#childish lance

[queengeni]

Pidge, watching the team have breakfast: ewww Keith, you drink Black coffee, gross

Shiro: He got it from me, you'll understand when you get older

Pidge: Lance drinks hot chocolate

Keith, siping his coffee: Lance is weak

Lance, from the other side of the kitchen: AND HAPPY >:U

[princelancey]

Bios stating "No HaTe In CoMmEnTs" and then the content being "omg I love rpm haha" and slurs towards lance just makes me want to never interact with f 1 online ever again 🫠 my lovely sweet mutuals genuinely keeping me sane and here icl

[littlerrabbit]

What miku rhythm game has the best song selection and why in the WORLD is it project diva x

[albonium]

do driver's pr speak every single language the driver speaks? what if they want to start talking shit in italian and the pr officer doesn't understand it?

[demcnsinmymind]

The faintest of a hint of....amusement. Barely felt against the bombardment of continuous wrath and madness raging inside his skull. But it was there. A tiny sliver of something. Coming his way from the outside. From Clark. And it was enough to stop the rampage right in its tracks. Like waves being sliced in half by breakwater. It didn't manage to drown out the smells of course, the wave that followed right after all that rage. Nausea. Exhaustion almost, with Lance completely overwhelmed by the sudden turmoil of it all.

And Jesus. With this thing so hellbent on getting anything out of this man...it really looked like this was just gonna keep happening. Others getting caught in crossfire after crossfire. Him included. Lance gagged once, involuntarily so, grateful that it let him turn his head away for a moment, let him look back outside just so he could catch his breath. Towards his home. Towards all that fresh air, a normal fucking day outside. Away from all the rot and carnage.

"Pretty fucking good idea" Lance agreed with Clark, the both of them noticing a little too late that maybe, it had given him more control than intended. His hint of a smile was quickly turned outright excessive once again, as it made him look back at the other, beaming an elated grin at him once more. As if none of the shit that was still so clearly visible in front of him, smellable, had ever happened.

"Excellent" it beamed, obviously more than pleased with the fact that it got its sick little request. Sounding as happy and sweet as ever. Fucking right off to the back of his mind but a second later, leaving it up to Lance to deal with the aftermath and meaning of this all. Of course. He could feel his body tense right back up the second it let go, the look on his face switching from wickedly excited straight into disgusted and annoyed. Lance took a deep breath but regretted it immediately. Side-eying his own plate the same way Clark had been eyeing his muffin. Stomach caught in a confusing mix of wanting to hurl yet also growling, never quite satisfied or calm after months of starvation.

"Man. Not gonna lie. Was kinda looking forward to eating that. Before. Obviously" he muttered in spite of the previous choking on cheesecake dilemma. Because all in all, that had just been a point he'd been trying to make. To spite it. And of course it would retaliate by just spoiling it al....well, shit. There they were, suddenly. On his plate. Before him. The cheesecake. Not even lacking a bite out of it anymore. The muffin. The hot chocolate with the fucking biscuit in it. All pristine and without as much as a hint of rot and mold on them. Unlike Clark's muffin and all the other food in here, which seemed to keep rotting further.

Prompting him to poke them with his fork, not believing it entirely. Still, after way too short a period of thinking it through, Lance ended up leaving the cheescake but grabbing the mug and muffin with a smirk. He too got up, ready to follow Clark with a soft snort. Picking up where the conversation with Aza/thoth had left off.

"Yeah. There's no way you're filming anything on a smartphone on my watch." A grotesque thing to pick up and nitpick on, given what Aza/thoth wanted it to be about. Yet at this stage of yet another conversation having gone sideways, Lance was more than happy to pick up on anything at all here. Even the aspect of purist filmmaking, which he'd sworn off long ago.

"You wanna do this now? I think I still got some old equipment back at the house" he went on, pretty eager to get out of this mess now. He handed Clark his muffin as he passed him, taking the biscuit out of the mug so he could eat it in one go, then take a sip at the warm brew. Which....tasted alright. Thank god. Even more eager now that he had something inside his belly, to get away from everything else that continued to be rotten and done for in here.

Part of him was pleased. Part of him, perhaps half, wanted to smile-—itched to do so. His words thrown back at him, turned back on him with the intention to wound. The show of power, the flare of potent wrath.

It was a reaction. It was a reaction and the more reckless part of him writhed in bliss at the idea that he'd gotten one out of the thing. The more rational part of him stamped at the giddy bastard like a discarded, still-burning cigarette butt. Quiet, he demanded. In what sane world would he want to be pleased at that? Why would he want a reaction at all? Stupid.

He cast a forlorn look to the grotesque corpse of his half-eaten muffin, choosing instead to place more of an importance on this instead of give any semblance of attention to whatever bickering raged within him. Though part of him delighted in the response, another part of him saw it as dramatic, pointless. TOO MUCH. What use was there to so loudly proclaim was Clark had already known? Why the need to confirm it in such a manner? Why couldn't anyone just be normal? For fuck's sake.

He prodded at the curve of the plate, the silence of the now desolate room filled with the subtle scraping of porcelain on table as it shifted and slid. His lips quirked suddenly and he bit his lip harshly against an unprovoked smile at a joke he'd seemingly concocted in his own head. ❝ Does that make Lance Ted then? ❞ he mumbled it and dare not dwell on it in fear he'd fucking laugh at his own little quip.

Clark's focus on the rotten food shifted, broken as it gave way to a sigh and looked up to find the creature's unblinking gaze. ❝ That's a very long-winded way of saying 'You're right, Mr. Thompson.' ❞ the smell of it all was rancid, it made his stomach turn and his nose scrunch.

❝ I'd have been much more happy without the theatrics. But, yes. Thank you for so plainly elaborating on the parameters of my involvement. ❞ and that was that. He was, as he'd said, mostly amiable. As if he'd just needed the thing to say the quiet but out loud and admit to it to just...fall in line. The thing wanted him to vlog? Fuck it, sure.

❝ I think I'm going to stop trying to take you to food places. ❞ another genuinely downcast look for his plate. ❝ Lance will need to school me on equipment. I haven't an inkling as where to start besides whipping out a smartphone. ❞ he was getting up at that point, patting himself down and straightening out wrinkles.

[the-flaneur]

the worst attempt of nnn ever

pairing: f1 grid x gn!reader [headcanon]

ft. the whole 2024 grid

summary: technically everyone wins, aka who's most likely to fail nnn the quickest

warnings: shitpost/crack, very suggestive content and some 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut

[masterlist] [requests]

fail first

lewis

this man has zero discipline when it comes to you

absolute zero, zip, zilch, nada

normally he's on you 24/7

but when it comes to the end of the season and most things have been tied up and he dgaf, what better way to end each week than by fucking your brains out

aka 25/8 times a week

so when you attempt to propose to do nnn "for fun" on the 31st, he glares at you, calls you dumb before fucking you silly overnight (until the 1st) so that you never suggest it again that month/year

(he also bribes other drivers and wags to make sure that you are NOT included in their nnn plans)

zhou

shockingly in second place

but only cause he loves you too much, finds nnn a weird tradition (when you explained the basics) and just wants to snuggle with you and sweetcorn in bed

like why make yourself unconfortable and horny when he could just be happy and satisfied (and still horny) with you :D

lando

man is so fired up about the championship battle that he doesn't entertain the notion and just fucks you the minute november starts just to make sure you know not to fuck with him

he only manages to hang onto longer than lewis and zhou cause he was tired and forgot what time it was

carlos

had planned on competing with lando, since they had done it the year before, and the year before that (aka when they were teamates)

but when he found out from you (who found out from lando's partner) that they had already failed, he said to try for a few days

you said you didn't want to

"but it might be good for us" carlos had complained, saying something no one had ever said

and so you just like seduced him like five days later then BAM WHAM, he's back to blowing your back out

not that he needed that much encouragement

pierre

just wanted to fuck you in peace for halloween after you showed up in a very hot outfit

but then charles was like oohhhh we should try this

(f u charles)

but then almost cried in the shower when he realised he couldn't jerk off either

you heard him whimpering, laughed about it and then sucked him off

he tried to hide it, but charles found out anyways

max

is usually too busy to fuck you during race weekends so, he just failed when he like normally fucked you

cause he wanted to fuck you

cause yeah...

so....yeah...

oscar

likes to pretend he's disciplined and has lots of mental restraint

(he doesn't have restraint when it comes to you)

tried to keep some distance, aka by not arriving together at the paddock

but then failed after he saw you with franco, got jealous, said f this shit and then took you in his driver's room

checo

didn't give two flying fucks

only got interested cause evens was talking about it

but throws the challenge out the windoow the minute you insinuate that he seems "weak" about you

kmag

thinks its childish but still wanted to try it

got actually comfortable with it, until you made a sexy joke

hulk

lasts longer cause kmag found it childish

but still wanted to try it too after kmag told him about it

ocon

just wanted to beat gasly

lance

wanted to fuck you

so he complained to his father about the challenge and how you were going give him a reward at the end

so evil stepmum kdrama style, lawerence comes in and tries to give you envelopes of cash to get you to fuck stroll

you gleefully refuse

you manage to negotiate three ashton martins, a ferrari laferrari, and more, before still teasing him

to which he just gives up, and waits for you

george

for those actually dedicated to doing it, he set up the betting pool and "official" rules

