @arlertslove @sennsational @asmos-pet @kagejima @winxcunt @milkyybuns @nanam-woah

[thiscrimsonsoul]

4. which muse of yours is your all time favorite? if you stopped writing them: why?

5. is there a muse you really want to try? if yes: what’s stopping you?

7. describe your favorite relationship dynamic. (can be any kind, platonic, romantic, familial, antagonistic, etc.)

11. describe your ideal outcome/endgame for the muse you are currently writing. if you are a multimuse blog: do this for your current favorite muse, or the muse of the last reply you posted.

{out of paprikash} Below the cut because LONG, heh...

4. which muse of yours is your all time favorite? if you stopped writing them: why?

Hmm... I've had so many muses, it's hard to choose just one, and some of them I loved for very different reasons. I'll pick a few haha.

As far as how the muse made me feel when writing them, I'd have to say Jix is my favorite. He just such a positive muse that he's a joy to write. I created him almost 18 years ago, so I know him really well, and he's so easy for me to write that I never need much prep or inspiration, he's just always there. He's been tough to get consistent activity for over the years on this site, so at times I've let him go quiet, but right now he's available on my multimuse blog if you are interested!

My other favorite muses in terms of both nostalgia and the level of work I put into developing them are Nuada and Luther. I did write two muses before them (Ned and Ygritte from GoT), but very casually, and they didn't really even have their own blogs. Nuada was the first muse for whom I actually made an rp blog and put work into developing, and Luther was the second. I have such a fondness for both of them because they were the first canon muses I wrote where I really stepped outside of canon. Like I kept the majority of their canon material, but in both cases we knew so little about the characters, so there was a lot to fill in, elaborate on, add, and otherwise make my own, that by the time I was done with them, they felt more like OCs.

I had so many meaningful, long-running, and detailed rp threads with each of them, and I don't know why, but I feel like none of my canon muses that have come after them have felt as detailed since. I put so much effort into Nuada and Luther, not just with threads but with headcanons, oneshots, little drabbles, analyzing their clothing, their living space, their habits, their families, their psychology, just everything I could get my hands on to elaborate on, I did. I miss having the time to be that thorough with my muses. I can't do that now because work in recent years has just taken too much of my free time, and because I have way too many muses and am spread too thin.

I stopped writing Luther because I had three really developed ships for him with three other muns' OCs as well as another mun who wrote a whole slew of characters that interacted with him, and all four people left this site around the same time. So Luther's activity kindof bottomed out, and I lost muse for him, so I just let him go quiet for a few years. I've revived his blog recently, so check him out if you're interested!

Nuada... I lost muse for after my mother passed away. I'm not sure why this happened, but I tried easily for two years afterward to get him back again and he just never came back. He also was my most active muse to date, so to reactivate him now would add so much more activity, and I can't have that right now. I don't have the time it would take to have a muse that popular right now, unfortunately. The latter reason is more the case right now than the former, since in the past year or so I have felt like I maybe could write him again, but his activity would be too much. So his blog is on indefinite hiatus, but I can't get rid of it because it's the main on this account. All my other rp accounts are sides of his blog.

I have thought about having Nuada on my multimuse, but I still think he'd become much too popular, and it feels kindof wrong for him to not have his own space, heh. I know I could make him a private muse, but I've never done that before and I don't want to offend people by saying oh sorry, you didn't make the cut for an rp partner for this muse, heh. It would just be weird for me to manage. Unless I only kept him for a few select people and made it clear that I wasn't going to accept any other partners. That could maybe work. I don't know, I need to iron out my thoughts on the subject, heh.

5. is there a muse you really want to try? if yes: what’s stopping you?

Oh, there are so many across so many fandoms. Muses like Gabriel (Legion (2010)), The Ancient One (MCU), Heather (Silent Hill 3 and Silent Hill: Revelations), Sara (The Huntsman: Winter's War), or Redferne (Warlock (1989)), I just don't feel like they'd have enough activity to make it worthwhile. The interest level I just don't feel would be there enough for other muns to want their muses to interact with them.

Muses like Alice (Resident Evil live action movies), Ashelia (Final Fantasy XII, same game as Basch), Yuna (Final Fantasy X), or yeah, The Ancient One fits into this category as well, I don't feel confident that I write them well enough to bring them to a site like this. And in most cases, there are other people on here who write them so amazingly that I'm just kindof like what would I really add to this that would be different, better, or just as engaging as this? And finally, there are some muses that I would love to write, but their canon content is very offensive OR my portrayal of the character I'm afraid will be offensive to others, so I'm not comfortable putting them out there on a public site.

For example, Blade and Jester from the Puppetmaster franchise. Love those movies, love the puppets, they would be so much fun to play around with as muses, however... the mythos and plotlines of those movies are very much tied to the history of n.azi Germany, and even if I do not mention any of that in my threads and I detach the characters from that offensive association, I would still be afraid of backlash for even using the characters in the first place. Blade especially has a background that would be extremely difficult to completely detach from that association, so that's why I just haven't bothered at all.

Another character I've written with one friend off-site but won't bring here is Bucky/James (MCU). I'm not going to get into it here, but I have a very unconventional way of writing that character and I'm just afraid, because he's so popular and beloved, that I will offend people for having changed him, changed some of his mental health difficulties, and changed how the character is structured a bit in terms of trajectory in the MCU. So again, just the fear of backlash keeps me from bringing him here.

7. describe your favorite relationship dynamic. (can be any kind, platonic, romantic, familial, antagonistic, etc.)

So, I am definitely a shipping glutton, haha, I love romantic/sexual ships. However, I also really love supportive friendships, whether they lead to a romantic thing or not. Just... friends supporting other friends during really tough times. I feel like that's not seen as much, and I'm so here for it. So yeah, platonic friendships or friendships-turned-relationships that are supportive of each other in dark times, that check up on each other, and that genuinely care about the well-being of their friend. It's just great and I need more of it.

11. describe your ideal outcome/endgame for the muse you are currently writing. if you are a multimuse blog: do this for your current favorite muse, or the muse of the last reply you posted.

Taking into account everything in the MCU thus far, I would really like to see Wanda redeem herself. I don't mean, I want everything to be fine again, I want everyone to forgive her, trust her, and everything is just like it hasn't happened, not at all. What I mean is... redeeming herself to herself. However everyone else wants to view that and what they subsequently end up thinking of/about her is secondary, but I want Wanda to redeem herself in her own eyes. I want her to reach a better place of well-being and mental health, and I want her to accept what she's done, accept the pitfalls she fell into and what she did/allowed to happen, and then choose to be better from this point onward. It wouldn't be easy and it may forevermore be a work in progress, a state of mind and a lifestyle rather than a moment in time, but my ideal for her is at least working towards arriving at a better state within her own mind, being more comfortable with herself, and that's going to take a lot of soul-searching and atoning.

[rafecameron]

Double Date Part 3 (Robb Stark ft Jon X Ygritte)

Find Part 1 Here Find Part 2 Here

Word Count: 1338

Work was extremely quiet today and you found yourself messing around with Gendry in the back for the most part of the day, until your boss came in and split you up anyway. You had worked the rest of the day out on the little front counter, with less than ten customers to serve it was safe to say your day had been extremely boring and you were glad you had the weekend off.

You clock watched for the last ten minutes and then practically ran into the back room to grab your bag. “See you Monday Gendry!” you call as you exit through the back door. You hear him call a muffled goodbye as you left and headed towards the nearest bus stop.

You pulled your phone out of your bag to check, you weren’t allowed your phone on you at work and usually found a couple messages left from Robb on there, today was no different.

Robb: Hey babe, you free tonight? Jon is going on a first date with some girl to the carnival, he’s invited us to go along. Think he’s bricking it haha! x

You roll your eyes and text a quick reply saying you’d love to go and that he can pick you up at seven. You’d wanted to go to the carnival this weekend anyway, you’d been waiting for months for it to come to town, Arya never shut up about how good it was. You’d probably end up going back with her one day too.

Once home you don’t bother with dinner, figuring you’ll probably just eat junk all night anyway, and just grab a quick shower instead. You dress casual, taking a light jacket as although it was summer the wind was still pretty cold in the evenings.

Robb was five minutes late picking you up, which was unusual as he was normally early, but when you reached the car you noticed two figures sat in the back and realised he must have picked Jon and his date up before coming to get you.

You climb in and quickly greet Robb with a kiss to the cheek before turning to look in the back seat. “Hey Jon!” You grin as you plug in your seat belt.

“Hey (Y/N),” Jon returns the smile, “This is Ygritte.” He introduces the red headed girl next to him and you give her a kind smile which she returns.

Seeing as the carnival was only in the town centre it didn’t take you long to drive there, which you were glad about because the silence in the car was starting to feel awkward and the looks Robb kept throwing you kept making you laugh, only adding to the awkwardness.

Walking into the carnival you noticed that Jon still wasn’t talking to Ygritte, so you decided to butt in and make your own conversation for them.

“So!” You smile as you slide your way between them and take both of their arms in each of yours, “How did you two meet?”

“Friend of a friend.” Jon replies, “We’ve met once before, but we’ve been texting for a while so I finally decided to ask her on a date.”

“Oh this is a date? You wouldn’t have thought that considering you’re not talking to her!” You tease and turn to give Ygritte a smile, “Don’t take it personally, he doesn’t talk to anyone. Too broody.”

Ygritte laughs and looks past you to Jon, “Oh I know. Can’t get more than two words out of him unless you’re arguing.” she grins.

You chuckle and nod your head, “Don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him before. Good luck.” You grin and leave them to it, hurrying to catch up with Robb who was walking in front of you.

“Jon needs to learn to speak to girls.” You roll your eyes as you take Robbs hand in yours.

“Jon needs to learn to speak to people.” Robb counters with a laugh looking over his shoulder, “They seem to be okay now.”

You turn to look and smile as you notice Jon is in fact talking to Ygritte and making her laugh about something. You hoped it worked out for them. Robb told you that Jon has never had much luck with relationships and you knew with his family life that he needed some sort of happiness in his life.

