#but actually feels very comfortable brawling if the other is unarmed (and in settings with crazy weapons his odds are better this way)
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Muse survey: battle edition - bold what consistently applies, italicize situational, not always.
( repost, don’t reblog! )
fight honorably / fight dirty / prefer close-quarters / prefer range / chat during / go silent / low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance / attack in bursts / attack steadily / go for the kill / aim to disarm / fight defensively / strike first / provoked easily / provoke their opponent / tease / get visibly frustrated / shout while attacking / use strategy / focus on their battle / experience conflicting thoughts during battle / rush in recklessly / try to read their opponent before fighting / fight wildly / fight calmly and, or apathetically / fight with anger / fight with excitement / fight because they have to / fight because they want to / fight without regard to wounds / run away when wounded / hide wounds / take a blow to protect another / prefer a blade / prefer a gun / prefer to use their ability / prefer a bow / prefer a shield / prefer a pole arm / prefer a personalized weapon / prefer magic or spells / prefer brawling / their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional / transform for battle / fight as they appear / rely on strength / rely on speed / use everything they have / hide their full potential / exhaust quickly / high stamina / doubt their strength / proceed with caution / behave arrogantly / brag after landing a hit / belittle their abilities / use psychological tactics / use brute strength / avoid civilians / strike down civilians / damage surroundings / avoid damaging surroundings / signature fighting style / making it up as they go / mastered skillset / learning their skillset / fancy footwork / sloppy footwork / messy fighter / elegant fighter / accept defeat / refuse defeat / beg for mercy / compliment their opponent / insult their opponent / use unnecessary movements ( flips, twirls ) / move efficiently / barely move / prefer to dodge / prefer to block / defend their blindside / has no blindside / use all available advantages ( ex : use a gun but also throw punches, kick out while blades clash, etc. ) / strictly use one main method / play around / hold back / fight ruthlessly / show mercy / wait for opponent to be ready / strike when opponent isn’t ready / fear death / fear pain / fear killing / has PTSD / avoid fighting / has lost a fight / has won a fight / has killed / refuses to kill / want to die standing / would succumb slowly.
Tagged by: @derjaegermond (thank you! ^^)
Tagging: most of you are probably tagged, if not, consider this your invitation 8)
#alright long list of clarifications here it goes:#he fights dirty as heck unless he's sparring or having a friendly fight#will chat in fights he's not going all out or if he's trying to convince you of something- dead silent when fighting very seriously#with the rare exception of him raging vocally#attacks in bursts because he often waits for you to drop your guard/underestimate his physical prowess- then suddenly no time to breathe#but may also attack a bit more steadily depending on the situation#he WILL annoy you to bait you and he WILL make you think he's just a lucky and quick buffoon you'll rip apart as soon as you reach him#attitude fighting changes a lot depending on what he wants from you#not afraid of getting hurt but may run away when he's had enough or when he wants you to follow him#likes the blade in his cane likes his weird eldritch and snake powers likes his 'not a flamesprayer' and his 'suckerpunch gauntlet'#but actually feels very comfortable brawling if the other is unarmed (and in settings with crazy weapons his odds are better this way)#no specific weakness out of those though I guess physical is the way you're most likely to beat him at least in verses like BB#fights you as normal man or spooky reptilian man- full eldritch lizardman is very rare#seldom fights at his fullest but will take advantage of his versatility and stamina- also cautious fighting even if he doesn't look that way#again- annoy the fuck out of you and make himself look like a cocky trash fighter despite his 'lucky' hit in#will use the location to its fullest and if it's unstable enough he'll use it against you#actually capable of very intricate footwork but will often move in a way that makes him seem sloppier than he is#most commonly when not in a super important fight- at times he looks like he's being reckless and will stumble any second#but there is also a grace to when he mocks you (reverences and theatrical motions that betray how intricate his positioning and motions are)#quite humble- not ashamed of losing for real or faking it and if he likes what you did he'll say it sooner or later#will fake beg for his life to seem pathetic#unnecessary movements when not in a vital fight and not furious once more part of it is meant to frustrate you the other is love for drama#though flips aren't among them#can move pretty efficiently and in some more serious situations might move the bare minimum (to surprise you later with his speed)#if he relies on eldritch stuff he might not move at all#good luck escaping the sight of an eldritch creature (possible but hard)#fights ruthlessly when it's necessary or he's very angry#will sucker punch you- bonus points if he uses his clunky gauntlet he's got under one sleeve to make it hurt more#usually avoids fighting because he usually prefers more subtle methods and he cares little for death#THAT'S ALL!