(no charles...touching and edging yourself is not "illegal" but you're running the sPIrIt of the challenge)

but like lost out in the second week, when he saw you were having an amazing hair day

said ok i wanna pull on it *with grabby hands* and then gave up

(everyone mocked him relentlessly afterwards)

valterri

super chill about it

tried it only cause you wanted to try it for fun

actually found it hard to be away from you (only cause you love him so much too)

but you managed to reach the third week before simply saying

"that's enough"

franco

had never heard of it

but defs wanted to try after he learnt a about it

got really pissed off by the second week cause you were also teasing him sooooo much

but you kept refusing

basically had to beg his way into convincing you "near" it, and only seeing him get really pouty did you give in

yuki

swears and glares daggers at you the entire three weeks

but he's gotta prove that big things come in small packages

and actually makes it almost to week four before passing out from sheer horniness

fernando

actually lasts longer than most people thought he would

(liam spitefully calls out that he thought nando's blue balls would fall off)

is happy he is technically the best wdc at nnn (even moreso that lewis lost first)

makes it to like the last couple of days

you get bored and tired

so now fernando is bored and tired and just fucks you

alex

certified genz brainrotter

ofc know what it is, and is demandin to win it and prove he's at least NOT a lost in one area (his words not yours)

makes it to the last few days, before you trick into letting you give him a handjob

tries to argue technicalities with george

but by then nov its over and he just gives up

charles

used all his ferrari training in patience to last this long

wanted to tell you to kys when you suggested it

but eventually he got soooo into doing it, he was policing you

however he losses cause he was stupid

you're on his jet

he forgets time zones exist

thought he won

sent a gloating text message to the gc

and [redacted] beats him on the technicality

liam

this man is going all in no regrets, gambling style 😎

even if he didn't propose it, he's definetly the most eager to prove himself (especially to fernando and checo)

he's setting up strict rules to ensure that his dick does not get anywhere near you when sleeping, eating or breathing

(in the last few days he desperately asks you to sleep in the guest bedroom cause he's this close 🤏 to caving in)

however, he resists and gets bragging rights over everyone for the rest of the year.

fail last/succeed

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader where she visit him at the paddock with their children? (He's at Aston Martin) Just something fluff and cute. Thanks!!

Well if it isn't the best Alonso! Fernando Alonso x GreekWife! Reader + Kids

Plot: You come to the paddock for a day, as everyone’s fav Alonso Family Member!

“Well If it isn’t the best Alonso” Lance says as you walk into the paddock. You smile at the younger Canadian and pull him into a hug.

“Oh wait, no no no these are the better Alonso’s he grins as he sees your three angels trailing behind you. You had Fernando Jr, who was currently 10. He had of course taken after his father and your husband had taken him karting on his 4th birthday.

Of course they both came back ecstatic, your husband claiming that your son was a prodigy and took all the talent for racing from him. You were happy as he’d explained to you when you first got pregnant that he would be so happy if your kids turned out to like racing and cars as much as he did.

Then there was your daughter, who was currently looking around the garage trying to find the one person she really wanted to see, her name was Iris, taking from your Greek heritage. She was a bundle of joy especially when she came to the paddock. Even at 7 years old she spoke maturely to all the drivers she interacted with, asking them questions about the cars and their lives.

Iris, despite her name was a total Daddy’s girl and would cry when her dad left for races you couldn’t bring them too, and would be elated when he came home. She was glued to his side all the time when he was there with her, which often made her older brother jealous but also got her into karting.

Fernando couldn’t believe his luck when Iris had practically begged him to take her carting with Fernando Jr. He loved watching them race against each other when her brother wasn’t racing in a competition.

Where Iris drove against her older brother she caught up very quickly being a lot better than the kids her age. She wasn’t only a good driver but she was a quick thinker too, something her brother was still learning. They had some heated, yet childish arguments but it wasn’t anything ice cream couldn’t fix.

3 years after you had Iris, you had another child, another girl who Fernando wanted to call Isabella. Bella was now 4 and was shyer than her older siblings and was a total mummy’s girl. She liked princesses and dolls and liked dressing up with her mum watching.

You loved your first two children obviously, but you would never want to take away from the bond they had with their dad. Of course you had your own special bond with them, and they adored you but they clearly had an affiliation with their father because of their love for karting.

So when Isabella started to show signs of loving your hobby or fashion and shopping you were more than excited. You used her a model for your fashion boutique/line that you owned, you were actually a pretty big name in the fashion industry.

You were know as the up and coming Donnatella.

Isabella loved playing with you, and she enjoyed watching her dad… normally form afar. She didn’t like the loud noises that came from the cars when they went 200mph round the tracks.

Fernando was happy you finally had a mini you that you could dress up in all your outfits and style her hair with cute bows unlike Iris who liked her hair accessory free unless it was a hair tie.

You were currently pregnant with yours and your husbands final children which of course happened to be twins.

As you were both getting older, there were more risks with pregnancy and birthing for you. So you agreed that the two little lives growing inside your right now would be your last.

Everyone loved when Fernandos family came to the paddock. You all would what’s bring the best energy with you. Everyone in Aston Martin waited for you to grace them with your baked good that would put the catering staff in all the paddocks hospitality units to shame.

“Hello Lance, how are you!” You exclaim, as you release him from the hug, Bella tugs at the end of your dress looking up at you. You grin and lift the young girl up. You were about 3 months pregnant right now, so still holding your daughter was no issues

“Mum, can we go look for dad please. We want to see his car” Fernando Jr asks, looking at you with his puppy dog eyes. You look away, trying to find someone trust worthy amount the busy mechanics. You spot one of your favourites calling out to him.

“Sorry to be a pain, I know your busy but would you mind taking these too to the garage to find Nando?” You ask and he nods immediately and both your children thank you with big grins before following the mechanic talking his ear off while they do.

“Sorry Lance, that was so rude of me. How are you?” You ask feeling your daughter rest her head on your shoulder, already tired with all the walking and people.

“No it’s no problem. And I’m good, how are you. Fernando told me you were glowing and he was so right” he grins looking at you and then your small little bump that was showing of from the dress you were wearing.

“Stopppppp thank you Lance, me and Fernando actually had a question for you” you grin.

“Go on, I’m scared now!” He says, eyes widening slightly.

“Well, we want you to be the god father to the twins!” You grin smiling. He stands there in shock, not to sure what to say. This was such a big thing.

“Obviously you can say no, but we thought it was fitting where Felipe is Fernando Jr’s god father because he was born in 2013 when he was racing for Ferrari, and then Jenson is Iris God Father as she was born in 2016. And then Bella was born when he had a break because I was struggling a little so my friends were prioritised for Bella. But now that he’s back racing and he has a teammate like you we were wondering if you’d, you know take us up on the offer”

“Oh my god. Of course I will I can’t believe you guys thought of me” Lance says pulling you into another hug.

“You were the first person he suggested” you say, your accent coming out a little more as your voice cracks, you could curse those pregnancy emotions right now.

“Im going to take a walk to the garage. See if Iris has already escaped to go see Jenson and crash one of his interviews again. I swear he doesn’t care that, that kid threatens his job sometimes” you chuckle remember the time she threw a tantrum when Fernando tried to take her away from an interview he was doing with Carlos Sainz and so they let her sit on his lap for the whole interview.

“Okay, ooo wait. Can I have a brownie please?” He asks rubbing his hands together hoping you have your delicious chocolate creations.

“Oh I almost forgot!” You smile handing him two that he happily took, before wondering to go and find Sebastian Vettel to tell him the amazing news.

You walk through the Aston Martin hospitality handing out your treats to anyone who comes up to you with a pleading look on their face before they taste test and pure foodgasms come every time. Bella had slightly perked up and was now more interested that people were talking to her and complimenting her outfit.

You eventually find Fernando and your two other children are already with him. Iris is sat in the car while one for the mechanics is helping your son hold the heavy wheel gun up to the wheel while admin takes lots of pictures.

“Hello hello” you breeze into the room. Your husband comes over to you lifting you up and twirling you going before pulling you into a bruising kiss.

“I missed you” he mumbles looking over you, a hand rubbing over your stomach almost as if to make sure everything is okay with you and the babies.

“I missed you to mi amor” you say in your husbands language.

“I love you αστέρι μου (my star)” he says in Greek. It was a little thing you guys did, to show appreciation for the other.

“Oh and I missed you too, my little Princess” your husband grins looking at your daughter who was jumping at the ball of her feet to get some attention from her father. He lifts her up and spins her around making a melody of giggles sound through the garage.

“Im glad you all came, mi familia” Fernando sighs opening his arms for all the rest of you to join as he pulls you into the hug from his left arm.

“Anything for you” you say, kissing his cheek. He turns to look at you, placing a soft kiss in your lips.

“So is daddy going to win today? Max has been tough this season!” Your daughter admits, crossing her arms, she was obsessed with watching her dads glory days, and coming in to see a Lewis and Max domination was hard. No matter she always cheered on and supported her dad.

“Im going to try my very hardest” Fernando smiles kissing her forehead and all of your heads snap up as your heart the click of a camera.

“Sorry, but you all look so cute” the social media guy said with an awkward blush.

“Oh please please send that to me. I just know your grandmother with love this. She’s been missing you guys, we haven’t seen her since we went her in Greece in the summer break” you say looking down at the kids.

“Can we go back to both Spain and Greece in the summer holiday! Englands getting boring” Fernando Jr jokes, he was the only one born in Spain, after you guys had Iris in Greece and then you moved to the UK so your husband could be closer to the Aston Martin HQ.

“Yes baby, we’ll time it around dads break and your school break. You guys are lucky it’s half term” you nod a them. As serious as they were about karting you also wanted them to have a decent level of education behind them.

“Yes!” The oldest too cheer, before they spot different people they want to go see that send them running off out the garage.

“I could get used to this” Fernando smiles looking down at his daughter in his arms, and placing his other arm to wrap around your waist.

“You know I won’t be able to travel soon, and it’s gonna put a stain on us” you sniffle those silly emotions coming back.