“Do you like rides?” Robb asks looking down at you as you reach the middle of the carnival.

You were surrounded by fairground rides, flashing lights, silly games and the smell of food. Seeing as it was a small town you hadn’t expected a carnival so large, thinking Arya had been over exaggerating, but she wasn’t.

“Of course I like rides.” You roll your eyes with a laugh, “Why would I come to a carnival if I didn’t?”

“Sansa comes and she doesn’t. She says she likes the lights and the games.” Robb shrugs, “Lets go on that one.” Robb points to one of the larger rides which was spinning like crazy.

So the four of you went on that ride, and every other ride that could be found in the park. Robb then convinced you all that it was a good idea to waste all your money on the rigged carnival games, ones with Robb said weren’t rigged and that you were just bad at them.

“There’s just no way you could knock all of those down! It’s not that I’m bad, you just can’t do it!” You sigh in frustration. You’d been trying for the last ten minutes to win a stupid stuffed octopus, you’d tried for this long now you refused to give up. “You do it!” You groan handing the ball to Robb.

“I’d prefer to watch you keep trying.” He laughs but takes the ball from your hand and turns to throw it. He misses and you roll your eyes. “That was a arm up!” he grabs a second ball as the rest of you laugh at him.

Robb takes three attempts but finally he does knock all the cones down and wins your your octopus, much to your amazement.

“Okay…so maybe they’re not rigged. But still, they could be easier!” You sigh as you hug the teddy to your chest.

“But if they were easy then everyone would win.” Jon laughs, “Then everyone would be walking around with stupid stuffed octopus’s.” He teases pulling on one of its tentacles.

“Hey! You leave Ser Seven Arms alone!” You frown at him and hold him protectively against yourself.

“Ser Seven Arms?” Ygritte laughs, “Isn’t it supposed to be eight?”

You shrug, “Yeah, but this one has seven.” You laugh holding the teddy upside down so they could see it’s seven tentacles.

“Trust you to pick the broken one.” Robb rolls his eyes with a grin.

“Hey I wanted the pink one! You’re the only that asked for the purple. I bet the pink one had eight arms!” You huff and turn him back round, “Besides, he’s mine not yours and I love him.”

“Reckon you’ve been kicked out of bed.” Jon laughs nudging Robb with his elbow.

Robb rolls his eyes and flips him off, much to yours and Ygrittes amusement. The rest of the night was spent much the same way. You ate junk food, played stupid games and re-rode all the same rides. It was much better than you thought it would be and you thought it would be pretty great to begin with.

“It was really nice meeting you Ygritte.” you smile as you climb out of Robbs car to go home, “We’ll have to do something again sometime.”

You bid goodbye to the boys and wave them off  as they drove away before hurrying inside. You quickly get ready for bed and crawl under the covers, making sure to take your new friend with you. You cuddle into the octopus and smile to yourself, something to always remember Robb by, even it it was slightly defective.

[ao3feed-gendrya]

how a gala can change a life

read it on the AO3 at https://bit.ly/2yzlKOL

by please do not (dracarysdaenerys)

Arya is not exactly excited about going to the Stark's annual gala. At the gala itself, however, she finds an unexpected friend.

Words: 4237, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Avengers: Drabbles and Oneshots

Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Arya Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Rickon Stark, Jon Snow, Bran Stark, Robert Baratheon, Gendry Waters, Theon Greyjoy, Margaery Tyrell, Ygritte (ASoIaF)

Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Rickon Stark & Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark & Ned Stark, Arya Stark & Catelyn Tully Stark, Hot Pie & Arya Stark & Gendry Waters, Robert Baratheon & Ned Stark

Additional Tags: POV Arya Stark, Lesbian Sansa Stark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern Westeros, Modern Era, Siblings, Arya Stark-centric, Relationship(s), Loss of Parent(s), Long-Term Relationship(s), One Shot

read it on the AO3 at https://bit.ly/2yzlKOL

[littlerockerao3]

💜, 👁, 🎈, 👎 and 💭 (i’m curious too hehe) xxx

Thaaaanks😊🥰

💜- top 3 favorite lines

Oh dear this is hard. I’m gonna write down the first three that come to mind since Losing My Religion has 50+ chapters😅

1. “God, he would even have asked Ygritte for advice, or even Ty if he could find a convincing excuse that could make wanting to learn how to suck a dick look not suspicious at all.” Ehm... I just had to

2. “Back off bitch!”

3. “Never underestimate yourself like this: there is no one like you, Jon. Love yourself more and don’t ever change.”

👁- series or oneshots?

Speaking of preferences, then series. I have no series nor one shots atm though🤷🏼‍♀️

🎈- what’s a spoiler for a wip or series?

Some Throbb and Jonsatin smut is going to happen in the upcoming Need For Respite chapter😂

👎- if you could change something in one of your works, what would you change and why?

I would add Arya and Sansa as main characters in Losing My Religion. When I first started writing it I was afraid there could have been too many characters and storylines and I feared I could have made a mess and then consequently I could have abandoned the story because of all the things I would have had to write, but right now I wish I could have written more about them

💭- any ideas for a possible wip?

Oh dear, so many😂 like, every disney movie AU though I have to admit I’d like to write something with Throbb getting together after knowing each other since they were kids; in all my stories they just meet at some point, I would like to learn to write some pining or just some feeling realization for a childhood friend lol

Thank you so much!

[tacitwhisky]

Jon of the Kingsguard: Story Autopsy

While not the first jonsa story I posted, Jon of the Kingsguard is the first I wrote. The initial concept isn’t original to me: I can’t find it now, but an ask reblogged by asoiaf university offhandedly mentioned Jon joining the Kingsguard and how it would complicate Joffrey and Sansa, and that immediately got me thinking. Jon going south is such an interesting context for him, and the way he interacts with being in the capital and the more southern view of knighthood and duty, while still being fundamentally being the same person, was really intriguing to me.

Another driving idea behind the story was the concept that Jon and Sansa both start in this fic and canon not valuing the other: Sansa is status conscious and looks down at Jon because of his birth while Jon is dismissive of her feminine pursuits (there’s a good meta here that talks about how Jon is very supportive of tomboys like Arya or Ygritte, but tends to not like traditionally feminine women because of Catelyn). That duality of the two, their mutual dislike for superficial reasons, was really fascinating to me, and I liked the idea of their arcs mirroring each other as they learn to value the other (I quote the relevant part of a related meta here, if you’re interested).

I also made the decision early on to ignore the parts of asoiaf canon that weren’t conducive to the story: no white walkers, no war of the five kings, no Hound, no Petyr or Renly or Stannis. Partly this was a decision I made just for my own sanity, but mostly because paring down and narrowing the scope of the world was the only way to truly let the premise of Jon joining the Kingsguard breathe and develop fully.

The Original Vision: Or, No Plan Survives First Contact With The Page

My original vision for the story was as one of those lyrical oneshots that gracefully dip in and out of events and time, and that’s how I originally started out writing it. It was one of those stories that just gripped me and wouldn’t let me work on other stuff until I’d gotten it out of my system. I wrote the first third of it in about a week, the words just flowing one after another.

I got as far as the first time Joffrey hits Sansa, but then realized I wasn’t quite happy with how Jon and Sansa’s dynamic had developed so far. Ironically enough for a jonsa fic, I felt like the two hadn’t interacted enough. By that point I’d run out of steam for the story though, and decided to just set it aside with the vague idea of maybe turning it into its own original story at some point.

(Which, for the record, wouldn’t work: there’s simply too many things specific to the asioaf world in the story, and a lot of the background of the plot would have to be expanded for it to make sense on its own. Joffrey, for example, would need actual scenes of him being horrible earlier in the story rather than only showing up onscreen right before the end, Danaerys kind of reads like a deus ex machina, etc.)

I let the draft sit for almost a year, until I’d gotten over my hesitation over spending writing time on fanfic and written and posted Tipsy in a Red Push Up Bra (have I ever mentioned that I dislike that title? Because I do, but could never come up with something better). At that point I decided to take a look at Kingsguard again, and fix the things I didn’t like in what I’d already written before moving forward.

Adding The Jonsa Spice

Most of the process of second drafting was simply adding more interactions between Jon and Sansa. Which again, is odd that I didn’t do in the first place, but whatever. I’ll run through a few here.

“Do you know where Arya is?” Sansa tosses her hair, the red-bronze sheen of it flashing in the light, a quiver wobbling the edge of her voice. “She’s going to ruin everything.”

Jon sighs and whistles Ghost to him. It will be worse for Arya if she’s late. “I’ll help you look.”

Originally Arya popped up before the second paragraph above, and Sansa dragged her off and that was the end of the scene. I’m not really sure what I was thinking, because the story inherently needs a scene at the start to show the status quo of Jon and Sansa’s relationship where they actually interact and talk. It’s just a basic tenet of writing.

They reach the stables, and Nymeria pads out to nose Ghost and Lady. Sansa’s nose wrinkles at the sudden scent of horse and hay, and she lifts the hem of her skirts above the churned earth and mud. And where is your prince now, he thinks darkly, or is trudging through mud a job only for bastards? 

I find it endlessly hilarious how extra Jon can be, and the general saltiness between Jon and Sansa in these first few chapters was a huge amount of fun to write. This scene also emphasizes Sansa’s initially chivalric view of the world. I love any fic where Jon and Sansa are cast as knight and lady, and here they go on essentially a quest, even if it’s a mundane one. That’s what this is about:

Once out in the yard again Sansa makes to walk off, but abruptly turns on her heel and gives Jon a swift courtesy. “Thank you for your aid, Jon.”

It’s also just a nice character beat for her: Sansa never forgets her courtesies even if only to Jon.