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DEAD EARTH MASTER POST
DEAD EARTH CHAPTER ONE
Breen was in over his head, he could tell that much. But when the crowd in the arcade pit had started to close in on the man with the ears, Breen had stepped up beside him without thinking. The man was tall, with dark skin, and when his hat had gotten knocked off revealing ears that were, fox? cat? well, several of the crowd were Colony Loyalists, and they began hissing things like “shifter” and “genie” and one of them shoved the man from behind. Breen shoved that man back, and when the man with the ears had darted away through the crowd Breen didn’t fancy being left alone with a bunch of loyalist knucklers, so he dipped along with him.
They exited into an alley through a door that caused alarms to sound, and footed it fast just ahead of a six pack of the loyalists, turned a corner, and found themselves trapped in a dead end alley. The man with the ears was pressing buttons on his belt.
“Hey,” said Breen, “those guys are gonna be --“ and then they were, and it was too late.
____________________________________________________________________
Three of them turned out to have sticks of some kind, and two of those went for Mr. Ears while the other one paired up with an unarmed buddy of his to lay into Breen.
It was happening too fast for him to keep track of, he took a numbing blow to the shoulder, landed a punch to someone’s ribs, caught a fist on his cheekbone, grabbed a wrist and yanked someone hard into the wall to his back. The three combatants next to him were a busy blur “Get them down so we can tie ‘em” yelled one of the two still in the mouth of the alley, and Breen had an ankle kicked out from under him and went to one knee. The man with the ears and his attackers brushed by him and the attacker facing Breen was sort of gathered into that brawl. “Fuck!” somebody shouted, as someone else screamed in horror and pain, and all of a sudden there was nothing happening, as the group of men stood back from them.
Breen stood back up. The man he’d yanked into the wall had retreated halfway down the alley and was leaned over with his hands on his knees pouring blood out of his nose. One of the others was in a crumpled heap at the feet of the dude with ears, a messy hole in the side of his neck. Ears, crouching slightly, was covered in blood and grinning a fanged expression devoid of humor.
“You gene-shifted piece of shit,” said one of the men, stepping through the rest to stand in front of them. He unzipped his light jacket, and they could see the butt of a gun holstered under his arm. “you’re gonna die”
“I may,” said the man with the ears, “ but you definitely will. I’m a Galloglas”
That seemed to faze the man facing them, and he stopped. Into the second he spent frozen, a woman’s voice sounded from the mouth of the alley. “Hoy, Jackal, you need a hand in here?”
The man with the ears, Jackal, wiped his hands on the back of his pants and straightened, “Good to see you Captain, these fellows and I were just playing a game of Guess Who’ll Die”
“Oh,” she looking at the men in front of her “for fun? Or, are we taking bets. Because I bet it’s them.”
Their attackers were stuck between Jackal, Breen, and the woman behind them, and they didn’t like that at all. Some of them had turned and Breen got a look at her, leaning a shoulder against the wall nonchalantly, one hand hanging loose near her hips while she inspected the nails of the other. One of the loyalists glanced back at Jackal, looked at her again, said “Fuck this” and left, edging very carefully past the woman at end of the alley. The guy with the busted nose went with him.
“And then there were three,” said the woman, tilting her head and looking at the remaining men with mild interest.