“I know. But I’ve already got a plan, I’ll be coming home more when I can, and I’ll be free when you give birth if not they are happy for me to have a reserve for that weekend” he reassured you.

“What did I ever do to deserve you” you smile, as he wipes away the tears that had started to come down you face. And kisses your cheeks, before laying his head into the crook of your neck.

“I love you”

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane

[scrollonso]

unfollowing everyone laughing abt oscar being a dick to lance bc that's honestly so embarrassingly childish of both him and u lot. if lance said that u'd lose ur fucking mind.

[vivwritesfics]

Carlando?! I’m feeling angsty! Maybe a “friend” of Carlos or lando trying to convince them that the reader is cheating/in it for the money etc. because of jealousy. It ends in a really bad argument when lando says “I wish we had never met you” 🥺 more angst and hopefully happy ending ♥️

Don't get it wrong, I love Lance (kinda) but I needed a villain

Part two

"She's cheating on you."

Lance Stroll was a shit-stirrer. When he wasn't the centre of attention, he did what he could to cause trouble. It was childish, really, the way he went around the paddock trying to cause drama.

His easiest target? Carlos and Lando. It was so easy to rile them, especially about their relationship.

"What? Leave it out," Lando mumbled with a shake of his head.

"Don't you dare," Carlos practically growled as he stared at the Canadian. "Don't you dare talk about our girl like that."

But Lance wouldn't let up. If anything, he doubled down. "Seriously, guys. Think about it, she could be using you for money, for fame. Who knows? But I definitely saw something online about her and some actor on his yacht."

Lando held up his middle finger, flipping him off. "Fuck off," he said and he and Lando walked away, leaving Lance stood there.

Although they didn't believe Lance, knew their girl would never be cheating on him, but doubt crept into their minds.

"Hey baby," Lando said as she walked towards the front door, wearing an incredibly flattering dress. No, she looked amazing. "Where you going?" He asked.

"Oh, just out with my friends," she muttered and pulled open the door.

Carlos walked over and kissed her cheek. "Have fun," he said and sent her on her way.

As soon as the door to the apartment was shut, both boys turned towards each other. They sucked in a breath, trying to go back to what they were doing. But it was hard. Incredibly difficult.

Y/N wasn't back until very very late. Carlos and Lando were still awake when she arrived back in the house, a little bit tipsy and incredibly giggly.

"Where've you been, baby?" Asked Lando as she walked over to the couch and threw herself onto their laps.

She couldn't stop herself from laughing as she looked up at them. "Oh, just out with friends."

"Friends? Which friends?" Asked Carlos as he helped to take off her shoes.

"Y'know. My friends."

"Which friends?" Lando pressed.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. "Just my friends."

Carlos let her feet drop. "Which friends, Y/N?"

She tried her best to list her friends, but she was tipsy and it wasn't going well. The boys helped her up from their laps, and walked across the room, away from her while she sat herself back on the couch, head lolling to the side.

"Are you cheating on us, querida?" Carlos asked as he looked out of the window, at the streets of Monaco below.

Y/N frowned. She took a moment to answer, which didn't look good. "What?" She scoffed as she looked between the two of them. "What? No."

But the seeds of doubt had already been planted. It was too late, Lando and Carlos were convinced.

"I can't believe this!" Lando yelled as his kicked the tv cabinet. "I can't believe you're fucking cheating on us!"

"I'm not cheating you! You've got to believe me!" Y/N shouted back.

Carlos let out a huff, his head falling into his hands. "All we did was love you," he said. "We gave you everything and... for what?"

"Because you love me and I love you!" Y/N insisted. "I'd never cheat on you!"

But Lando was still, his face reading no emotional. Full of emotion, but so empty. "I wish we'd never met you," he muttered and marched into their bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

Carlos looked up at her. "I think you should go and stay with your parents," he said and followed Lando into the bedroom.

[the-fiction-witch]

Say You Want Me Too

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - Flirty Word Count - 1311

A storm rages outside the tall stone walls of Dragonstone, the night sky as dark as obsidian, the sky full of heavy clouds lit only by the occasional sparks of lighting that flash across the sky, thunder often rumbling the bowels of the castle. Jacaerys sat in his chambers reading his high valerian study book in bed by candlelight, already dressed for bed often muttering words to himself,

“Se guēse's skoriot… skoriot… nektogon ilagon va se endia… tistālior…” He mutters to himself,

When suddenly a timid knock comes on his door,

"Enter!" the young prince said, expecting the maester or his younger brother perhaps.

Slowly the door creaks open and as he glances up he takes a double take to check he is indeed seeing what he thinks he is, as much to his surprise he sees his betrothal Y/n, in her small blue velvet slippers and sky blue silk nightie with silver embroidery. Her hair in a tight braid that falls around her shoulder, a candlestick in her hand. She closes the door and stands sheepishly, "I pray I am not disturbing you, my lord Velaryon,"

Jacaerys's mind was racing, His heart beat faster as he realised what this situation could entail, What reason could she have for coming here? This late? Is she in search of comfort? and the fact that Y/n was in such a state was causing certain, desires to arise. "No, my Lady, you are not disturbing me. What reason do you have to seek me out? Is something amiss?"

She slowly approached his bed but she stopped before getting too close, she trembled as she held her small candle almost forcing out her words, "Forgive me I do not wish to be any trouble,"

"You do not know the trouble you cause me my lady," he thought, "So, what brings you to my chambers this late at night?"

she blushed slightly her head tips down to the floor before she gathered the strength to meet his eyes once more, even if her eyes do flick down to him in his bed, "I do not mean to be trouble" she blushed, "forgive me, I am still... New to Dragonstone, and we do not get storms such as this back home... I admit, I am frightened." She explained "I know that must seem foolish to yourself my lord Velaryon, you have been here so long and... Ride the back of a dragon, and fight with sword and lance… I know the idea of rain and lightning in being fearful must seem childish,"

Jacaerys smiles as he sees his maiden blush. "No, no, do not you dare say that. There is nothing childish about feeling fear." He reaches his arms out for her. "Come, my lady, there is no need to be frightened when I am here I will protect you from anything, be it lightning or bandits or anything else that you may have to fear. But for now, you can get into my bed, I will not let anything come to hurt you.”

“Are you sure my lord?”

“I am, come on.” He smiled,

she blushed and set down her candle before she moved closer, she took his hands her skin soft in his rougher hands,

Jacaerys smiles and moves to make space to sit with her in his large bed. "Now, my lady, all you need to do is relax and close your eyes, and I promise I will protect you from anything that can harm you. I ask only one thing of you..." He smiled,

"thank you, my lord, you did not have to be so kind to me" she giggled feeling him so close, "what is it you ask my lord?" She asks squeezing his hands in hers,

Jacaerys chuckles, "There is nothing that I can ask of you that you do not already give me...But,” Jacaerys can hardly contain himself, he wants his little betrothal but he must remain composed. "Can I... Have a kiss, my lady?" He asks her, his words breathless as his heart beats harder.

She blushed at her betrothal’s request, her eyes flickering down to the bed a moment before she looked up and nodded moving and pressing her lips to his cheek, her lips soft and smooth her whole self smelled like honey, when she pulled back her face is red and she squeezed his hands, Jacaerys squeezes her hands his heart is pounding so fast he cannot hold still as he stares into her eyes. He can barely control himself,

"My lady..." He whispers to her, his voice shaking with intensity, "May I ask you for one last thing?"

"yes, Jacaerys?" she bats her eyes,

Jacaerys moves his hands to her cheeks, "May I ask... for a kiss… on the mouth?" He is almost trembling now, he cannot control himself. He wants this beauty so badly,

"Are you sure we are not yet married?" she began to tremble,

"We are betrothed my lady, we are to be married..." He said, "A kiss is not enough to ruin that, my lady." he smirked slightly “She is so sweet and innocent,” he thought of taking advantage of her crossed his mind, but he forced it away, "Please? Just one kiss..."

Y/n blushed even harder and squeezed his hands she nodded and shuffled closer she gently pressed her smooth lips to his own, her lips tasted of honey too, her taste and scent almost overwhelmed him as they shared the kiss their lips moved together a few times before a crack of thunder rumbles across the sky and lightning flashes through the chamber which makes her pull away and slightly squeak in fright,

He chuckled at her reaction and moved his hand to the small of her back, drawing her body closer to his enveloping her in his arms, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head keeping her close and safe, "By the gods..." he whispers to her, The thunder crackles louder and louder and she buries herself into his chest. He can feel her small frame pressed against him and his instincts are to hold her even tighter.

“I’m sorry I-”

“It’s alright, you're scared. But no need to fear I am right here my lady,”

“Thank you Jace,” but more thunder cracked which made her burrow into his chest in fear,

“Shhh shhh shh it’s okay, I’m here,” He cooed, after a while of quiet he looked down at her he felt the burning desire for the girl that would soon be his bride, how she cuddled him, how she looked in her sweet state and he knows he can’t hold back any longer, "I could never do without you. I need you, my lady".He growled kissing her head, "Please, say the words that will make me yours. I am ready for you".

"what? What are you talking about Jace?"

"I want you my lady... In more ways than one, more than anyone else could ever imagine." He pauses, his words almost catching in his throat. "I love you... and I want you, it is as simple as that."

"I see. I do love you Jace you have been nothing but kind to me since I arrived and I'm sure we shall have a long and happy marriage" She nodded

"But my lady, you do not understand..." he gasped, "You are all I ever wanted, but I want more than what you are telling me. I do not want to wait for marriage, I want it now, now that I have tasted your sweetness"...

"you want what my prince?"