Chapter two also had a couple scenes added and expanded. The scene with Jon and Sansa in the sparring yard was entirely added in the second draft both to give them more interaction, and to punch up Jon’s sense that something is going on between Sansa and Joffrey that he doesn’t understand. That feeling finally blossoms in the wedding scene, which is also the emotionally largest addition to the second draft: the bedding.

Carefully, Jon lowers her into the bed, and only then does Sansa look at him again, eyes trapped, the line of her jaw clenched and sharp and fragile as a shard of glass. The night’s wine has left Jon’s mind murky and slow. “Your grace,” he mumbles, tongue thick, meaning to step back. Her hand flashes out, fingers clutching his sleeve. “Don’t call me that,” she whispers, eyes pleading, “please don’t call me that. I’m still Sansa.”

In the original draft Jon lays Sansa on the bed and just… leaves. Really odd decision on my part, and even just this short interaction pulls the whole chapter together and solidifies what Sansa’s going through in a tangible way. It’s honestly one of my favorite moments in the story now, and really sets the groundwork for their relationship.

Alayaya

Maybe the biggest addition in terms of word count I made in that second draft oddly enough doesn’t include Sansa. The entire second half of chapter three where Jon visits Chataya’s brothel with Tyrion is a second draft edition. Part of the decision to add the scene was pacing: once I gave up on the idea of this fic as a oneshot, crash cutting from Jon deciding to join the Kingsguard to Joffrey’s coronation felt really jarring.

The other part was to just explore Jon’s headspace: in canon Jon is a tightly wound ball of expectation and duty, and piling knighthood and it’s hangups around sex on top of that would ony make it worse. Which itself ended up being a larger part of the story than I initially planned. 

Jon flushes. The girl is beautiful, freckled and lushly curved, with long red hair brushed to a copper sheen that reaches to her hip. As if she can feel his eyes on her the girl glances up at him, a slow, wicked smile turning the corners of her lips. There is nothing of her but for the red of her hair that is like Sansa, yet her smile coils something sick in Jon’s gut, and for a moment he can again feel Sansa’s fingers tangling in his sleeve, the fragile weight of her in his arms, the way her eyes had pled with him

Jon wrenches his gaze away. I am no Joffrey. He downs the goblet in a single swallow, tongue barely recognizing the smooth ripple that marks it as Arbor Gold. “Not her.”

I’ll talk more about this in the next section, but I wanted Jon’s feelings for Sansa to be ambiguous here, especially with how tangled up they are in ideas of chivalry and duty and westerosi patriarchy. You can read this scene as Jon shying away from attraction to his sister, as Dancy being a figure of temptation for his honor, or as Jon simply still being traumatized by the bedding and worrying he’ll be like Joffrey.

“I am bastard too counted your Westorosi way.” Alayaya tilts her head to the side as she returns to where he stands. She hands him his cup. “My father was a summer islander like my mother, a sailor passing through Kingslanding on his way to Braavos. But among my people there is no shame in bastard birth, for the gods made not only us but our desires too, and in that way we bastards are a gift of the gods.”

“I’ve never felt a gift.” Jon laughs, the sound more hollow than he expected.

I hadn’t originally planned for it, but Alayaya’s views on her own bastardry (which aren’t canon, but are a reasonable extrapolation) are a great contrast with Jon. Here she’s offering another way of viewing his bastard identity, a way of freeing himself from its shackles, but Jon just isn’t there. Stories are all about contrasts and foils, and Alayaya is a great one for Jon. Not to mention what surprisingly good chemistry they have.

To Romance Or Not To Romance?

In the notes for the first chapter I wrote:

I went back and forth quite a bit on whether this should be under the Jon/Sansa tag or not. Ultimately I did decide to put it there (for now), because I think if you’re into Jonsa you’ll enjoy it, but do note that the romantic elements of this story are not at all overt, so fair warning.

This pretty accurately reflected my initial mindset on how explicitly romantic the story was going to be. Being the first jonsa story I wrote, I think I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the incest facets of it (to be honest it’s still not an attractive part of the pairing to me), and they think of each other as brother and sister for most of this story. Even without any romance I was still driven to write the story: I generally find intimate platonic relationships as interesting as romantic ones.

As I finished retrofitting old chapters and writing new ones, more and more feelings started to show up between Jon and Sansa, until I realized that there was really no holding it back: this was going to be a fic where they had romantic feelings for each other far before they find out their cousins. Still, vacillating back and forth on how blatant to be about their attraction to each other is something that hounded me as I moved past the material I’d originally written, and kept moving itself earlier and earlier into the story.

Relationship Progression

The story can actually be broken into several distinct periods in the evolution of their relationship. The status quo when the story starts is Jon and Sansa are mostly salty at each other because of how few things they have in common and their general disdain and resentment. Neither of them have anything really like attraction for each other, but the underlying situation is there: they’re simultaneously too distant to really feel like siblings, but also too close to see each other as potential romantic interests.

The saltiness begins to give way as Jon begins to see more than just the image Sansa projects (her crying into his shirt over Lady), comes back a little bit in chapter two, and then gives way even more as he begins to see how not-perfect her life is.

“Joffrey is to break lances with Ser Loras.” There is something queer in Sansa’s voice, an uncertain edge to it that Jon cannot place. “He asked I watch.”

He bites his lip, but does not know what to say. Since she’d been old enough to curl up in old Nan’s lap Sansa had dreamed of marrying a lord like Joffrey, a shining prince with flashing blue eyes and gold hair. This is the song she’s always wanted: and she is not his sister in the way Arya is, in the way where he can ask her what troubles her. 

It’s still very opaque to him though until the end of chapter two:

The gale of voices of the ladies holding Joffrey aloft in the corridor is louder now, the sound pulsing in Jon’s blood. He reaches up and wraps his hand around Sansa’s fingers, and it takes all the will he has not to kneel in that moment and swear to her by the old gods and the new that he will protect her from Joffrey and the Lannisters and all the realm. But this is not a song and he is not a knight, not any more than he has ever been a Stark. Carefully, he untangles her fingers from his sleeve and gives them a tight squeeze. “Sansa,” he says meeting her eyes, and later he knows he will tell himself it is the wine that makes him step forward and brush his lips against her forehead. “Sansa Stark.”

This interaction is the start of an underlying, recurring tenderness in their relationship that will only grow over the course of the story. On a side note, this scene is also yet another invocation of the knight and maiden motif, and how Jon’s sense of duty is conflicted by his bastard identity.

Jon and Sansa���s relationship is kind of on hold for chapter three (Jon visits the brothel) and four (Arya leaves), and then picks up again in chapter five (Joffrey first hits Sansa), though they’re still not particularly close in that chapter, still at a sort of wary distance. The attraction element is beginning to strengthen though, like in this moment:

Sansa blinks and looks away, out to the window. For a moment she looks so like a maiden from a song waiting in her tower for some brave knight to come save her that it cuts Jon to the bone.

Which is a bit much for your sister.

Chapters six and seven are the next stage, when Jon and Sansa are drawn closer because of the situation they’re going through together: they’re really the only other person either of them can depend on and trust. But just as much as that kind of situation can forge a bond, I also wanted to show just how ugly abuse can be in tearing people apart.

Not to get pretentious, but one of the inspirations for that and the scene I’ll go into next was a section in Anna Karenina where she and her lover are shunned from society, and she starts to cling and become jealous of him even as he begins to resent her. Desperation and loneliness aren’t always pretty, and often don’t forge a bond.

Trauma and Abuse

Sansa giggles. “What do you think, Jon? Would fucking me keep you true?”

The words catch Jon like a slap. He drops her hands. “That isn’t funny, Sansa.”

This scene is a really pivotal one, bringing to the front a lot of the underlying elements of the story so far: how abuse can tear people apart, the latent attraction in Jon and Sansa’s relationship, and showing the emotional toll Joffrey’s abuse has taken on Sansa.

Ironically for such a pivotal scene though, it isn’t one I originally planned. I don’t remember how the idea first came to me, but I do remember that I initially rejected it for being too shippy and clashing too much with the tone of the story. But the idea stuck with me, and in execution I just tried to make it clear that Sansa isn’t so much jealous as simple insecurity and desperation: as much as Jon has been beside her, he isn’t the one undergoing abuse, and Sansa is very, very aware that he has a choice in whether to stay with her. As she says, he can leave the tower whenever he wants even as she’s trapped there.

She rolls her eyes. “I could make you happier than she makes Jaime, you know. All the court says I’m more beautiful than her. I’d treat you gentler too, let you use me like one of your whores and never once complain. I’m sorry I have all these bruises, but you can give me one of your own if you want. Would doing that make it easier for you? Would it make fucking your sister sweeter? I want it to be sweet for you, Jon, truly I do, so sweet you’ll never leave me, so sweet you’ll strike me at even the thought of another man in me.”

This is Sansa, in a moment of desperation beginning to lose her grasp on what a normal relationship is, conflating abuse with love, and embracing the idea that her only value to men, even Jon, is her appearance. It's a bit of a nod to what Cersei in canon tells Sansa tears aren’t a woman's only weapons, that she also has one between her legs. Just as later Jaime will be a good foil for Jon when it comes to why the knight saves the maiden (which I’ll go into in a bit), Cersei is the other side of the coin from Sansa. Not exploring that dynamic between Sansa and Cersei in actual scenes is actually something I kind of regret not doing, though I didn’t think of it till too late; if I was ever to expand or turn this into an original story it’s something I’d definitely include.

There is a dull roar in Jon’s ears as he reaches up and clasps Sansa’s face between his hands, jerks her eyes back to meet his. “I will never strike you.” The words are sharp, short, harsh, but Jon needs her to understand, needs her to know beyond the flicker of a doubt. “And I will never leave you, Sansa. I swear that, swear it before the sight of gods and men, swear it by the old gods and the new. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever, not until I draw my last breath and the life leaves my body and the crows come to feast on my eyes. You are my heart, Sansa. You are all I have. Never doubt that. Never.”

This is really the only way I ever thought about writing Jon react. There are other ways that might make sense, but needing to give Sansa comfort in that moment is the only thing that felt truly right to me.