The guy with the gun said “Galloglas, hunh?”
“I am,” said the woman.
“I hear you folks think you’re hot shit”
“Some people seem to think so,” she shrugged
The man with the shoulder holster sneered, “Well I think --“ and his hand snaked under his arm.
“He’s -- !“ Breen started to shout a warning, but suddenly the woman’s fist had a pistol in it and she had somehow already fired three shots and was holstering it before the man ever got his own weapon out.
“-- got a gun...” Breen finished, shocked, looking down at the three dead men.
The woman ignored him and brushed past, going to Jackal. “You okay, Jacks?”
“Yeah, lost my hat, these fools got a look at my ears, made a thing out of it. Sorry, Captain”
“Here,” she said, unwinding a scarf from her neck and handing to Jackal, who used it as a headscarf to conceal his ears once more. “Who’s your friend?” she asked him, indicating Breen with her head.
“Dunno, he stepped up when these colony boys closed on me in the arcade.”
“Any good?”
Jackal lifted a shoulder “He can take a punch”
“Hey,” said Breen, “Hey! I’m like, right here”
Neither of them looked at him; Jackal grinned. “Sticks up for himself” he observed, then quirked an eyebrow, “and for others...”
“Right,” said the woman, turning to face Breen “I’m Hex, what’s your name?”
“I’m Freghzer Breenlund, from Americo Lunar 4, but my friends call me Breen; nice to meet you” he said, holding out his hand.
Hex left his hand hanging there and squinted at him in amused judgement “You always tell such long stories Breen?” Before he could come up with a reply she said “C’mon fresh-face, this is an awful lot of dead bodies for this part of the system, we gotta get out of here. But first you’re gonna help me an’ Jacks stick these fuckers in bottom of this garbage tank.”
A little while later, they arrived at a bar. Well, a place that sold alcohol and had places to sit, anyway. Jackal had led them there, saying “the drinks would be overpriced if they paid you to have one, but nobody’s likely to notice some suspicious stains. Or a gunbelt, probably” eyeballing his captain, who had rolled her eyes and shrugged into a long thin coat from her small pack.
Hex sniffed her shot glass and set it carefully back down. Wouldn’t do to spill it, she mused, probably melt the table. Her crewman Jacques was sitting comfortably looking around the room in an idle, way, but she’d known ol’ Jackal for so many years she could tell when he was on edge.
And embarrassed. He was supposed to stay on the low, not cause a four body pile-up - that was shitty, she caught herself, he shouldn’t have to be embarrassed that those bigots were willing to fight to the death over their hatred of what, of who, he was. This trouble was not his fault, and she’d have to be sure to remind him she knew that when there was time. It was still trouble though, and had to be dealt with.
“How’d the thing go,” she asked him. He looked at her and gave a very small shake of his head. Ah. Well, the bad luck was just rolling in today, wasn’t it. She briefly laid her hand on his while looking directly into his eyes, broadcasting reassurance and respect. He blinked and nodded slightly and took a deep breath. Went back to scanning the room for trouble.
Fresh-face had almost stopped choking on the shot he had downed. Dumb-ass from the Triad Lunar Colonies. Sure was pretty though. “Hey kid,” she said, wondering how old he was “ if you’re from Americo 4, whatchew doin’ in the Euro Quarters?”
“What? I’m-“ he coughed again, “I’m like, the same age you are.”
“Doubtful” said Hex, baiting him, rolling her eyes.
“Well” he seemed less sure, “I’m no kid, anyway. I’m 32 years old”
That wasn’t so bad. Carried himself like he was ten years younger though, fucking colonists. “So what brings you to the EQ?”
Breen’s eyes went sideways, and he ducked his head slightly as he mumbled “tried to win the VR Sprite Class Obstacle Open”
Hex narrowed her eyes “Really. VR pilot, are you?”
“No.”
“No?!”
“No, I’m an actual pilot. Real ships.”