"I want YOU." He says, with great passion and determination. "You, Y/n. Now. please… I beg you… say you want me too.”

“I… I do,” she blushed, “Very much,”

“Then let me make you forget this storm and make this a night we shall remember for the rest of our days,” He stroked her cheek and she nodded so he bit his lip a moment before he pulled her into a intense kiss. 

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

64 - A Mockingbird's End

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, mentions of violence, disturbing or gory imagery, mental duress, executions, character death

Notes: I'm sorry this took so long to come out. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The last she had been down here, somehow felt as if she were more lost now compared to then, even despite the turmoil in her mind. Looking up to his statue, Sansa could not say how long she had been there, seeing his face stern in the stone carved just like she could remember it and yet not at all. If she thought back carefully, she could still remember the final good times. How even though she had previously claimed to Septa Mordane that she would never forgive her father, never wanted to speak to him again, she had broken that instantly on the second day of the Hands Tournament.

A silly wishful girl who had been enamoured with Ser Loras Tyrell gifting her a red rose as his favour, and the memories of the day before having watched The Mountain thrust his lance into a mans throat he bled out on the ground. Without any thought, Sansa had leaned into her father, wrapping her arm around his in worry. The manner of softness her father gently held her hand, murmuring that it was alright. How neither let go when the Mountain sliced his great sword through the neck of his horse, or when he attacked the weaponless Ser Loras and too watching as the Hound fought the Mountain in defence. Even when it was all over, only did either let go as Sansa stood to clap.

Her father never got angry with her for what happened at the inn. Never looked at her with a betrayal, only confusion as to what was happening around him. How despite she tried to put the blame on him for being the one to do it, he had delegated the task of ending Lady’s life himself because she deserved better then what they would do to her. How all of the mess had started because she stubbornly didn’t want to side against Joffery when they came across Arya and the butchers boy.

She felt stupid for not seeing through Joffery’s facade of sweetness when it was staring her right in the face. She had trusted in him and yet, she made the same mistake again and again.

She trusted Joffery would keep his word and show her father mercy, and he didn’t. She trusted Petyr to help her, and he had used her for his own gain. But in truth, what other option was there for her? Sansa knew nothing of a life out in the wild to survive on her own, and she had no one she could truly go to that would be able to help her in a way that mattered. She knew little of what her home in the North looked like anymore because he kept it all from her on purpose.

But what was worse, was that Sansa still put trust in him after he had done far worse.

The fight she had gotten into with Robin was childish. She had been building a snow castle of Winterfell, having stepped out into the courtyard and seen snow falling. Her cousin had come in, and for a little bit she felt normal. They joked about whether or not Winterfell had a moondoor, and both tried to come up with a fun way to put one into her girlhood home for the sake of it. But he had accidentally knocked over one of the towers, and Sansa had felt frustrated. Standing up saying he ruined it, only for Robin to argue back that he didn’t. Back and forth they argued about it until Robin stomped on the snow castle on purpose, and Sansa found herself, albeit not with much force, slapping her cousin across the face.

She felt horrible instantly, it wasn’t his fault he grew up so different from the violence she had been around for years and that to him, a slap on the face was enough to send him running away. She tried to call out to him saying she was sorry, when Petyr came down from where he had been watching. Looking down at her hand, she felt that guilt saying she shouldn’t have hit him. Petyr tried placating her, saying that his mother should’ve disciplined him long before now, and to not worry about what she would say when she learned of the little fight.

Standing there all alone, Sansa asked him why he killed Joffery, truly. He had said that it was to get revenge on how Joffery had hurt the ones he loved, but then he...well he made it confusing. Telling her that he loved Catelyn, that in another world he might’ve been Sansa’s own father, but that they did not live in that world. He had taken advantage of her confusion, and kissed her in the courtyard.

It wasn’t Sansa’s first kiss, that was Joffery when he tried to manipulate her into thinking he was a nicer man then he was. Nor even her second, but her third was no more as real feeling as the others. This was one from a man posing as her father, saying he could’ve been in another world and then kissed her. She didn’t really know what to do, and allowed it to happen only as long as it took for her muscles to awaken and pull away. She didn’t want to accept it, that maybe he wasn’t being honest about why he was helping her, but she had no choice.

Even worse, Lysa had seen. Her Aunt Lysa had grabbed Sansa by the back of her neck and held her over the moondoor yelling at her to look, calling her horrible things for a kiss Sansa never wanted. Petyr had come up, telling her to let her go, that he’d make it right and send her away instead. But then he had looked her right in the eye and told her, that the only woman he’s ever loved, was Catelyn. And pushed her out the moondoor himself.

Petyr had wanted her to marry Harry Hardyng, pose her as Alyane and marry her to him but did she grasp why? No, of course not. She did what she was told. But now she knew. Were anything to happen to Robin, the title of Lord of the Vale would go to Harry. It was why they called him Harry the Heir. She had been tricked into feeding her own cousin poison, so that his death meant Harry would take his place and Alyane would marry at his side. She dared not think what would’ve happened then, not after knowing what lengths Petyr had gone to before.

But she couldn’t give excuses anymore. Sansa had lied for him. He protected her more then once, she had no other person there who could protect her and yet she stood there looking at the statue of her father and hated herself. She hated Alyane Stone, she had allowed all of it to happen, she had followed Sansa here to Winterfell and she had allowed Petyr to whisper in her ear trying to tear her apart from her family all without telling any of the truth.

Standing in front of the statue, the tomb of her father, Sansa felt her eyes sting at what betrayals and death followed her nativity even to this day. Her brother had sentenced Petyr Baelish to death, but Sansa wondered who would die with him. Alyane Stone for good, or what was left of Sansa Stark that he would drag down to the seven hells with him.

Footsteps trickled in slowly however, breaking the silence and not yet interrupting it either as a shorter figure approached from the corridors coming close. Neither said a word yet, but both understood that something had to change from the last time. Something had to break before it shattered on its own between them.

It was Arya who found her voice first, quiet as if not to echo across the walls. “That day, at the Sept of Baelor. Joffery said you asked him mercy for father.”

It wasn’t a question, but Arya had the feeling her sister was going to answer it as one anyways. “I did. I never understood why they were trying to claim he did, I knew him. We knew him. He would never do something like that, I had to do something, more then what they already made me.” That time the question was a proper one, asking what they made her do not that the answer surprised Arya. “Cersei made me write to Robb. She said he needed to come down to Kings Landing and swear fealty to Joffery. She said what would happen to father depended on Robb, and on me.”

Almost a laugh could’ve left Arya had the haunting of a tomb that never would be didn’t sit mere feet away. A roughness to her voice was not however, overpowering of the edge almost bordering on cynicism. “The Lannisters put his father and his wife in chains, and they thought Robb would just go down there to kiss Joffery’s ass?” Surprisingly, Sansa let out a burst of a laugh first.

Trying to smother it right away, but Arya only turned to look at her with wide amusing eyes. Trying to steel herself back into a calm, Sansa only let a grin peek through with another laugh that grew infectious on Arya, trying to speak through the laughs to explain herself. “It isn’t funny it’s only- looking back on it I have no idea why Cersei thought that would work.”

Sisters both looking to the other, Arya let herself remain a little less tense, hoping it would ease the air between them further. “It did something alright.” She wasn’t sure the last she had even shared a real joke of any form with her sister.

Pivoting back herself, Sansa found the words to finish towards Arya’s actual question. “When that didn’t work, I pled for mercy. In front of the court on my knees, begging him to simply show father mercy. Joffery looked me in the eyes and said he’d show him mercy if he confessed and said he was the rightful King. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” Glancing to her side, Arya yet said nothing watching as something seemed to sit right at the top of Sansa’s throat before it cracked out. “The day after, he took me up onto the walls and made me look at fathers head, that showing him mercy was giving him a clean death.”

No yet what she wanted to say was out, but Arya filled the gap for her for now. “I tried to stop it, or I wanted too.” Feeling Sansa’s curious eyes on her, Arya only looked up at the statue of her father as her hand gravitated towards Needle just as she had that day. “I didn’t know what I would’ve even done, but I tried to go to him. Even with just Needle I wanted to get there and stop it, but someone stopped me first.” Sansa only asked in a short whisper of who. “His name was Yoren. He was in the Nights Watch, down there looking for new recruits. He recognized me and stopped me. Held me there and told me not to watch. But I could still hear everyone shouting around me, and I could still hear you. Screaming for Joffery to stop. After that day all I could think about was killing him for it.”

A heavy swallow dredged down Sansa’s throat, almost as if once doing so it created a dark upsetting pit in Arya’s own stomach. If the sting in her eyes was anything she knew Sansa too matched if she dared look. “I almost did.” Arya’s head whipped up and over to look at her but Sansa’s eyes had trained more down on the ground, distant in nature. “When I was up on the walls. I looked down to the fall and I knew it would kill him. I can’t remember if I had a plan for what I would’ve done after or if I didn’t care. But I wanted to push him off the walls then and there. For a long time I wished I had killed him.”

Letting the quiet sit, Arya had the feeling that something was about to burst finally and allowed Sansa to simply keep speaking until she had no more words left. “But I did, I didn’t know I did, but I carried the poison. I watched Joffery die. But father, mother, Robb, they were all still dead. And the bad things still kept happening. Beacuse of him. Beacuse just like with Joffery, I was stupid enough to believe I could ever trust anything about him.” Arya never expected her to say it or to even come close to it, but she did. “I’m sorry for bringing him here. I never should’ve trusted him. If I knew what he had done..”