Would Fucking Me Keep You True?

One of the techniques Martin uses a lot in asoiaf is a short phrase that gets stuck in a character’s head and repeats whenever they’re feeling a particular emotion. This is a technique that really works for me because it’s something that happens to me in real life (hurrah for mental illness), and “would fucking me keep your true?” is the one that crops up the most in this fic. Mostly it’s because it’s just such a good shorthand for the for the tangled and complex feelings Jon has for Sansa and his sense of duty and understanding of knighthood.

That tangle of feelings is what marks the next section of Jon and Sansa’s relationship through till the last chapter; as indefinable as it is, it’s the only solid and true thing in their lives, and it’s what Jon clings to after he leaves Sansa and sets off to find Dany and bring her back.

---

This post got much longer than I thought it would, so I’m going to break this off here and finish it up in another post down the line.

[gizkasparadise]

for the end of year fic ask: 14, 22, & 23

a fic you didn’t expect to write

i’ll start getting more specific than “GOT” lol. the fury? i had no intention to do a multi-chap, esp with got whose lore is So Much. but 8x4 made me upset and so a lot of spite writing just sort of...happened

events you participated in this year

i wrote naked & afraid for gendrya week! sadly that was it

fics you wanted to write but didn’t

i had a couple of long oneshots planned for gendrya that i didnt get to. for the “oh my god they were soulmates” series, i was going to do jon/ygritte, cat/ned, and jaime/brienne but never got around to it :/

[ao3feed-sansaery]

Running Into You

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/35M4Irl

by sklirotiri

Arya got on the tube everyday to go from hers and Sansa's place to uni. She did not realize that she would meet *him* in her sleep deprived, coffee-less state and she certainly did not think that she would end up in a situation like *that*.

Words: 2083, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: Multi

Characters: Arya Stark, Gendry Waters, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Ygritte (ASoIaF), Joffrey Baratheon, Meryn Trant, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow/Ygritte

Additional Tags: This was supposed to be an oneshot, But I have no self control, so here is a series of unfortunate events, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Protective Gendry Waters, Badass Arya, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, archaeology grad Arya, TA / bartender Gendry

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/35M4Irl

[random-imagines-blog]

This Could Be Anywhere in the World {Ygritte x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2068 Summary: Travels across the wildlands make you hungry ... and tired.

Your hold on Ygritte’s mittened hand was as tight as it could be with such thick fabric separating skin. But you knew that if actually had flesh touching flesh up here, beyond the wall, you might actually freeze together. And as much as you loved her and wanted to be around her for the rest of your life, being conjoined like that was not the ideal. “We should be making camp soon,” You said, noticing how it was starting to grow dark. The stars above were starting to make themselves known, twinkling in the sky. Living life as a nomad, home was wherever you decided to set up camp, and you were just about ready to head home now. “There’s a spot right over there, nice and sheltered, see?” You pointed towards a rock formation which looked to be natural rather than man-made. Ygritte nodded in agreement.

Ygritte worked on the tent while you worked on getting a fire going. You had a couple of hares that you had been hunting along the way that you were ready to put over the flames. Your stomach was growling intensely from all of the walking and the lack of nourishment. “I can hear that from all the way over here!”Ygritte called from where she was setting up the furs that would be your slelter for the night. They were just to keep away the cold winds. They did nothing against the temperature. But that’s what snuggling together for body heat was for. You laughed at her, picking up a small pile of snow, formed it into a ball and threw it at her. It caught her by surprise, hitting her square in the back. You were surprised she was even able to feel it given how thick her coat was. She let out a squeal, turning around to look at you with shock and dismay. “Did you just throw a snowball at me?” She asked.

“Maybe!” You grinned. “That’s what you get for making fun of my poor stomach. It just likes to sing sometimes. You should feel honored that it decided to do so in your presence!”

“You’re so weird,” Ygritte muttered, going back to work. And you went back to the fire, striking flint against rock over some wood that you had collected on the way, until a spark started to form. You blew on it gently, and it finally took to being flame, moving to the other branches and creating a fire. You stood up, ready to celebrate your victory by skinning those hares and getting the meat over the fire when something hit the back of your head. You gasped, and turned around to see Ygritte wiping snow off of her hands. She looked very satisfied with herself.

“Now what was that one for?” You asked, narrowing your eyes. She had the shelter set up now, though it waved a little in the wind. That was the best that one could do out here sometimes. She saw the look in your eye, the one that usually meant that she was going to be getting tackled into the snow.She hurried into the shelter, poking her head out from beneath the flaps, watching your every move. You got up slowly, letting the carcasses fall from your grip onto the ground. Then raced into the shelter to get at her.

The snow had been trampled so instead of being ankle high, it was under your boots. She laughed her snort-like laugh as you pushed her down, getting on top of her, grin overtaking your face. She batted at you with her arms, usually very strong, but no match for you, especially while they were shaking with her laughter. “Stop, gerrof mee-” She said, as you took a handful of snow and started to sprinkle it onto her face. “Nooooo!”

“You gonna say mercy?” You asked.

“You’re the one who started it!”

“You made fun of my stomach growling!”

“That ain’t my fault! It was asking for it!”  

“You’re asking for it!”

“Okay, okay, mercy, mercy!” Ygritte said, and you let the rest of the snow drop down beside her. Her nose was now a bright pink color from the cold, and it was rather becoming on her. Along with the red cheeks. Her hair was sticking to her wet forehead, and she pushed it out of the way using the back of her mitten. You chuckled and rolled off of her, and the both of you got back up onto your feet. You brushed snow off of her back where it had gathered between the bristly furs.

“Did  ya get the meat started yet?” She asked. “I’m starvin.”

“Well I would have if you weren’t so damn distracting!” You said, leaving the shelter to see that the fire had nearly gone out. A few more twigs and another strike of flint and you had it going again. You sat your butt down on the snowy ground, and started to tear the fur off of your prey, saving as much as you could so you could make a hat or something. Waste not want not.

There was a quiet save for the crackling of the fire whenever it reached a wet spot on the wood. It sent out little sparks, and quite a bit of smoke. That would keep animals away, but would alert any other people to your presence. There wasn’t much that you could do about that at the moment. You shoved the carcasses onto some of Ygritte’s arrows and held it over the flames, turning it slowly to let the meat cook evenly. Just because it wasn’t a feast didn’t mean it would be bad. “Could do with a little salt,” You said into the night. “It’s been forever since we’ve had anything good to season the meat with. Oh gods, and now I’m thinking about potatoes. Do you remember potatoes?” Your mouth was watering just thinking about it.

“Barely,” Ygritte said, sadly. “I remember carrots though. Everyone called me that for a while. Cause of the hair,” She went from sad to bitter. You tried not to laugh, you really did. But now you were just thinking about her having carrots instead of hair. The cold and the hunger were driving you crazy. That would be your excuse. She shoved at you and you nearly dropped the meat but managed to keep your hold on it.

“Watch it! This is all we’ve got, and it’s way too dark to go hunting again tonight,” You said. You pulled it off of the flame and took a look. Almost done. You put it back on just to make sure that it was all cooked down to the middle. Getting food poisoning and having it run out of both ends while on a skirmish like this was not fun at all. You gave her the first one though, handing her the arrow. “Go on, you deserve it for setting up the shelter.”

She took it without argument. She greedily bit into it, the small amount of juices running down her chin, only for her to remove one of her mittens, wipe it off, then lick it off of her fingers. It was always amusing watching her eat. It was like watching an animal finally take down it’s meal. You had to take your eyes off of her to skin the next hare, and roast it over the fire for yourself. The smell of yours combined with what Ygritte hadn’t chopped down yet made your stomach grow excited. You could have sworn it was doing flips in there, like the entertainers you heard about, doing fancy feasts and things.

When it was done, you finally ate. It wasn’t enough to fill you, but it was hard to feel full out here where food is scarce. It was just enough, though, for your stomach to feel calmer. For you to feel a bit warmer from the inside out. You laid back against the snow, looking upwards at what stars you could make out through the smoke. Ygritte laid back with you.

“Why do I always find myself on my back around yeh?” She asked, making you laugh and nudge her with your elbow.

“Cause you’re so annoyin, I always have to push you over.” You joked. “Though I guess you found yourself annoying enough this time, you went and did it all on your own.”

“Pushed yourself down first,” She pointed out, making you stop laughing. You sighed contently though, ready for a rest after all of the walking and the eating that you had just done. But you were just a bit too lazy to get yourself over to the shelter. The wind had died down somewhat so you were comfortable. “Do yeh think it will ever stop snowing?”

“Nah. You know how the Gods like to keep us miserable. All this free and wild land but can’t grow shit on it. Makin’ a home is almost impossible because the strong winds blow everything down. Can’t even have a family cause the elements take em from yeh”

Ygritte hummed by you. “It’s no’ so bad. It ain’t fancy dresses and eating at tables but we’re tougher than they could ever be.”

“Is it better to be tough than happy?” You asked. And then found yourself laughing again spite yourself. “I should get some sleep. I think too much when I’m tired.”

“Yeah, you get weird,” Ygritte said, sitting back up. She warmed her hands by the fire, which was starting to die out due to lack of attention. “Shelter’s all ready. We should move on early tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably.” You said, getting up. You kicked a bit of snow over the fire to stop the smoke, stop any people from coming along, and went into the shelter. It was pitch back in there once you were surrounded by the furs. But it was warm. It was sheltered against any wind that might come, and bring torrents of snow with it. Always a risk this far north.

But you didn’t lay down right away. Just sat back against the rock. It was cool, but it was a nice sort of cool. It felt good against the back of your neck after you had removed your hood, scrunching it up so you could use it as a pillow after lying down. Ygritte sat beside you. You noticed that she had been staying particularly close lately, and it didn’t just feel like a safety in numbers thing. This girl had the habit of making your heart beat fast.

“What are you starin at me for?” She asked, accent thick but muffled by her scarf.