Hex laughed “Oh no, Breeny, Breeny no, tell me you didn’t think you could win in the Lunar Pro VR racing circuit because you can fly a real ship.”
“Yes. I’m good at it.” he declared sullenly.
“Oh! Well then,” she responded too cheerfully, “I didn’t realize you were a good pilot. Won the Sprite Obstacle Cup no problem then, I imagine, good pilot like you, hmm?”
She could see he didn’t like it, but he just looked down into his empty shot glass. “No.”
Awww. She stopped teasing. “So... how’d you do?”
“Lost in the 5th heat”
Shit, that wasn’t bad, really. For a non-pro newbie. “Don’t feel too down, Breeny, VR is very similar to reality, but it’s not exactly the same as racing a real ship, and the people you were racing, they live in that difference every day.”
“Yeah,” he said bitterly, “I sort of caught on to that”
“So what is it that has a good pilot like you entering the VR pro racing circuit, anyway? Can’t find a real ship to fly?”
Breen sighed a big sigh. “That’s not it. I have a ship, nice little sprite class hauler. Saved up for a decade, thought I found one just needed a bunch of cosmetic work, real good price. Then as soon as I bought the ship, these new licensing fees got voted in, plus it turns out the guy I bought from had rigged the torque rings with fucking pig iron bearings -- worked fine for the test flight, broke the bearings to pieces on the way back to Luna. Half melted one of the torque rings and damaged some of the back end frame running her dirty to get to a dock.” He stared morosely at the table top, drawing invisible circles with the bottom of his empty shot glass. “By the time I had the paperwork cleared and the frame repairs done, replaced the inner ring and outfitted it with proper chromed titanium bearings, I’d spent all the money I had saved to start my first venture. So. Got a ship. Got a crew even. But I’m broke and I can’t use my ship and crew to go earn some money ‘cause I can’t fuel up or supply the ship at all, and the crew wants bank trust receipts up front. Fuck. Fuck! I really needed to win that race.” He looked ready to cry.
Hex was intrigued. He wasn’t cutting very fine a figure as a captain, but she could respect the hustle. Plus, the whole thing was lining up to work out just the way she needed it, and that was a rare thing indeed. “Hey,” she said, waiting until he met her eyes. “Sometimes these things have a way of working out. I just may be the answer to your problems. Although, in true Galloglas fashion I’d be answering your problems with more problems.” Breen was looking confused. “Breen, my lad, you’ll never guess what Jackal and me were doing at the EQ Arcadium... care to guess? No? That’s no fun, okay fine, well, as a matter of fact, we were there trying to hire a ship. And we can pay up front.” She half turned her head without letting her eyes leave Breen’s. “What do you think, Jacks?”
“What do I think?” said Jackal, staring over her shoulder toward the front door “What I think is those two assholes from the alley went and found some friends from higher up the food chain, that’s what I think”
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Sinquest NPC: Shir the Brawler
Name: Shir
Class: Brawler
Age: Around 25 years old or so. “102 seasons” is the estimate he gave Ken'pai.
Height: 5'9”, or 175 cm
Weight: 187 lbs
Alignment: Neutral Good
Strongest Attributes: Strength, Constitution, Agility
Best Trait: Loyalty
Weakest Attributes: Charisma, Intelligence
Worst Trait: Hesitation to speak his mind, either out of ignorance or trepidation of the subject. Can also be easily flustered in social situations unless comforted.
Guild Status: Ally
Guild go-between: Ken'pai the Mechanist, Tomis the Warlock
(Art and concept design by @tomis-jb)
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Biography:
Shir is a member of the Sandscale tribe, a nomadic, peaceful tribe of lizard-men who wander the deserts of Chazin, following its faint trails of water magic. They strongly believe that they are the protectors and caretakers of the Sandsea, and believe that following the ebb and flow of water magic leads them to destinations that the sands send them to.