Cutting her off, Arya found the role odd to play comfort to Sansa but yet it came quite naturally as she turned to her a little more. “If you didn’t bring him here, we never would’ve known what he did. Everything he’s done. But you did and we do, so maybe that’s all that matters now.” No words were given back as Sansa continued to look up to the statue until something much more full of life came out of her mouth, changing her tone drastically. “You really would’ve pushed Joffery off that ledge?”

A smile graced Sansa’s face finally. “I came close, I was only a foot or two away from him before someone stopped me.” Though, when Arya asked who, she was both surprised yet not by the answer. “The Hound.”

The two sisters it seemed, had found a whole new discussion between them. A topic of the strangest thing they now had in common, yet.

“You’re sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

Jon could easily see why someone such as Ser Yohn Royce would take to Ned Stark, only ever in written correspondence did they two previously speak but the man in person was a bit on the rough side, serious, and was more blunt then many outside of the North. It was for his fathers sake did he agree to keep Sansa’s identity in the Vale a secret, but it was also for his fathers sake did Ser Royce come to Jons aid now.

A drink shared between them in the quiet of a study, Jon had felt as if finally he had a chance to think, to simply let go of the weight forced down onto him from the days proceedings. Both thanking him and asking if he needed anything, not wanting any strife between him and the Vale now of all times for what he was to do. But Ser Royce was as he seemed to be by nature, stern but blunt. “I assure you, your grace. He may act like it, but he isn’t Lord of the Vale. Executing him will do nothing that would make a single one of us even blink.”

Leaning forward, Jon perched his arms further along the wooden desk he sat across from the man. “What about Lord Robin?”

Only huffing out a laugh, Ser Royce leaned back in his seat. “Boys a handful, no doubt. But getting him out from under Lysa and Littlefingers thumb has done wonders for him already.” Taking a long sip from the wine before him, adding, “He tried to poison the boy too, no matter how little sense one has in their head, you tell them that and love dies out right quick, let me tell you. You take that mans head and no one will shed a tear.”

Nodding somewhat to himself, Jon sighed deeply. Reaching up to run a hand across his mouth, the relief yet stress was clear on his shoulders. He hadn’t had a single moment’s peace in the over a week or so he had been back, it was absurd how much the man had walked into Jons home and thrown everything off kilter so drastically.

Another laugh, that time much more quiet filled the air. “You’re just like him you know.” Raising his head, Jon only gave him a look of question. “Your father. Would sit just like that carrying all that stress on his bloody shoulders like it was about to crush him too. He’d be proud of you.”

Not quite a grimace, but a twisting came over Jons face as he found a break in not knowing how to respond by taking a slow yet steady drink to pass his nerves even a little. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Pointing to him a moment, Ser Royce didn’t let that doubt linger. “Now I know you’re just like him. Could never take a compliment, was always too hard on himself. Jon Arryn used to joke that Ned wore stress on him the way women do their gowns.” Part of Jon felt the curiosity, never the chance to really ask but also not knowing how. With what Jon knew was the truth his father hid from them all, asking seemed almost odd. Peeking into a secret he wasn’t supposed to be in on.

“What was he like?” A raise of his eyebrow, Jon specified. “Jon Arryn. I knew my father looked up to him, but I never met him before he died.” Both men were well aware the usage of the word was more for simplicity sake, certainly at this point.

Ser Royce found a bit more ease in his posture at the question. “You were named after him- or well, I’d say I was surprised Ned never told you anything about him, but you lot don’t up easy in the first place do you?” Jon barley shrugged a shoulder, but his eyes were full of a painting speaking the language of a curiosity. “Your father served as his ward for many years when he was young, but, the man was always more like a father to him then anything. No offence meant to your grandfather, but Jon Arryn was just a man easier to open up too. And he never took that for granted, treated your father like the son he never had. Then at least.”

Both let a small smirk out, but Jon felt not quite satisfied, that pricking in his mind like a bird pecking at the inside of his skull yearned for something else. A scrap of anything of a time he now realized his father wanted him to know next to nothing about. “What about the rebellion?”

Inhaling deep, Ser Royce took a mighty drink before settling into the memories of a time long passed. “I fought on your fathers side remember? Horrible thing the Mad King did, Brandon and Lord Rickard didn’t deserve that. But after they died, the Mad King ordered Jon to bring him the heads of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. He’d been like a father to them half their lives, asking him to kill them after-” Cutting himself off, Ser Royce took pause, one both could understand wasn’t easy. None of those days could be easy to look back on. “So instead, Jon took up arms. Called on the Lords and Knights of the Vale, declared war on the Targaryeans. All to protect them.”

Jon could only sit in silence, it was an odd thing. Considering the man whom had become his namesake, and hearing something that felt a little too striking for his comfort. A father figure risking everything to protect someone he considered a sort of son. Swallowing roughly, Jon desperately wished to push past it, to shove it back down deep into the depths of his stomach before the wonder of a father that should never have been took place instead.

Ser Royce thankfully, seemed entirely unaware of the turmoil in the man across from him, not nearly an expert on the deepness of the grey within his wide eyes. “He was a good man. It didn’t mean anything insignificant, naming you after him. A great honour.”

Jon again nodded, face twisting a bit to hold back the vision of his fathers face. The risk of what that face could turn into, but he had no image. He had nothing to go on, nothing to compare him to but two men who held looks distinct from him. It all was twisted, he almost regretted the question. A gruff rasp forced itself out to sound casual. “I know. He meant a lot to my father, it won’t bring him back but maybe this could give him something. Whatever justice this is after so many years.”

Leaning forward, through the abrasive nature was an understanding man. “The Queen and your father had started this, looking into his death. Now you and her are finishing it. No shame anywhere in that.” A glance around the room, Ser Royce asked with much more of a brash casual nature as if he could easily flip flop between them. “Where is she, if you don’t mind my asking? Your wife?”

Looking up as if that would give him the answer, Jon pushed up from the desk by his palms with a low mumble. “Let’s find out.” The guard outside his door given a simple instruction to find you and bring you back to the study, he left the door partially open for you before making his way back to the desk. Trying to find an explication that would suffice for your sake, “She likes to stay busy.”

A smirk came over the mans face with a knowing. “No need to explain to me of all people, your grace. I have plenty of daughters, and their own fair share of grandchildren between them. Finding time to do near anything with a newborn is a miracle for a new mother, let alone one with the duties of a Queen.” He meant it in a joking manner he new, but Jon couldn’t help but consider the fact that he could reasonably say he wished you didn’t.

If he had it your way, you’d take care of the baby and yourself. Leaving the worst of things to Jons burden but you were as stubborn as he was protective. He’d have to chain you to his bed to get you to stop trying to alleviate his stress. A rough rasp with what of a smirk Jon could muster. “She’s done more then enough, would rather her take it easy.”

He could see what of Ser Royce his father liked, blunt and to the point. “She’s a Baratheon, your grace. Trying to tell any of them what to do is a lifetime of a challenge in and of itself.” Again, Jon forced a laugh. He knew that certainly between yourself and Stannis, but he dared not stray into Robert. The truth regardless, he was your uncle, and he died. He didn’t wish to let what happened before he was even born get in the way of that, but the thought never really went away.

The man whom was the reason his father would never go to the King and ask to make him a legitimate Stark. Drawing more eyes to Jon from him was nothing of what he wanted, what he lied and gave up to keep. And yet he thought, enough of a man despite that, to inspire his father to name Robb after him.

It was all too complicated, and knowing practically none of them but his father did not help paint a picture to Jon of the world outside the North.

The slick sound of metal swinging through the air should’ve been one which many would give feelings of either a rush of battle or fear of it coming for them. Instead, it flipped and turned in your hand again and again. The gold of the handle held jems of rubies and emeralds, and filtered over to the handle which had carvings each made to outline where the back of a mans hand was to wield it. The black was not it’s natural, scorched from dragonfire and unable to be broken so easily. The dragon bone made to hold a blade of Valyrian Steel, the question rattled through your head. What then?

When Jon did his duty, when Petyr Baelish was dealt with, what then? A man hovering over the traces of your life like a vulture. Seeking any chance to swoop down and take what he decides is his without any care of the rot around as long as he got it. He slithered his way into Catelyn’s life so young that his presence bled into the Starks. Carving his way from one to another.

First Brandon Stark. Betrothed to the young and beautiful Catelyn Tully, Brandon found himself challenged to a duel for her heart. A young, weak and meek Petyr Baelish thinking what the stories always promised. The lesser man always came out in the end, but forgot that the real world was far harsher then that. Defeated with an almost humiliating defeat, he thus suffered the embarrassment, near emasculating fact that Catelyn had to plead to keep him alive. That he was “Just a boy.” So Brandon Stark left him a token to remember him by, a scar carved into him from navel to collarbone.

Then he was murdered, and the still young and beautiful Catelyn was quickly and swiftly married to his brother. Ned was her husband and Stark became her name and off they went out of Littlefingers life beyond his reach for who knew how long. Not anywhere near the revenge he could take upon the man who humiliated him, but his brother became the next best thing. Then he attached himself again further to the others.

A parasite breaking off to infect the other Starks even when they didn’t realize it. Bran attacked with the very blade now flipping in your hand. He hadn’t expected Catelyn to be there still, he didn’t understand the grief a mothers dedication could hold onto and slashes across her hands came just as they were relived on you now. An echo of the stain he left behind in an attempt to spill a child’s blood. A child who could not even think to run or fight back.

He leeched off of Sansa in a sick fantasy of a woman who never loved him, trying to form her to go from girl to woman which was thus made perfect for him. You could think of no worse man to hover over Sansa’s life after that of Joffery. If you thought more of it, you’d consider her true name now.

He had used her to carry poison, knowing the blame would be placed on her and her husband. Tyrion was arrested as she was whisked away to saftey. He would be found guilty no doubt at the hands of half a family whom hated him and she would be free for whatever he desired. She could marry whoever worked best for his own goals. But you looked at that blade and wondered.