“You’ve still got snow on ye,” You said quickly, and patted the back of her jacket though there was nothing there. “How am I supposed to get some sleep if ye keep chatting my ear off?”

“How am I supposed to get some sleep if ye keep staring at me?” Ygritte retorted. She huffed, reached around you to put one hand on the side of your head, and made you lean down to be on her shoulder. The bristles of the fur smelt like smoke and snow, a comforting combination since those really were the only two smells up here in the north. Those and death. You nuzzled in to get some more warmth, making the redhead squirm a little. Her movements just made you all the more comfortable. “Now will ye close your damn eyes? We got an early morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You muttered, and allowed your heavy eyelids to close. You could feel her faintly moving with her breathing, her shoulders rising up and then down very slowly. Her breathing evened out. And then came the snores. The noise made you smile because it was such a Ygritte noise to make. Even in her sleep she was far from delicate and ladylike. And that’s what you loved about her.

You finally started to drift off, finding comfort and familiarity in the person beside you rather than your surroundings. As long as you were with her - this spot, the best one you could imagine - could be anywhere in the world.

[kussykitten]

“EL ROSTRO DE HIELO Y FUEGO”

(ONESHOT):

Ojos grises como la bruma se encontraron regresándole la mirada a una mirada similar en agudeza y color, pero con un evidente titubeo. ¿Cómo poder matar a quien siempre había sido su hermano y quien mejor la entendía?

Sin duda Arya no se sentía capaz.

—Hazlo —exclamó Jon, de pie ante los restos del trono de hierro —esta maldición ha de terminar conmigo. He de sellar para siempre el legado maldito de los Targaryen. —La firmeza de la que había carecido para detener a su amada tía, en ese momento se percibía en su tono ronco y sereno.

Al mismo tiempo obviaba los cuerpos de madre e hijo a sus espaldas, con la sangre empapando al recién nacido y los pálidos brazos que lo acunaban contra el seno materno; su tía y su hijo. Sí, ambos muertos luego del alumbramiento.

Arya pasó saliva con esfuerzo, una capa de sudor bañando su frente. —Yo no-...

—¡Tienes que hacerlo! —El clamor de Jon inquieto al dragón que seguía tumbado en los restos de la sala del trono, lloriqueando frente el cuerpo de quien le había dado vida. —Soy el último de los Targaryen con vida, nunca habrá paz mientras yo respire.

—Tú no eres como ella, Jon.

—¿Cómo puedes afirmarlo, Arya? ¿Cómo? —cuestionó con un angustioso fervor. —Los Targaryen unieron a los siete reinos y su reinado no trajo más que locura, miedo... fuego y sangre. —Clavó sus ojos pesarosos en Drogon, quien lo observaba con claro malestar pero no se atrevía a atacarlo al reconocer la sangre que corría por sus venas.

—Porque eres mi hermano —la respuesta fue instantánea, cargada de convicción.

El vestigio de una sonrisa apareció en el rostro del moreno, quien observó a la joven que por años él también había visto como hermana.

—Ah, mi querida Arya, sin importar cuan letal seas con un arma en las manos, siempre tendrás el corazón más noble de todos los siete reinos —negó con la cabeza luego de hablar con un tono melancólico. Dramáticamente similar al que una vez su predecesor poseyó.

Rhaegar Targaryen.

Ella sonrió a su vez, convencida de que podría volver con Jon a Invernalia y dejar atrás las desgracias que el Sur le había traído a su familia.

—Vamos a casa, Jon —tendió su palma en espera de la ajena.

Un brillo de duda reprimió la resolución en ojos del hombre, al ver esa pequeña mano deseó aferrarse a ella para así poder volver al helado hogar que era familiar y amado por él. En verdad quiso hacerlo.

—Ven Arya —le suplicó. El ruego de un guerrero vuelto infante, anhelando sentir la calidez del refugio que Arya siempre había sido para él.

Confiada ante la conocida voz de su hermano, Arya avanzó sin pausa hasta llegar delante de él, sorprendida cuando un par de bruscas manos la tomaron de ambos brazos y tiraron de su cuerpo. El inesperado movimiento la arrastró hasta el frente, pero el razonamiento de la muchacha no alcanzó a reaccionar con suficiente rapidez; el deslizar del filo de la daga que le había dado Bran, se hundió en el centro del pecho de Jon sin esfuerzo alguno.

Con una mortal delicadeza.

El jadeo ahogado de la Stark pronto se transformó en un alarido. Uno lo suficientemente desesperado para hacer eco de los intentos que así por apartarse de Jon. Más, el agarre contrario le impedía cumplir su cometido.

—¡No, Jon! —aulló. —¿¡Qué hiciste?! ¡Déjame ir, déjame ir por los siete infiernos! —Los gritos fueron seguidos de fuertes sollozos y sendos lagrimo es corriendo por sus mejillas.

A pesar de la resistencia que ponía Arya, la fuerza de Jon se impuso para atraerla más y más, buscando encajar la hoja tan dentro de si mismo como fuese posible. Le dolía ver las lágrimas de su hermana, pero sabía que era la única forma de librar a cada pueblo de un posible sucesor de la locura anidada en la impía sangre Targaryen.

Tal vez Arya no lo comprendía aún, pero con el tiempo ella lo haría. Ese pensamiento hizo que no dudara y terminara de arrastrar a su hermana para apegarla por completo a su pecho. El abrazo forzando a la hoja del arma para atravesar finalmente su cuerpo y sobresalir por su espalda; rojo escarlata brotó de la comisura de su boca y empapó ambos figuras.

Sorpresivamente, él pudo sentir como la frente de Arya descansaba su hombro, ocultando el rostro cincelado con lágrimas y dolor. Ese sentimiento lo había conocido en muchas ocasiones, realmente familiar, pero extrañamente ajeno en lo que parecían ser sus últimos instantes de vida. Sonrió a medias y guió su mano para alzar el orgulloso mentón de la menor.

—Tú eres quien merece proteger los siete reinos. —A pesar de que su cuerpo empezó a caer llevándose consigo el de la castaña, Jon se resistió a la agonía física que reclamaba su vida. —Tú fuiste la única que terminó con el destino del Caminante de la Noche, tú fuiste quien sobrevivió a la masacre de Daenerys, —nunca más Danny —solo tú puedes encarar a la muerte con valor y no ser tentada por el poder... —jadeó, y cuando quedó tendido en el suelo con la cabeza en el regazo de Arya, mantuvo el férreo agarre sobre su barbilla con el fin obligarla a mirarlo —...Solo puede haber una dama de Invernalia... y tú odias los vestidos —limpió con su pulgar las diminutas gotas cristalinas en descenso. —No debes ser reina, debes ser la guardiana de los siete reinos.

La declaración sonó como la confirmación de un hecho.

Entre lágrimas ella volvió a negar, pero la convicción que enfrentó en ojos ajenos la dejó petrificada en su sitio. La mano había soltado la daga inconscientemente y ahora aferraba las pesadas pieles de cuero que cubrían a Jon. Podía sentir claramente cómo se escapaba la vida de aquel cuerpo, ella reconocería la muerte en cualquier lugar pues muchas veces la había visto culminar su lento proceso: era inevitable.

—El mundo necesita un rey... un rey que no debo ser yo —dijo, agitando su cabeza de un lado a otro. —Así es como debe terminar la historia maldita de mi concepción, y la que se cierne sobre el Trono de Hierro —continuó después de respirar con fatiga un par de veces —. Varys clamó al mundo que yo soy el heredero legítimo al trono, por eso yo debo gobernar... a través tuyo —susurró, conforme al notar la comprensión en el rostro de Arya. —Lidera, reconstruye y cambia la historia que nuestras familias crearon, forja una melodía nacida del fuego y el hielo capaz de instaurar paz.

“Pronto estaré en casa, Ygritte, lamento que me tomase tanto tiempo.” Tal fue el pensamiento del Stark.

Antes de que ella pudiese reaccionar a las palabras del mayor, nuevamente fue atraída hacia abajo en donde una respiración hizo cosquillas en su coronilla. Pronto unos labios se posaron sobre su frente en un gesto tan cálido y conocido que, al instante cesaron sus lágrimas. Lentamente las rugosas manos que acunaban su cara perdieron fuerza, la señal inequívoca que acababa con el largo camino recorrido por Jon Snow. No, no era sí. ¿Aegon Targaryen? No. Aquel hombre solo merecía un nombre.

Aquel que fuera Jon... Stark. Hijo de Lord Eddard Satark.

Su hermano.

Por largos momentos ella permaneció inclinada sobre él, sosteniendo su cabeza en sus delgadas piernas. La postura era tan trillada y ajena a ella pero aún así lo reconfortó, mientras iniciaba el nuevo camino que debía seguir por Sansa, por aquel soez gnomo, por el mismo Jon. Pero principalmente en nombre de la paz de su familia y del Norte. ¿Era egoísta? Sí, pero poco le importaba.

La decisión estaba tomada...

*****************

Pudo ser una eternidad, quizás solo un instante, pero no tenía importancia alguna cuando una figura lentamente empezó a levantarse del suelo. Su andar era el único sonido en aquel recinto, meras ruinas de lo que una vez fue, e indiscutiblemente, el recuerdo de la mano conquistadora que en el pasado lo forjó.

Con calma y sin alterar su imponente postura, la silueta se dio la vuelta para encarar al dragón que seguía paralizado en el centro de la habitación, testigo de un ritual que no provocó mella en la bestia. Eso era bueno, sin duda. Se podía percibir el desinterés en los ojos de aquel animal mítico, proveedor de la destrucción que había azotado Desembarco del Rey no mucho tiempo atrás.