As with most members of the tribe, Shir was trained in their traditional art of hand-to-hand...or rather, claw-to-claw combat. As he grew, his combat prowess improved to such that he was selected to enter a yearly contest to prove the strongest fighters of the tribe. His aptitude for brawling, combined with his exceptional fortitude sealed his victory, and after that, he joined a very elite group within the tribe: The Sandeyes.
The Sandeyes are a small group of scouts that are sent out to survey large portions of the desert, often in complete solitude. Sandeyes are taught advanced survival techniques to survive the harsh deserts, and navigational techniques to find their way back to the tribe once their surveys are complete. To this end, Shir has learned about the cosmology of the stars, as well as how to detect water in the air without the use of a magical focus.
In a small territory between the borders of Twinsun Ma'at and Chazin, Shir came across a trade caravan going from Chazin to Ma'at, that came under attack by desert bandits. The caravan was guarded by only one person: The lizard-man Nakhti, an Arms-master from Ma'at. Although outnumbered, Nakhti held his own, but Shir noticed a small group of archers that Nakhti didn't seem to notice, and he stepped in, taking out the group in very short order. Once he caught Nakhti's eye, Shir moved into the fray, helping the crocodilian fend off the rest of the bandits. Nakhti, impressed by Shir's combat ability, showed his respect for the Sandscale as a “true warrior,” and the two became good friends, often meeting during Nakhti's trade runs to Chazin.
It was during another one of his scouting trips that he came across a broken down sand-skiff, belonging to Old Man Loch, while ferrying Ken'pai the Mechanist and Tomis the Warlock to their destination. After a brief disarming, he quickly took a shine to Ken'pai, as he had never seen a lizard-man of that distinct green color before.
Shir invited the three back to his tribe to stay the night, Loch opting to stay with the skiff. Ken'pai and Shir hit it off rather well, both of them completely eager to learn about each other. After a night of “sharing warmth” with Ken'pai and Nakhti the Arms-master, he accompanied Ken and Tomis on their adventure, and when finished, decided to travel with Ken'pai for a time, often keeping him company when Tomis would leave to take care of his own affairs.
With the blessing of his tribe, Shir can sometimes be found at the Guild Keep, but also travels back to Chazin in order to stay in touch with his fellow lizard-men, also stopping by to visit Old Man Loch at Ken'pai's behest.
He isn't an official member of the guild, as he didn't necessarily want to join up, but it isn't very hard for Ken'pai to convince him to assist if needed.
Personality:
Helpful to those in need, and above all else, Shir is fiercely loyal to those he considers his allies, to the point of sometimes being overprotective. The first night he slept with Ken'pai was actually because he was keeping watch over his friend Nakhti, to ensure the crocodilian lizard-man didn't hurt his new friend. After stepping in to intervene, he was invited to join them, albeit hesitantly.
Whenever Shir’s protectiveness starts to show, it becomes very clear in the lizard-man’s attitude and behaviors, rather than his words. He will grow quiet and often give stark warnings to those he has his eyes on.
Otherwise, Shir is rather reserved in most social situations, tending to whisper to allies or pull them away in private, rather than speak up to the group, unless he feels he has to take action, and for a Sandeye, “taking action” has a very combative meaning. If he feels he doesn't understand a situation, he shows hesitation on asking questions or speaking his mind, something Ken'pai has caught on to, and he will often explain things to Shir with seemingly no cause, but the truth is that Ken can see when Shir is getting a bit lost in thought, and does so to explain without forcing the brawler to speak up himself. This is something Shir truly appreciates, as he feels embarrassed at his lack of knowledge about the world...desert-wandering nomads don't tend to keep up with affairs, after all.
With people he considers true friends and allies, Shir completely opens up and his truly inquisitive nature begins to show itself. Shir wants to know more about the world, and interestingly enough has shown fascination in Ken'pai's machine-building occupation.