What was his plan now? Was that why he brought her here? His plan to free her to marry off had failed? Somewhere out there still lived Tyrion Lannister no doubt. The rumours which had reached you spoke that he was found guilty along with Sansa whom wasn’t even there to defend herself, and in response, he had killed the mighty Tywin Lannister. Shot with arrows in the privvy, as if to show him that even in death, Lannisters were just like the rest of them. Not even they were good enough to shit gold.

He had disappeared the same time Lord Varys did. It took no mastermind to put that together, but yet he was not there when Aegon had crossed the Narrow Sea. You certainly would’ve recalled had any of them mentioned the man, and your own mixed feelings attached to things he had done and what you had once thought of him. Where he was now, you almost dared not consider. You had enough to tackle here and now without travelling into foreign lands to find out.

But the thought returned to your head. What then? Jon cut off the head of Ramsay Bolton, and in his place was something even worse which came clawing it’s way towards you. Somehow being far away from the likes of Euron Greyjoy made it worse, you always knew where Ramsay lurked, you never knew where Euron did. You take away the piece of Petyr Baelish from the world, what comes into his place?

He was a man whom would see this country burn if he could be King of the ashes. What worse would fill that spot when he’s gone? What lurked beyond him?

One always could be found either pestering you by dragging a young girl still not yet a woman into a brothel to force you to do business at his leisure, by the side of Renly making bets and trading laughing insults, typically to the dismay, at your father’s expense. If not then, he would be seen conspiring with Lord Varys. Always the same at small council meetings. The first to arrive and the last to leave, both men normally could be found muttering their mysteries at each other speaking riddles only they truly knew. But Lord Varys, he was not the same sort of man.

He had told Ned Stark once that as strange as it may seem, in his own way, he was a man of honour. Just serving honour in a way which did so differently then the rest of you. He would not take his place, he was not the same sort of threat. It hadn’t escaped you however, that despite being an advisor at Aegon side, the entire time on Dragonstone he was nowhere to be found.

Just as your thoughts were about to fall off the edge of the cliff and down into the sharp rocks below, did your mind get dragged away with a sudden voice coming to your side. A low rasp, but not quite the one you would’ve wound a craving in, but one that seemed to soothe a nerve which had been long untended too. “I’d congratulate you on the bravery it took to say what you did today, but something tells me you don’t quite feel the same way about it as everyone else does.”

Looking up, your hands nearly slipped from their almost instinctive focus, grasping quickly the sturdy hilt before the blade sliced through the find leather gloves and reopened wounds which always seemed to target your hands. What that could mean you dared not think about. Pulling it back down into your lap, you let the golden cover return to it’s just as ornate sheath and sitting it to your side. Or, at least the side of you that was not taken up by the very sleepy bundle covered beside you.

Only a mutter coming from you. “I did what I needed to do. Nothing more.”

A grin came over him, his cheeks did the same thing as Jons when he smiled as charming. Wide and bright, almost a dimple on each side of his smile with a breathy but deep laugh. Making no fuss to sit beside you, it did strike you as interesting that his nieces and nephews were all here to spend time with but it was you whom Benjen Stark seemed to consistently find his way to. “Just take the compliment.”

Your eyes blinked heavy down to the icy pond before you, the ghost of a smile came across your own lips. As much a ghost as the true one sitting on little Eddards other side. A small carrier, almost like a basket to sit him in when treading outdoors, blankets on every single side and heavy to cover him, angled a manner which any falling snow would not accost his face. The large direwolf white as the snow around you lay comfortably in the cold, head resting on the stone right beside where the baby slept.

He followed you both everywhere, and in the small case he was elsewhere, he typically followed you if Jon were not by your side. You almost wondered if Jon even needed to command that, if the two White Wolves simply spoke the same over protective language. Drawing back to the present, your voice was low but only an uncertainty and weight against it as you spoke. “I’m not so skilled at that. Taking compliments.”

Leaning back more comfortably, Benjen seemed at ease out here in the Godswood as Jon did. Men of the North without any doubt, were your son not with you, you’d wonder if you looked a true foreigner sitting here. Benjen joked with an ease, “I’m aware. Heard more then enough from Jon to know that’s true.” Gesturing to the baby, he found a fondness in his eyes. “Everything it took to get him indoors, and it feels everytime I see him now he’s right back out here.”

Your eyes drifted to him, a brightness coming over them as much as something significant was captured in your chest. Hardly a voice at all but Benjen’s simple proximity meant he heard you clearly. “The first week of his life was in a place like this. He never knew indoors until Jon got him to Castle Black. I think part of him feels more at home outside, the only thing he knew besides Jon in the first hours of his life.”

Tilting his head a bit as it to capture your attention to his bemused disapproval he matched it in tone. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but he knew you for as long he was away from you.” Your lack of response almost said as much as if you let out a monologue of thoughts on the matter. You certainly hadn’t thought of it in those terms. Yet it seemed Benjen read you better then you did him, rooting out that feeling filling you again drop by drop at the thought. “None of that reflects on you.”

Sighing deeply, your head hung. Eyes slipping closed for the length it took to inflate your lungs with the refreshment of a bitter cold down your throat. “Jon tried to tell me that.” Jesting with a casualness that Jon was right, you withheld the desire to sigh once more hoping he took no offence to the stiltedness of your sudden shift in demeanour. “How many mothers could say they spent the most important first few hours with their child, apart from him as he nearly starved?”

The feeling came over you that perhaps Benjen was holding back something more openly comforting then he would’ve naturally been for your sake. Speaking slowly, as if to ensure you understood him. “How many new mothers could say they were kidnapped hours after giving birth? Or could say they killed men to fight her way back to him before it was too late?” You had no such response, and it seemed he knew that, a slight laugh coming from him. “You’re too hard on yourself. I can’t tell if that’s from your father and mother, or if that was simply my brothers influence rubbing off on you.”

A mumble came from you, your eyes drifting back to the baby, turning a little in his sleep as Ghost shifted to see him clearer along with him. “I am afraid that it was far too late for me to pick that up from Ned Stark of all people. If anything he and the others had to be the ones to try and drag that tendency out of me.” The only small smile you could give with any air of amusement, “To varying degrees of success.”

Benjen joined your laugh. The quiet falling between you but without the air of awkward as so many people would make it feel. As if he waited to find a flow where you could be drawn back in with ease, only to find it a feat not easily taken on. Cutting into the quiet on his own. “You don’t need to feel happy about what’s going to happen, but you shouldn’t sit out here beating yourself up for not figuring it out before now. If it weren’t for you, none of this would’ve come out the way it did.”

Was that true? Were you to turn in place and look upon the bleeding face carved into the Weirwood, you considered Bran. What he was capable of contrasted to however it was connected to you, he had even explained it and yet you still didn’t understand. You knew what he was and who came before him but where you it into this which he could not accomplish on his own was still unclear.

Your hands traced over the shielded blade once more, dancing across the jems to the black dragon bone which still baffled you. “And how many died to get here? If I never trusted him in the first place, if I talked Lord Stark out of-”

Cutting you off, Benjen once more came across more amused as if to even you out. “Lord Stark? My brother’s been dead how long and your still referring to him like you didn’t marry two of his sons.” Mumbling that putting it in that way, Benjen laughed running a hand in mocking thought over his facial hair. “Alright, before you married into his family. Twice. With both of his sons-”

The sigh that left you pulled out a far greater laugh which echoed nicely in the wind, your own smaller laugh breathing out just enough to ease the tension so wrought in your shoulders. Inhaling through your nose, your gaze drifted up to the snow covered trees all around. “The things everyone in the south must be saying about me.”

“I’m willing to wager that whatever they’re actually saying is much more inappropriate then you could come up with on your own.” Wide eyes turning to him almost in a bemused audacity, he shrugged a shoulder. “When your surrounded by people all crammed into a small area, you learn quickly that people will say almost anything about someone else to amuse themselves when they get bored.”

Your eyes drifted to the side a little, the weight continuing to lift little by little as if that was his plan, which possibly it may as well have been. “Do you ever get tired of it all? That none of this ever seems to stop?”

“Everyday. But I can’t live my life on what ifs. I spent an entire year asking myself what if when half my family never came home from war. I stopped asking about what ifs then, no amount of wondering what I could’ve done differently will change that it happened.”

Your hand drifted over, running over the top of the blanket safely covering the baby’s head. The small bundle seemingly having drifted further into the comfortable warmth. Why you said it, you weren’t even sure. It came out before you had the sense to stifle it. “Sometimes I worry Jon has what ifs about everything he’s done for me.” But by the time it was out, there was no taking it back. You almost tripped over your words, eyes flickering closed as you grimaced through a head shake attempting to backtrack, as if it were not already too late. “I only mean, either I’m the problem or he’s putting his life at risk trying to fight the problem away from me. Just the wonder what his life would look like now if he had someone at his side who could give him peace.”

The green of yourself in little Eddards eyes not being visible helped. All you could see was hints of a son whom looked so much like his father, and ignoring whatever traces existed that were of you. As if you could imagine a life where the mother of Jons child was anyone better then what you gave him. Before any answer could come to you however, did the interrupting voice of a far less inconspicuous figure come intruding through the godswood.

“My Queen, my lord. Your presences have been requested by the King.”

Looking over at you, a much more bright look sparkled in his eye. “We dare not refuse.” A small smile waved over you again, both of you standing as Benjen waited patiently for you to pick up little Eddard from the smaller cradle, Ghost taking up an instant position to snatch it in his mouth where he no doubt would see fit to deposit it somewhere warm inside the walls. The slumbering bundle resting comfortably in your arms, his head drifting down to rest where he could against you, the action hardly made a dent in his sleep so far.