Sin mostrar temor ante el guardián incondicional de la Reina de Cenizas, avanzó paso a paso hasta quedar frente a él. Ambas miradas se encontraron y reconoció el instante preciso en que el dragón comprendió que su tiempo también había llegado al fin. No le sorprendió ver como la mirada de la criatura observaba de soslayo hacia donde descansaba el cuerpo inerte de su madre y aquel bebé alumbrado ciertamente con vida, pero lo suficientemente débil como para robar más allá del primer aliento y llanto infantil. Ese había sido el último peldaño que la Targaryen había pisado antes de dejar de luchar, desangrarse y partir siguiendo a su hijo.

Curiosamente el monstruo alado no mostró rabia al ver el diminuto cuerpo, parecía más un silencioso anhelo cargado por largo tiempo.

Después de unos instantes el dragón volvió a fijar su vista en la figura delante de él, reconociendo la seguridad, fuerza, poder y resolución que el engañoso rostro no había tenido antes. Sin duda había habido valor, pero sólo el valor no era suficiente para sobrevivir y amar, la bestia lo sabía bien; una vez, en otra vida tal vez, había comprobado que la que la audacia y el valor podían matarte sí no eras lo suficientemente inteligente.

—¿Estas listo para volver a tu propio hogar?

Incluso la voz que le habló parecía cargada de una fuerza capaz de elogiar. Pero él no alabaría aquella engañosa presencia. Podría haberla incinerado simplemente, pero estaba cansado de estar en la tierra de los mortales, tanto él como el alma que dormía en su interior únicamente buscaban volver al punto de inicio; reencontrarse con madre y amante, compañera y familia. Con esa amazona de alabastro amada por ambos.

Bestia y hombre.

El enorme cuerpo se alzó en todo su imponente tamaño, rodeando la figura interpuesta en su camino para llegar al lugar en donde tres cuerpos permanecían postrados. Al arribar al sitio se dejó caer nuevamente con las alas abiertas de par en par, una acción para envolver a los muertos, quienes esperaban pacientemente el guía que los llevaría a sus respectivos destinos. Uno de ellos jamás le había agradado, pero sabía que aunque una parte de él quisiera dejarlo a la deriva, debía cumplir con conducirlo a su destino final.

La posición lo dejó ver de nuevo a la presencia que se había dirigido a él, reconociendo que aunque no había motivos para mostrarle respeto -ya fuese por devoción u obligación-, quería mirarla a los ojos y escuchar de nuevo esa palabra que su madre le había enseñado tiempo atrás. Esa orden la cual no volvería a oír una vez emprendido el largo viaje para reunirse con su propia especie; con los antiguos jinetes forjados entre el fuego y el brillo níveo de la Luna, nombrados Targaryen; con sus dos hermanos, y... con el espíritu de su madre. La que los había traído a la vida, deseada por la esencia del salvaje hombre y forzada como él a esperar por el ansiado reencuentro.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Vagamente recordó burdas palabras humanas susurradas por aquella bruja, un pedazo de consciencia que el hombre había poseído antes de partir y ser uno solo con él: “recuperara la consciencia cuando el sol salga por el oeste y se ponga por el este. Cuando el mar se seque y las montañas vuelen como las hojas. Cuando tu vientre se hinche de nuevo y tenga un hijo vivo. Solo entonces, él volverá, no antes”. Y la hechicera había dicho la verdad, pues la eternidad que pisarían empezaba en ese momento.

Con la muerte de la última bestia y los últimos jinetes.

Igual a una confirmación de lo que el dragón deseaba escuchar, el nombre de su madre se hizo eco en su mente en un constante arrullo. Claramente él y el hombre ya estaban listos para partir, agotados y deseosos de culminar el absurdo viaje de poder, conquista, fuego y sangre. Pero se reprimió un poco más, postrando su poder a merced de la presencia ante él, la única testigo del final de los jinetes que los habían montado por siglos y de su propia su estirpe. Tan solo una leve inclinación de su feroz rostro, sin dejar de ver unos orbes grisáceos.

Y lo supo. Supo cuando el entendimiento pudo ser transmitido y poco a poco se acercó a él, dejando que la criatura contuviera la respiración ante la expectación latente. Ambos sabían que era un regalo y una muestra de respeto mutua, por lo cual se dejó embelesar por la cadencia del hablar mortal y rememoró a su madre.

—Dracarys.

Que diferente era el tono de voz, que opuesta era la finalidad de la orden, pero la bestia se deleitó en ese momento para vagar en sus recuerdos, donde volaba a campo traviesa con su bella jinete aferrada a él. La demanda materna había sido destrucción y ésta, aún si no era conocida representaba la libertad. No se percató cuando sus ojos se cerraron pero poco a poco los abrió para ver la figura aún delante suyo.

Impávida. Segura. Inamovible.

Asintió finalmente sin mover su enorme cuerpo, recostándose nuevamente para envolver a los tres últimos con nombre Targaryen. Expuesto en toda su ferocidad volvió a cerrar los ojos y permitió que su propio fuego interior se desbordara por sus escamas, envolviéndolos en cálidas llamaradas rojas y naranjas. Una danza de colores y el ardiente abrazo de su misma naturaleza que los llamaba a casa con el fin de trazar su último recorrido...

*****************

Las flamas se elevaron tan virulentas como la primera vez, una llamarada que a pesar de su poder destructor, no embistió contra la silenciosa figura, una muda observadora de aquel siniestro y solemne espectáculo; ahí, ardiendo en una hoguera delante del trono de Hierro, el brutal dragón se consumía llevándose los cadáveres de los últimos nacidos bajo el yugo de la dinastía más poderosa y cruel en toda la historia.

Por unos instantes esa idea permaneció en su mente, un esquivo pensamiento que reclamó su lógica al ver como poco a poco, tanto el dragón como los cuerpos empezaban a consumirse en nada más que cenizas. La ironía del destino se apreciaba con crudeza, una consumación del ciclo que habían construido y ahora destruían los Targaryen.

Tal vez fue el humo que aún permanecía en al aire, quizás las cenizas de todos los muertos que habían sido condenados –no hace mucho– en esa tierra infame, o probablemente solo el polvo que seguía desprendiéndose de las ruinas –de un imperio derrocado por alguien de su propio clan–, pero mientras los restos de la bestia, el hijo, la madre y el hombre se elevaban, un brillo traicionero destelló en los ojos del único espectador. No obstante, lo que vio a continuación fue inesperado y mágico.

Las cenizas de los caídos por última vez en ese salón, se dispersaron en dos caminos opuestos.

Igual a un vals lento, un puñado de aquellos restos se entremezcló tras ir al encuentro de otro más grande, haciéndose uno solo a medio camino para después elevarse más y más. Hasta perderse finalmente en lo alto.

Por otra parte, la última y distante acumulación de cenizas voló hacia su posición, realizando un lento ir y venir a su alrededor. No pasó mucho para que de igual forma se elevara con el fin de dispersarse, solo que a diferencia de los primeros, esta último emprendió su marcha directamente hacia mel Norte.

No pronunció palabra pero comprendió al instante que, así como los hombres amaban jugar con tronos y castillos, los dioses a su vez, disfrutaban jugando con el porvenir de los hombres. Nuevamente el humor cósmico se regodeaba del infortunio o la fortuna que había enlazado a la casa Targaryen y Stark, separándolas solamente cuando lo consideró oportuno. Tal vez la mordacidad de esa idea le podría agradar al sabio enano que permanecía en Invernalia.

Sus ojos recorrieron todo el lugar y nuevamente alzó la vista.

Recordaba haber escuchado rumores sobre el hombre que tanto había amado la Reina de Cenizas, un salvaje que perdió junto a su primer hijo. No podía decir que sentía aprecio por la mujer, pero a veces la naturaleza de uno salía a relucir aún si no lo querías. Y aunque en un principio había temido a aquella feroz criatura, por alguna extraña razón creyó ver los vestigios de la comprensión en sus enormes ojos, aunados al rastro de un “algo” o “alguien” que, reptaba bajo la superficie. Profundamente enterrado.

Ilógico o no, sabía perfectamente que las cenizas perdidas en lo alto del cielo y despuntando con el alba matinal, pertenecían a esa mujer. A la albina y al de sus dos hijos: el último dragón y el recién nacido concebido con... Sí, seguramente la casa Targaryen por fin se reuniría con sus fascinantes criaturas, darían la bienvenida a la última hija viva de Aerys II, donde ella se reencontraría con los que una vez perdió y amó. Mientras que “él” partiría hacia el hogar prometido en el Norte, donde sus ancestros lo recibirían con el mismo amor que una vez le habían obsequiado. ¿Quien podía saber? Probablemente ahí encontraría un sano querer que aliviara las penas sufridas en vida.

Viejo o nuevo. En paz.

Pero aún tenía algunas dudas, absurdas tal vez, pero deseosas de ser respondidas; ¿podrían reencontrarse y unirse ambas casas en el más allá? En las estrellas, en un oasis de paz fuera de los páramos humanos, ¿Targaryen y Stark cruzarían sus caminos? Era un misterio sin duda. En vida había habido caos y dolor, pero quizás en la muerte ambas familias vagarían por la eternidad en una danza forjada entre el hielo y el fuego. Con indómitos lobos huargos y feroces dragones.

Era ridículo querer pensar en eso.

En ese momento, entre los escombros de lo que antaño había sido una impresionante fortaleza, cumpliría con la promesa hecha. Tal convicción guió sus pasos al momento en que se inclinó al pie de ese viciado trono, recogiendo la espada indemne entre los restos de sangre. Tomó el pesado mango de “Garra” y la enfundó en su cinto, conduciendo sus pasos con seguridad sobre los escalones en un ascenso para llegar a su objetivo final.

El Trono de Hierro.

La pulida superficie aún lucía un crudo tono escarlata por la sangre de su antigua portadora, pero simplemente obvió aquello. Ella no podía darse el lujo de vacilar ante algo tan banal. ¿Cómo amedrentarse cuando la promesa hecha entre hermanos era lo primordial para la joven Arya?

Más importante que incluso ceder su propia esencia.