Sexuality:
Shir is pretty much pansexual, and somewhat demisexual, only finding a person sexually attractive if he has a bond with them, whether that's friendship or...something more. He has shared warmth with both Nakhti and Ken, together and separately. He also finds Tomis somewhat attractive, due to Ken'pai's trust in him, and due to the Warlock's protection of Ken'pai in turn. However, he has never come forward with desires to bed down with Tomis, because Shir can just sense that there's something...off about his abilities, and doesn't know what it is.
Enamored by him originally, Shir actually feels the strongest bond with Ken'pai, choosing to uproot his life in order to accompany the Mechanist. He often says that he enjoys when they “walk the sands together,” and Ken suspects that Shir may have deeper feelings for him, feelings that Ken himself feels for the Warlock.
Abilities:
Shir's combat ability is his tribe's unique form of brawling. It's an unarmed fighting style that mixes elements of Judo, Wrestling, and Kickboxing, and Shir is among the best in his tribe. Able to easily take down his friend Nahkti, who towers over him considerably. Shir is a master at using his opponent's strength against them, and fitting of a Sandeye, even when outnumbered he has the ability to get the upper hand.
Shir has some knowledge of weapon use, but often prefers not to use them with the exception of fist weapons to improve his strikes. He's fairly decent with a spear due to the tribe's need to hunt, and to an extent can do fairly well with a quarterstaff.
Shir's unarmed combat prowess can be quite damaging or even lethal if required, as he knows how to easily dislocate limbs, cut off air-flow to the brain, or even snap somebody's neck. When outnumbered, he often turns to swift joint-locks on his opponents' legs in order to incapacitate them at the knees, and if he gets his hands on a set of metal claws, he'd most likely tear the enemy to shreds.
Shir also has very minor magical aptitude, or at least, enough to conjure water from the moisture in the air in order to detect its flow, however has no other applications for this ability, as the amount he can summon is just about enough to make a single drop and not much more.
Because of his training as a Sandeye, Shir has fairly good knowledge of navigation, particularly by using the stars in the night sky. He also has a very extensive knowledge of survival, even more so than Ken'pai learned from his tribe.
Due to traveling with Ken'pai, Shir has started to learn the very basics of machinery, and shows an eagerness to learn.
#Characters#Sinquest#Shir the Brawler#NPC#lizard-man#Ken'pai the Mechanist#Tomis the Warlock#Nakhti the Arms-master#Character bio
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Gods, You’re Stupid
Imagine Jon leaving you to attempt to kill Mance after the wildlings attacked.
Notes: Tbh this sucked and I really don’t even know but I really loved the idea. I just kept imagining it while rewatching the end of season 4 so... It’d be better if a better writer wrote it (no shit) but I mean I decided to just kinda do it.
There’s so many commas lmao how do I even.
This was maybe the coldest you had ever felt, and you had felt real icy temperatures many times before. But this cold didn’t only effect your skin, it didn’t only make your eyes water from the sting of the wind, it didn’t only make your toes numb, it didn’t only make you want to bundle into something warmer. No, you could feel this cold on the inside.
It chilled your bones and made your muscles ache, the kind of cold a fire didn’t help.
Mornings always felt different when you had been awake all night, and you were used to it, but it still left dark circles under your eyes as if you were used to getting your rest.
Castle Black was stained, everything covered in blood. It wasn’t a new look to you, but it still caught you off guard to see the crimson puddles left in so many different places.
The wildlings had attacked last night. The largest portion came from the north, but they had sent enough over the wall already to attack from the south, which made a big dent in the forces at the nights watch.
You had been fighting for a while, imagining you were simply back in time when you would train with Jon, the thought keeping you from panic. Although you weren’t as good as Jon was with a sword, you certainly had skill and you weren’t afraid to brawl with the men. When things had started to die down you turned to helping the injured, which was the main reason they even allowed you at Castle Black; to assist maester Aemon with the wounded.
So there you were, inside the main hall which was littered with broken things and loose weapons, tending to those who had managed to stay alive.