A respective hand found higher on your back as he guided you inside, Ghost close on the other. Up one set of stairs down the hall and into another did you know you were being led to the study which Jon had seemed to unofficially claim as his own. Away from much of the hustle and noise of the castle, and in a comfortable darkish area that was not quite cramped, but not wide and spacious.

You wondered if it was in part a passing over trait from his time in the Nights Watch. The quarters of the Lord Commander were not unlike it, dark and grim to some but without distraction and mostly to the point. A bow from the guard as you pushed the partially open door to walk through it, did Jons eyes catch your glance first. No doubt gazing over the snow still somewhat melting in your hair and from the white fur once of his still around your shoulders, and the still sleeping bundle in your arms.

Excusing himself briefly, he stood from his seat passing Ser Royce, pulling you just a tad bit closer to his side with one hand, the other finding the top of little Eddard’s head with a gentle smile at how little things phased him now that he was home. Rasping to you while his gaze was directed towards the baby, “Still prefers the outside?”

A tilt of your head to indicate yes, you almost found it in you to smile. “He has much of his father in him, no doubt.” If Jons gaze could smirk, it would’ve been as his grey eyes peeled up to yours, withholding the urge you could read in them to kiss you, at least in front of the present company. Certainly one difference you could note between he and Robb, one was far more willing to show that affection so openly without question then the other. Not that such a thing truly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Peeking passed him, a smile more of grace came over you to the standing Ser Royce behind Jon. Almost on an instinct were you the one with a small, handless curtsy as if the manners in front of a Lord had been imprinted in your head. A man proper as him in title showed you the same with a smaller bow of his head as Jon and Benjen both shared a glance withholding smirks.

“I believe we have not been properly introduced, my lord.” Stepping closer, you shifted the baby more to come out from hiding under your cloak, the feeling of warmth behind you as Jon took the liberty to unburden you with the weight of the fur. “I must thank you for-”

“No need to thank me, your grace. Simply doing my duty is all that I did.” You continued to thank him regardless, allowing him the freedom to dictate the discussion as he pleased. “There was something that needed to be said, and if I’m the only one brave enough to do so, then so be it.” Your head tilted in a curiosity, but found a parting of your lips as something once more long lost waved through your blood. “Yourself and Robb Stark called upon the Vale to help fight for justice against the Lannisters, and we had utterly failed you both.” Shaking your head you tried to dismiss it away, but it was a distinct bluntness on his tongue that showcased this likely had been something long building up. “Were the Knights of the Vale given the choice to fight for whom we pleased, we would have joined far sooner then the never it turned into. We could only do as we were bid, and Lady Arryn refused any of us to leave for any cause.”

You knew she was a problem during the war. Locked herself and the Knights of the Vale away and refused to come out or cooperate in any manner. Robb had hardly known her, but being his aunt, he had sent her a raven as well as the rest of the Northern Lords when he was the first to take up arms against the Lannisters. She refused to even speak to her nephew on the matter. By law Ned Stark was her brother and he had been murdered and yet still she hid away. Not even coming to the funeral of her own father, something you could only find as an insult beyond belief.

Were you in the middle of the south, received word that your father had fallen at the Blackwater, you’d have had no qualms setting yourself a path to Storms End for the same. On opposite sides of a war or not, but she had shut out her entire family on any side and locked the knights and lords willing to step in and fight for herself. An entire army untouched by years and years of devastation and war and she had them right at her fingers, then Littlefingers, and now, you could only hope it was not too late to give Robin the teachings he deserved to be able to rule.

Your own words tried to express it all however, in fewer words then was likely needed to convey the degree which you needed nor wanted no apology of any sort. “You have helped us enough, my lord. Helped Jon uncover a plot against him in the first place, and today to expose what sort of man he had been painting himself to be. You’ve been of invaluable help.”

Ser Royce raised his eyebrows towards Jon on the other side of the room. “A difficult woman to compliment.”

A more jestingly dramatic sigh came out of Jon as he walked back over, a hand finding your lower back firmly. “You have no idea.” A playful glare shared between you both before he gestured for you to hand the baby over to him. A smaller soft sitting area by the fire with a spot all ready set up to lay his son out with him while he worked it seemed. Laying him down, you silently appreciated how much he refused to allow you to do all the work the way you were prepared to do regardless.

It happened faster then you could stop it, what came next. How it all would look and come out to a man such as him, but it begun as Ser Royce stepped forward, shaking hands as he and Benjen introduced themselves to one another. “A man from the Nights Watch I presume?”

A pride natural on Benjen as he responded, what was over half his life spent there he had an easy time jumping into any discussion of the matter. “I am, the first ranger for Castle Black for..” Reaching in his mind looking back, he had a bit of amusement seeking that far. “Gods, it’s more then well over twenty years by now.”

Nodding for a moment, the thought seemed to register in Ser Royce’s mind, the dots connecting as he in a much more fond manner pointed out what he likely hadn’t considered in some time with everything else going on. “My sons at Castle Black. One of your rangers, not that I’ve heard from him in gods know how long. Imagine you’re all rather busy preparing for winter.”

An understatement if there ever was one, and yet as Benjen tilted his head a little trying to put it together, he found himself asking for specifics. “I’ve been beyond the Wall for longer then I’d like to admit, but if it was somewhere a little over five years ago, I’d know him well.”

If it came to Benjen right away, he didn’t show it, but it didn’t quite come to you right away either. Not the way that most would be able to just attach a name to the face of a man they knew. “Waymar Royce. My third son, had little chance at land or wealth the way his brothers will, so he took the black.” You stood far more still then Benjen did, catching Jons attention in the back of his head but your eye fell far and distant trying to understand the feeling inside of you growing, or what it meant as Ser Royce continued with a fonder amusement. “Last time I was ever in Winterfell, stayed here for a few days or so when I went up with him.” A laugh coming over that to Jons own memory, had him chuckle as well. “If I remember correctly, was back when the Lady Sansa was still just a girl. Think it broke her young heart knowing Waymar wasn’t staying, even moreso realizing where he was going.”

Benjens face was more recognition, details fuzzy in his mind but more collected then yours. “I remember him. Strong lad, we could always tell when we had men come there who grew up in a castle. Was eager to make an example out of other boys during training.”

A raise of his eyebrows as he huffed out, “Doesn’t at all surprise me. Love the boy, but gods help me was he ever arrogant sometimes. Imagine he’s grown out of that now.”

Almost looking to Benjen and Jon for agreement, it didn’t clue in for Jon, but he picked up the hesitation between the flickering of eyes he and Benjen shared. Looking between them, an ask of what came more bluntly from him when Jon tried to start more gently. “My lord..”

That time without meaning it in aggression, Ser Royce was a little more forward as his face twisted in a gruff worry. “What is it?”

Benjen took the start, but the three men had yet to notice the manner which you seemed to have frozen in place. Frozen in more ways then one as something cold ran up your spine that did not enter the room itself. “No one’s seen Waymar for some time.” The man said nothing, a confusion waiting for an answer before he reacted at all. “Went out on orders to track a group of wildlings, and never came back.”

Looking between he and Jon, it was understood to be somewhat true. Jon had never met the man, but that was it. All his time in the Nights Watch and he never met him at all, and it was not a difficult thing to sniff out who the highborns were in a place like that, but Ser Royce seemed to find more confusion at the same instance you grew colder and something in your heart begun to shake. “What do you mean never came back?”

The room fell colder and colder until the roof faded away as did the walls. Stood on a higher floor, yet beyond the stone tiles were snow. Snow and forest and woods all around as darkness creeped as the sun begun to fall behind the sky. The room and men were before you, all the furniture in place and fire blazing but yet it was all covered in the falling snow. Your eyes flickered between the three of them-

Two. Only two men, you were standing where the third was as if you were trapped between both he and yourself. All looking around in a clearing, did you feel the dread rising. His voice was arrogant yet confident, but yours traced along with him in a whisper with wide eyes. “Your dead men seemed to have moved camp.”

All eyes turned to you suddenly, but you saw them none. Much stronger that time you followed the voice of whom you stood with just as you had argued back once before. “They were here.”

Your name was called, by whom you couldn’t even hear. Instead of a rasping voice by your side it was the older face of Gared organizing that you all look around. Your body turned on its own, not feeling how you slipped from Jons grasp. Turning into the room more you paced, almost as if looking for something slowly but with a trepidation, not recognizing that the woods you walked through looked just like the study you also were just in, as if both blended at once.

Again your voice whispered, unaware if any even heard you as the three men behind were not there with you now, as if you couldn’t recall what was happening around you clearly. The voice was not the strong one you stood as but a repeat of what you somehow still knew was said, the sight of Gared nervously picking up the remains of entrails did you whisper, “What is it?”

But the scream was far away, not for your sight again. Horses ran in distress as a cold wind froze your skin and a feeling compelled you to turn. In the room facing them, you yourself looked upon the blue eyes of a little girl whose orange curls were one pinned dead against a tree. Suddenly you felt as if you saw them, yet they weren’t even there. None were in the room close to it, but you felt his need to run.

Not even the force it took of two men to stop you drew you out of the sight before you. Almost falling to the ground did the two pairs of hands guide you as to not hurt yourself but you could not run and thus you watched.

The swift stroke of a blade of pure ice slice a head right off. But not yet done were you, you watched the true one in question force his bleeding self up. Blind from ice having shattered into his eyes, his fine furs unlike the nights watch and dark hair belonged to a man who had refused yet to die after being striked down. Your voice whispered as his did too, standing his ground one last time against an impossible foe. “Dance with me then.”