Con tal seguridad palpitando en su corazón, en sus cienes y en su propio estómago, se detuvo para poder apreciar unos momentos la arrebatadora fuerza adherida a la solitaria silla. Sabía bien que Aegon I “El Conquistador” la había forjado con las espadas de sus enemigos y el fuego de Balerion, quien fuese su enorme dragón. Tan solo recordar aquello le provocaba escalofríos, inspirándola para salir huyendo de un momento a otro, aún a sabiendas de que jamás podría.

Incluso el volver al Norte parecía una opción imposible, ya que en ese momento ella era necesaria ahí. O bueno, al menos el mundo debía pensar que lo era. Los rumores al igual que la pólvora se esparcían por cada rincón de los siete reinos, acallarlos era imposible una vez iniciados; Varys había confesado que el verdadero rey era nada más y nada menos que Aerys Targaryen.

El hijo nacido entre Rhaegal Targaryen y Lyanna Stark.

Luego de que la locura de Daenerys aullentara a todo su ejército, ella se había quedado sola entre aquellos lúgubres escombros, embarazada y sin ninguna cuidad a su favor.

Ahora era lógico que ella iniciara su nuevo papel a petición de Jon, por lo cual, lentamente se posó sobre la fría silla de acero, antes de alzar poco al poco los ojos. Sus brazos recargados en los reposabrazos.

Ahí fue donde Arya alzó la cara por vez primera, encarando al mundo con su frente en alto.

La frente de Jon Stark.

Literal y metafóricamente hablando.

Sabía bien que ella encarnaría la esencia de Jon y sería más letal que ninguno. Por eso, debía despedirse definitivamente de quien una vez fuese la joven Stark, cerrar sus ojos y mantener firmemente la canción de Hielo y Fuego compuesta en Jon.

Era sin duda un adiós para Invernalia, su hogar y su familia debían quedar atrás. Despojarse de todos y todo, para que lo que una vez fue un centenar de desconocidos e incluso un “nadie”, ahora fuese superado por su verdadera naturaleza. Así mantendría el deseo de los siete reinos encarnando un rostro que no era el suyo, pero que sin duda poseía el espíritu de Jon.

Ella gobernaría a través suyo.

Con sus ojos y su voluntad.

Poco a poco abrió sus ojos y pronunció con voz ronca una sola línea que sellaba su destino, e iniciaba el nuevo ciclo del “príncipe prometido” nacido del Hielo y el Fuego.

—Que el juego comience.

[mysticmcu]

things you can request

game of thrones:

daenerys targaryen

john snow

sansa stark

arya stark

robb stark

brandon stark

cercei lannister

jaimie lannister

tyrion lannister

petyr baelish

sandor clagane

margaery tyrell

theon greyjoy

yara greyjoy

grienne of tarth

dario naharis

ygritte

tormund

missandei

melisandre

gendry waters

doctor who:

ninth doctor

tenth doctor

eleventh doctor

twelfth doctor

thirteenth doctor

rose tyler

jack harkness

martha jones

donna noble

amelia pond

rory pond

clara oswald

bill potts

yasmin khan

ryan sinclair

graham o’brien

harry potter:

harry potter

ron weasley

hermione granger

fred weasley

george weasley

bill weasley

ginevra weasley

luna lovegood

neville longbottom

draco malfoy

james potter

lily evans

sirius black

remus lupin

newt scamander

tina goldstain

queenie goldstain

nymphadora tonks

supernatural:

dean winchester

sam winchester

castiel

jack kline

gabriel

crowley

rowena macleod

charlie brudbery

kevin tran

meg masters

the walking dead:

rick grimes

daryl dixon

negan

carl grimes

enid 

maggie rhee

glenn rhee

beth greene

paul monroe

rosita espinosa

shane walsh

andrea

tara chambler

aaron

sasha williams

sherlock:

sherlock holmes

john watson

mary watson

mycroft holmes

irene adler

molly hooper

jim moriarty

greg lestrade

mcu:

tony stark

steve rogers

natasha romanoff

clint barton

bruce banner

thor odinson

wanda maximoff

pietro maximoff

vision

bucky barnes

sam wilson

peter parker

loki odinson

stephen strange

scott lang

pepper potts

hope pym

carol danvers

agents of shield:

phil coulson

melinda may

leopold fitz

jemma simmons

daisy johnson

lance hunter

bobbi morse

the 100:

clarke griffin

bellamy blake

octavia blake

jasper jordan

raven reyes

roan kom azgeda

lexa kom trikru

john murphy

abigail griffin

marcus kane

luna kom floukru

lincoln kom trikru

teen wolf:

isaac lahey

scott mccall

stiles stilinski

darek hale

cora hale

peter hale

lydia martin

malia tate

kira yukimura

chris argent

chilling adventures of sabrina:

sabrina spellman

ambrose spellman

nicholas scratch

prudence night

madam satan

fear the walking dead:

nick clark

troy otto

alicia clark

jake otto

ofelia salazar

victor strand

remember you can request me every actor or actress in those fandoms

kind of stories:

oneshot

serie

preference

would include

head canon

I really love write smut, daddy kink (every kind of kink actually) and angsty.

I do poligamy too, it’s not a problem to me.

In the other hand, I just don’t write blood play, coz FOR ME is kinda gross.

[fedonciadale]

Time for Jonsaexchange - Voices in the snow

Here is my oneshot for @redwolf1283. It’s called ‘Voices in the snow’. This little ficlet assumes that ‘political Jon’ is true and that the alliance forged in season 7 will fall to pieces.... It’s past season 7, somewhere in the middle of the chaos that will happen. Also on AO3.

English is not my first language, so please, dear giftée, just overlook any typos or errors and just go with it. I hope you like it!

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’. Ygritte said.

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’. Mellisandre said.

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’. Ygritte said.

It is as if Jon just can’t stop hearing their voices in his head. For once he does not yearn for tranquillity. He would gladly be in a noisy hall right now, men drinking ale, trading insults or stories. Anything to drown out the voices. For once, Ghost presence is no consolation either. As Jon wanders through the snow, aimlessly, he wishes that Ghost would howl. He’d like to howl himself, lose himself in the moment of the hunt. He could join in hunting some deer, become one with his wolf, lose himself in the easy and uncomplicated needs of the wolf. But the voices would probably follow him.

He could drink himself into oblivion, but getting ale would mean that he would have to face somebody. Briefly, he ponders if he should go to the weirwood tree, but he doubts that the unblinking red eyes of the tree would feel comfortable right now. The crypts come to his mind, but the thought makes him give a short bark of a laugh.

‘I’ll tell you about your mother when we’ll see each other again’. That sentence comes to him unbidden, and the voices pick it up. It feels strange, that Ygritte says these words in his head.

So, he drags his feet through the snow, the voices in his head, his fingers are already numb, and by the position of the sun, that does not warm the cold and frosty air, he has been walking in circles for hours. His ragged breath leaves flags of white in the air.

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow. ‘

‘I’ll tell you about your mother.’

‘I’ve seen them. I’ll fight with you against them.’ This was Daenerys’ voice. What a jest! He could have known that this was just said in the spur of a moment. Nothing he had done, had prevented the disaster. It was all for nothing.

Jon cursed as his foot hit a stone. The sudden pain in his cold feet felt like he was stabbed, and his foot began to tingle. I must go inside, or I’ll freeze to death. Already he was feeling tired, although the lack of sleep of the last weeks might have caught up with him as well.

It would be nice to just lay down and sleep. A part of him knew this to be dangerous thoughts, but a part of him would welcome the feeling of drifting of into nothingness. Let others take up the burden. The North doesn’t want me anyway. And why should they?

‘You must be smarter than Robb. You must be smarter than father’. The other voices in his head stopped suddenly, when Sansa’s pleading voice spoke to him.

Jon stopped in his tracks and found himself calling out loud. “I tried Sansa, I tried to be smarter! If I just had known….” Ghost put a distance to him. Jon could feel that Ghost was shocked at the sudden noise.

His own voice sounded strange in his ears. Still, he continued shouting: “I did not know! If I had known, I would never have left.” I would never have left you.

“I wanted her dragons. I wanted her dragons to fight for us.” Somehow, it felt good to just stand and shout. And if Daenerys ever comes back, I doubt she’ll fight with me now.  I wonder if I even want that. Ghost traced his steps back and bolted away. Even his direwolf didn’t want anything to do with him.

Jon began cursing, loudly, he cursed his friend Sam. Sam, gentle Sam, who had been so upset about the news from his family and about the destruction of King’s Landing, that he had burst into the Great Hall and had spilled it all out. How the Red Keep was no more, how Queen Daenerys had burned the city. Cersei dead, and if the raven message Sam had read out had it true, along King’s Landing the Golden Company was ashes.

It felt good to curse aloud. That drowned out the voices. “You couldn’t just hold your mouth, Sam, just for a time.” Nobody would hear him, Jon already felt somewhat relieved. “No, you had to burst in, getting them all riled up against Daenerys, Daenerys the burner, they call her.” Not unjustified.

Tyrion Lannister for once had been speechless, pale and very ill at ease. It was good that he had not spoken up, Jon doubted, that it would have been a good idea to remind the Northern Lords of the presence of this Lannister guest and hand to the Targaryen queen.

Jon cursed Lord Royce. The lord from the Vale had openly talked rebellion after the news from King’s Landing and voiced his opinion that a great council and an election of a fit king would be in order. Somebody, Jon did not remember who, had brought up Jon as a candidate. “Why did you think of me? I know nothing, I’m not fit to plan the next day, yet alone a long war.”

Jon continued shouting. Now, it was Jaime Lannister he cursed. “Of all the times to find your lost honour it had to be the very moment we were preparing for the only war that counts. Could you not have delayed longer? Could you not have told us, that Cersei’s army would come after you? No, you had to run to Brienne and tell her, that your sword was the only one we’d get from the South?”

The scene unfolded in Jon’s head again. Jaime Lannister had been brought in to the hall. The guards had detained him, but Brienne of all people had vouched for him. And Jaime had spurted it all out, that Cersei would not come North. Not that I would have expected her to come. “I don’t care if you were tired and exhausted, you should not have said that in the hall for all to hear.”