You still had some armor on, not taking any time away to take it all off, and you sat next to one of the men, his face lost from your mind along with the so many who had died or been hurt. He was unconscious, so you took the chance to deeply clean an arrow wound he had suffered, hoping his being asleep would cover the pain a bit.
You were thinking of nothing in particular, and only reacted to your name being called when a hand was set on your shoulder.
You tensed; standing and turning quickly, your hand on your sword in a heartbeat.
“Relax, it’s just me.” Looking at his familiar and warm eyes, you found yourself exhaling worry that had formed inside your chest from being snuck up on. Jon kept his hand on your shoulder, his hair scattered about and messy, his face painted with bruises and blood. It hurt you to see him like that, he was so tired of fighting, and what hurt you was knowing he wouldn’t have time to rest, no matter how tired.
“Jon” you sighed softly, tilting your head slightly and giving him a sad smile. You already knew he was okay after the battle had ended, but even so it took a weight off your shoulders to see him, to physically be able to touch him.
“You’re okay?” He said, a concerned look lacing into his expression. You gave him a single nod, and he glanced around to see who could see the two of you quickly. He would’ve done it no matter who was watching, but being cautious was a habit of his.
He stepped closer, pulling you into a tight hug. And you smelled the blood and sweat on him, but you didn’t mind it. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you returned the gesture, arms up around his neck and on the tips of your toes to reach your face to his neck so you could feel his skin against yours.
“I wanted to check on you, love.” He stated, pulling away but keeping his hands on your waist. You nodded, being comforted by only his gaze on you.
“I have to go back out to help, though.” He reminded, “I will be back.” The remark was slightly strange. Why wouldn’t he be back? You assumed he was just to help with the bodies outside. But you didn’t worry in that moment.
“I know.” You said, standing tall again to kiss his cheek.
With that he nodded to you again, offering a small smile, and he turned to return outside. You sat down again, soaking a rag in a dish of water and going back to the wounded.
-
“You’re going to kill him?”
“I’m going to try.”
“They’ll never let you within a hundred yards of him. And even if you did, even if you managed to kill him-“
“They’ll kill me?” Jon cut Sam off, “If I don’t go they’ll kill me anyways, kill the rest of us too.”
Jon didn’t turn around to have an actual discussion with Sam until he brought up your name “And what about (Y/N)?” At that Jon stopped and looked him in the eyes.
“They’ll kill her if I don’t go.” A sad look washed over his face. “I have to keep her safe, Sam.” He almost pleaded. If it was a choice of dying to keep you safe he wouldn’t have to think about it for a second, the choice would always be you. The choice, to him, was obvious.
-
“Sam” You called, jogging to catch up to him as you wiped off your blood stained hands on a rag. You had taken your armor off now, replacing it with a simple dress, the only ones you agreed to wear. You had on some warm coats, but only a few because you had been indoors for so long. “Have you seen Jon?” you asked, catching up to him and walking alongside him. Ghost trailed you, panting loudly; he’d been following you even while you were working on the wounded.
Sam gulped, afraid to answer. He kept walking, but you didn’t catch onto his silence at first “I thought he was out to help with the dead.” This time, when Sam didn’t answer your eye twitched and you suspected he knew something unpleasant. You moved in front of him, keeping him from moving forward, and as just as you thought he averted his eyes from your gaze. “He was helping with the dead, right?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows.
“He’s- he’s gone, uh, well…” he trailed off, still not making eye contact.
Your mouth hung open a bit. He wasn’t here.
You inhaled quickly, a mix of rage and worry filling your lungs, and you swept forward, grabbing your knife from your side and setting it snuggly to Sam’s throat, pinning him against the wooden panels.
“Samwell,” You said lowly, listening to Ghost growl behind you from the sudden situation “Where is Jon?” This time, he answered.
“H-he left to kill Mance.” He whimpered out, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him but worried for you.