He was not done with cursing yet. He yelled at Sam again. “Of all the times to bring up my real father, that was it? That was the right time? Everybody riled up against Targaryens, Daenerys flown off to the South to punish Cersei and you had to just drop that I’m a Targaryen as well?”

Jon took a deep breath. It felt somehow odd to vent his anger against the snowflakes that fell so gently. It was as if he should not dare to spoil the sereneness of the falling snowflakes with his shouting, but he kept on after he had regained his breath.

“You never were my father! You kept me in the dark all those years. Would you have carried that to your grave? Even if Joffrey would not have had your head? Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell me?” Would the whiteness of the snow be stained by his words?

“I would have done everything differently. I wanted …” Jon stopped himself. I so wanted to be your trueborn son. Tears pricked his eyes and he shook his head angrily.

Suddenly Ghost was at his side and pressed himself to his side again. Jon bent down, his vision blurred. He almost overheard the slight crunching noise of steps. He looked up.

Sansa was standing a few feet from him, her face wary. She held a blanket in her hand and a mug of steaming ale in the other.

“You must be cold,” she said. “You’ve been outside for ages. Ghost was worried, I think. He fetched me.” Her voice had a softness to it that struck a chord in Jon.

He got up and as if drawn against his will he took the few steps towards her. He tried to look just at a point beside her, so that her face would be outside his vision, only her red hair glowing at the side of his gaze. It had become a habit. It was just too dangerous to look at her face.

Ghost shoved him from behind and in his tiredness, he missed a step. When he regained his balance, Sansa had shifted, and his gaze fell directly on her face. That was a mistake.

He looked in her blue eyes and somehow his anger bled out of him and his thoughts fled. The voices were reduced to a whisper. He felt like he was empty, drained of almost every emotion, just that peculiar feeling he associated with Sansa. A yearning, an ache in his heart, the welcome feel of home. Love, it’s love. And I’ve known it for some time. There is no reason to fight it, not now. The only blessing that came with Bran’s words.

She handed him the blanket. “Please, Jon, I don’t want you to catch your death.”

My second death, you mean.

Still, he said nothing, but put the blanket about him. It still held some warmth from Sansa’s body and he reached for the steaming mug.

“Have they come to a decision what to do with the Targaryen in their midst?”, he asked. Sansa just nodded. Her eyes were intent on his face.

“They disposed you.” she said, her voice devoid of the softness that had been in it earlier.

Jon shrugged. “I expected as much. I had thought they would already dispose me when I arrived with Daenerys. They only kept faith, because you spoke for me.”

A slight frown appeared on Sansa’s forehead. “You expected to be ousted a fortnight ago? Did you expect Daenerys to honour her pledge to help the North anyway?”

Jon sighed. “Yes, I did. I thought I had ensured that she would help me against the White Walkers no matter what. No matter what would happen in the South or no matter if the Lords would vote against me as a king.”

Sansa looked at him in earnest. “You were wrong“, she said. “Her war for the throne was more important.”

Jon hung his head. “I see that now. If only Jaime Lannister had not blundered. Once she was engaged against the Walkers, she would have stayed.”

“What will she do when she comes back? How will she react to you being the heir of Rhaegar?” Sansa asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I doubt she’ll take it kindly, she is not very trusting.”

There was a moment of silence. “I should probably leave, so that you are not in danger.”

Sansa shook her head as if in anger. “Don’t,” she whispered. “We’ll work something out. We will protect you. You belong to us.”

Jon scoffed. “No, I don’t. I’m not a Stark.”

“You still have Stark blood. My father raised you better than to deny him.” Sansa scowled. Jon felt a slight tingle in his hands, as if the mug of ale had awakened the feeling in his numb hands. ‘I’ll tell you about your mother’. It was a very faint whisper in his head.

“She’ll see me as a threat. I’d better leave.” He said.

Sansa grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare leave again. I forbid it.” Jon gaze fell on her gloves on his arms. Drops of ale had fallen into the snow. He looked up and wanted to drown in her eyes.

He drew a ragged breath. “You can’t prevent me.”

Sansa blushed. “If I give the order, my men will detain you, but I won’t force you.”

“Your men?”

Sansa blinked, and Jon thought he saw tears in her eyes. “They made me Queen.” she confessed in low voice, her hands dropping to her side again.

Jon gave a short and choppy laugh. “They chose well. You’ll make the right decisions.” he said. He missed the feel of her hand on his arm, it was as if his arm suddenly was colder again. “I’m glad you did not send anybody else to tell me.”

“Nobody else wanted to.” Sansa studied his face. “Arya is incredibly angry, that you haven’t told any of us, that you are aunt Lyanna’s son.”

“You are not angry”, Jon observed.

“No,” Sansa shook her head. “It was as if some things suddenly made sense,”. She blushed heavily. “And I think I know why you kept silent. You didn’t want Daenerys to learn that you have a better claim. It would have ruined everything.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I could see that you held her affection. I doubt there’ll be anything left of that now.”

Jon tried to school his face. I was so relieved at the news and so frightened.

“It was all for nothing anyway. I could not influence her as much as I thought I could.” In his ears he could hear the faint echo of a creaking door. How I blundered! Would I have knocked at that door, even if I knew about Rhaegar? It seemed so important to get her on our side.

“Thanks to Jaime Lannister,” Sansa observed.

“What else did the Lords decide?” Jon asked. “Did they exile me? Or am I allowed to stay in Winterfell at your sufferance?”

“Do you want the gist of it or shall I tell you all in detail?”, Sansa asked.

Jon searched her face, a sudden ache in his heart. I’ll make her see reason. She must send me away. It’s too dangerous. I’ll have to leave and divert Daenerys. It’s the only way.

“Make it short.” he pleaded.

“They named me queen, and the council decided on a plan. I don’t know, if I should tell you their plan.” Sansa explained.

“They want me to leave,” Jon said.

Sansa shook her head. She bit her lip and looked down and Jon had the sudden urge take her head in his hands and to run his thumb over her lip. He pressed the mug in his hand. I’ll do what is best for her, for the North, for Winterfell. If only they are safe.

Sansa suddenly raised her gaze to his eyes, there were tears on her lashes. “There were some who wanted you to leave, so that Daenerys’ wrath and her dragons would not come upon us. But Bran and Arya backed me, when I said, that we would not send you away under any circumstances. Bran told us, that she’ll come anyway. He had a vision.”

Jon groaned. “Bran said, she’ll come anyway?”

Sansa nodded, but she did not continue, and they stood silent.

“And what exactly is the plan?”, Jon finally asked.

“Sam suggested it. We still need weapons against the White Walkers. You have dragon blood. They want you to use your dragon blood. You go, ride a dragon and defend us. Bran says it is our only chance.” Sansa’s voice was shaky.

That was not what Jon had expected. He stood still and tried to understand.

“They want me to steal a dragon? How would I do that?” Jon asked. “Remember, Daenerys flew them to King’s Landing.”

Sansa looked at him astonished. “Jon, haven’t you heard?”

“What?” he snapped. All I’ve heard today were voices in my head.

As if in answer he heard a screeching voice. Why haven’t I heard that? He must have grown accustomed to the voices of the dragons while he was at Dragonstone. He thought he could tell that it was not Drogon, but Rhaegal. He shuddered why he would know this.

“One has returned.” His voice sounded flat in his own ears, but he wanted to cry, even if he could not tell why.

“He’s been flying around Winterfell since the morning.”

“And you are the only one willing to tell me that my best friend and my bro… my cousin who has visions want me to risk my life?”

He was close enough to see the tears in Sansa’s eyes. She pressed her hands together.

“You could hardly expect Bran to run after you. And Sam is not himself, he even suggested killing Daenerys by poison if she ever came to Winterfell again.”

Jon edged closer, he raised his hand and touched her where a tear made its way down her cheek. “And you?”, he whispered. “What do you want me to do?”

Sansa took a shuddering breath. “We are all in danger, Daenerys will descend on Winterfell in anger once she hears of your claim. We can’t possibly detain all her retinue. And then there are the Walkers. They’ll come upon us any moment.”

She shook herself “And yet the only thing I want from you right now, is for you to explain me, why  you didn’t tell me about your father. Bran told me you’ve known for days.”

“You just told me you understand, that I did not want to endanger the alliance.” Jon said.

“That doesn’t really explain, why you didn’t tell me.” Sansa snapped.

“That would have been to dangerous.” Jon tried to explain.

“I would have kept your secret, you must know that.”

Jon edged even closer. “I did not fear that you’d tell it. I feared what it would mean for us.”

He could feel Sansa’s gaze penetrating his, all the way down to the place where his heart was aching.

“Us?” Sansa asked, her voice almost indiscernible.

“Us,” Jon nodded.

“Why did you fear?” Sansa asked. Her eyes did not leave his face.

“I’ve buried my feelings deep for a long time. I feared what would happen, if they came to the surface. I feared you would detest me…. I detested myself before I knew you are not my sister.” Jon did not know where his sudden courage came from.

For a long moment Sansa stared at him, her face obscured by the occasional snowflake. Then, suddenly with a soft cry Sansa moved into his arms, knocking the mug out of his hands. Her lips met his in an awkward rush, and their noses bumped. She shied back, when Jon had to laugh, and held her nose, but he grabbed her hand and drew her closer. Their lips found each other again, and Jon was flooded with sudden warmth at the soft feel of her lips and her body so close to his. Somehow the blood rushed through his veins, warming him and leaving him light-headed and filled with a sudden burst of hope.

“I don’t want you to leave, Jon,” Sansa whispered into his lips. “I don’t want you to die.”

Jon took her hands in his and held them to his heart. “Not, if you will have me, Sansa. I’ll face this dragon, not because the Lords want me to do it, but for you. I’ll ride him and bend him to my will. I will defend you and Winterfell. We will endure.”