You furrowed your brows, leaning back and pulling your knife away from him.
“He left?” Sam nodded in confirmation, and you ran your hand through your tangled hair, eyes flickering around while you thought.
You registered exactly what it meant. Jon left, went beyond the wall and into the camp of the hundreds of thousands of wildlings, probably unarmed, and was on a suicide mission to kill Mance.
He was gone.
-
You had heard of Stannis before, but didn’t expect him to visit the wall, bringing with him an army. They poured into Castle Black, filling the main hall and stables. But what was odd was that most of them flooded in from the gates that lead beyond the wall.
You stood in the yard, in front of the creaky contraption that made it possible to get to the top of the wall, watching the men work around and force their way in. Your expression was grim and depressed, it was an instant sign you didn’t want to be talked to at all. Ghost sat right next to you, he had never left your side for a moment. He was the only one you allowed to sit with you anyways. You’d heard what Stannis did, taking control over the wildlings from horseback, and the thought that you might get Jon’s body back crossed your mind, which made your mouth instantly turn sour. You cleared your throat, pretending you didn’t have that thought at all.
You let a small gasp leave your mouth as Ghost bumped into you, running down the stairs and off into the crowd for no reason you could see. You quirked your head, oblivious to why he would suddenly leave you unattended after all this time. But you followed the white haired beast with your eyes, and you saw a mop of curly black hair moving in with the crowd.
First you didn’t want to believe it, just in case it wasn’t him, but after a few seconds of watching you wasted no more time to sprint into the crowd, pushing past people.
Finally when you were close enough you yelled “Jon!”
Movement seemed to stop. Your loud cry didn’t fit in with the murmuring that had been going on, and so everyone stopped, looking to see who broke the regular noise.
A path cleared finally, black cloaks and armored men all moving to reveal him standing there, very much alive.
You gasped loudly, eyes watering as you watched him gape at your figure.
Jon never forgot what you looked like, and any time he couldn’t he longed to see you again, but today he truly thought about your beauty. You stood there, your attention on nothing but him (just the way he liked it), strong and gorgeous as always, your expression softening in a way it only did for him, although it didn’t stay soft for long.
As quickly as you had felt relief, you felt a hot flame light inside you. It found it’s why into your breath, spilling out in short and angry gasps.
And you picked up the access of the plain dress you were wearing so you could take long strides towards him, heat radiating from you. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as if a hundred archers were all aiming at you.
He didn’t have much time to respond before you were in front of him, and you stopped, giving him a horrifying glare. He opened his mouth, “I-“
You punched him. It wasn’t a slap, no, you punched him in the face. Your shoulder ached from the sudden force and your hand stung from the impact.
Jon stumbled slightly, covering the left side of his face with his hand. He stood back again quickly, the blood from his nose obviously fresh from the other dried blood he had on him, standing out in a brighter red.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yelled, hands forming fists and nails cutting into your palms
Jon opened his mouth again, holding his hands out to rest them on your shoulders, trying to calm you “I didn-“
You cut him off again. This time though, you surged forward, grabbing around his neck and pulling yourself up with a small jump, legs quickly around his waist.
Again he stumbled, but recovered even quicker, one arm tucked under your own and wound around you to rest on the back of your neck, the other under your butt to hold you up against him.
“Seven hells” He breathed out quickly, the only thing he had time to say before you slammed your lips against his, kissing him furiously.
Whistles arose from the crowd along with laughs, and you smiled into the kiss.
He held you tighter, as if you could slip, and pressed against you with pressure to match yours. You could taste blood on his lips, but they felt just as right as they always did against yours, perfectly working between yours.
After minutes you pulled away, lips swollen from the long kiss. He had the nerve to grin, resting his forehead against you as he continued to hold you. You closed your eyes shortly, attempting to exhale the emotion he had caused you, and then opened them to look directly into his dark eyes.
You breathed out, only loud enough for him to hear,
“Gods, you’re stupid.”
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