But the one you watched as, too watched the other man fall. It took no time with the freezing presence surrounding them for him to open his eyes wide and blue just like the girls.

Jons hands found both sides of your face leaning close to you, Benjen with one on your arm and other on your back to keep you steady as breaths gasped for your lungs. The room returned, but beyond them was more of a sight then you left it. Ser Royce stood further away with more then confusion, an apprehension and fear he did not understand. By the door both guards had come in, no doubt at the scene whatever you had done had caused.

Jon called your name gently, moving one hand to run down the side and back of your head through your hair as you caught your breath and pounding heart to settle. Despite the cold you felt as if you had begun to sweat and shake, as if the cold was outweighed by the drive of fear between the men whom had been invading your vision.

His rasp struggled to find itself comforting in your heart as your hands tensed, palms braced against the floor you didn’t realize you apparently fell too. “Darling, look at me.” Barley able to force your eyes to focus long enough to find his worried grey ones wide and bright towards yours, you barley found it in you for a hand to rise up and grasp at his forearm in lieu of speaking just yet. “You’re back here, you’re alright.”

It was mostly a nod to go along with it, still yet your mind yelled too loudly for it to tell any other part of you to settle. Lungs, heart, all overworked as you swallowed roughly to force away the weight in your throat. Your eyes closed, trying to even your breaths out as you heard Benjen gentle beside you. “Is the reaction always this strong?”

You knew Jon wished he could say no, but he was not a liar. A single nod of yes was all that was needed to convey the degree of pain in his heart, as much as it never got better for you, it never got easier to watch for him. A more soothing feeling of Benjen running a hand over your back in a comfort helped along with the warmth of Jon so close, but neither changed the scene you had watched before your eyes.

Cracking out loudly, did you find it within your energy to speak. “Ser Royce...your son..” Eyes opening up as your heart settled enough that your still heaving breaths had begun to finally work in calming your mind, he stepped forward with a large trepidation as if he knew not what to say, not that you would blame him.

More on the rough side did he try to stay formal while also letting a shortness peek through. “I mean no offence, your grace, but if this is a strange, long winded way to tell me my son is missing or dead-”

But your head shaking had him cut himself off. Hand curling into the material covering Jons forearm, he leaned the slightest bit closer to match how his hand on your cheek slid down to the side of your neck more firmly. Eyes casting down to settle the sight but not able to shake it off as it had rattled you to your bones the last time too, you tried to breath out in almost a faintness, “No he- worse. It’s far worse.” Asking what that could possibly mean, your gaze finally rose, switching between both Starks before you as they both realized there might be a discussion coming they weren’t prepared for, or had even planned for. But ignoring the display Ser Royce had seen, was now set to a task that would be impossible.

Jon took the responsibility for it without any hesitation. Looking up and back to him, his voice was low and rough but a seriousness sat within his tense expression which was not to be questioned. “I think my lord, you’re asking questions you might not believe the answer to.” But Ser Royce did not say it with a judgment, only as plain as he could muster through his confusion and concern.

“I just watched the bloody Queen in the Norths eyes go white as snow and start rambling like she was having some vision. I think whatever answer you have for me couldn’t get more unnatural then that.”

Yourself, Jon and Benjen all knelt there wishing desperately that he could’ve been right, but he was nowhere close.

Part of you wished you could stop seeing, not a vision before your eyes or even closing them, but just letting the sights wilt away so you didn’t have to face what you were looking at in truth. Not everyone was looking at you, but there were a good number who kept glancing with an unknown you suspected was weariness. Sat somewhat to the side of the room, you had almost doubted briefly to Jon if you should be holding the baby.

A small mutter as your brows furrowed looking down to him, “If it happens again and I’m holding him-”

Jon had crouched before you, hands braced on the sides of your thighs as you sat looking up to you with nothing but trust. His voice just as low for only you to hear with reassurance, “You’re his mother, I won’t keep him from you just beacuse you’re scared of this.” Trying to protest what if you accidentally hurt him, he cut you off. Reaching up to cup your cheeks, “You won’t hurt him. Alright? I know you won’t.”

Hesitating, you finally nodded as Jon pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving around to the main table. Taken the lot of you to where Sam was, it would be easiest to explain this if there were as many people to validate it as possible. You knew Jon hadn’t intended on approaching the Vale with any of this, and if he would in the future it wouldn’t be bombarding one man without any preparation. That was your fault.

Jon stood beside Sam, and around the other sides of him stood Maester Wolkan, Benjen, Theon, Tormund and Lord Howland with Ser Royce in the middle across from Jon and Sam both. You sat still close, but somewhat off to the side. More to where Gilly was kneeled to the ground playing with Little Sam quietly.

Most in the room kept looking at you whenever Jon wouldn’t notice. You didn’t blame them, you couldn’t possibly imagine how you looked or sounded, but it didn’t stop it from hurting that you were beginning to be looked at from many as something of a pariah. Gilly and Sam both kept sharing looks when they’d glance at you, your eyes cast to the side pretending you didn’t feel it. Certainly you knew Ser Royce kept doing so, and on occasion you would catch Wolkan and Theon both too.

Your head would turn down to little Eddard laying in your arms, him trying to reach out to you as if he senses the distress in your heart and sought to heal it by keeping close to you at all times. One finger almost always had his hand grabbing onto in some way as they spoke to your side.

Trying to explain things to him was a delicate task, Jon had to keep everyone focused on the facts alone and not make it sound like an embellished story more then the truth would appear. Like most Jon had tried before, Ser Royce struggled with it. “These things you speak of, they’ve been dead for thousands of years.”

Tormund had the least tact, but a bluntness with you imagined in his own was, Ser Royce would appreciate. “They weren’t dead, old man. They were sleeping, but they’re not sleeping anymore.”

Sam had interjected to try and piece it together in a more put together sense from how much he’s read thus far. “The old texts say they sleep beneath the ice for thousands of years. And when they wake up, they’ll come for us. All of us.” Asking gruffly isn’t that what the Wall was for, Jon had the answer no doubt.

“It is, but we don’t know what they’re capable of. The First Men barley left anything for us to translate, and we’ve had to piece together what we already have. But they know we’re all on the other side of the Wall, and they clearly think they can get passed it.” Letting others say their peace, most went around the table with what they could provide.

Jon had started with the night a wight tried to kill Lord Commander Mormont, Sam had given the details of the attack at the Fist of the First Men. Benjen was more vauge, talking in depth of the dead they would find and how many rangers disappeared and never came back and how many others begun to desert as a result of what they’d seen.

Ser Royce had fallen very silent when Howland Reed begun to speak, and you and Jon both suddenly understood why he choose to be at this meeting instead of Meera, who had been there. Telling with a heavy heart that his children had gone out beyond the Wall with Bran, and one of those wights had murdered his son out there. That the body had to be burned and never brought home because he would’ve been changed.

If that left pain, it left even more questions which had Theon glancing up at you pretending not to notice as he spoke for you. The day at the Nightfort, the trio of wildlings had died in there, mostly likely frozen to death, and they woke back up with blue eyes and attacked he and you. You ignored with your head down that most of them looked at you, and noted the ones in the room not even bringing up the fire. Just another thing that would make it all look worse on you, a blessing for Jons image was to keep that claim out of it. He didn’t need you muddying the already murky waters he had to wade through in order to try and get outsiders to understand.

By the time it came to what occurred at Hardhome, Jon and Tormund both took great length to explain it, and there was no misidentifying the horror behind both their eyes at the extent of power and death they had watched that day. “If they breach the Wall, they’ll come for everything and everyone. And if no one but the North is ready when they do...we’ll be lucky if five thousand people down south manage to live through what they didn’t even know was coming for them.”

Palms braced against the table, Ser Royce spoke with slow words to try and form a coherent thought of the amount put in front of him. “And you’re saying, my son is one of these things?” Jon specified it was a wight. That the Others could turn nearly anyone into a soldier for their own army.

If any of them noticed the slight manner Jon and yourself glanced to the side to catch the others unnerved gaze, no one seemed to think anything of it enough to say anything. You looked away at that point, catching a glance that time with little Sam. The wooden toy horse he had near his mouth before he noticed you and smiled, waving the toy as if to wave to you. Your smile was small and soft but it made the toddler smile back. Yours however, fell rather quickly when you looked more up to see Gilly’s gaze hesitant towards you, and directing little Sam’s attention back to her.

You had just started to feel like you found a friend who treated you normal, and now you sat in a room full of many people all on your own. Most of them looking at you like you were a curse yourself, or a curse put upon Jon. You hadn’t even heard the question about you being asked, your ears only picking up once you heard Lord Howland speak on it. “She has an ability my son did, the Sight. Something which can show them dreams and visions, give them answers to questions we didn’t even know how to ask.”

Ser Royce made a guess as to a bit of what it sounded like, “You mean those dragon dreams the Targaryeans always claimed to have?”

Jon and Howland Reed both shook their heads at the same time with a no on their lips. The later allowing the former to explain a bit clearer. “A similar idea maybe, but this is different. These are connected to the North itself. The Targaryeans spoke of them like they were prophecies, but she can see the past and present. More then she ever has anything like the future. It’s giving her answers, not promises, but they aren’t always easy to know what they mean.”

He wanted you with him, you told yourself. Jon wanted you by his side more and you wouldn’t disobey that, but you hated sitting in this room being looked at like out of everything being said, you were the strangest one. Bran had what you did and far more to a powerful degree, he wasn’t losing his mind, or appearing like it. That was only you it seemed. It made you want to take your son and disappear where no one could look at you in that judgment.

“And my son turning into one of those is what she saw?”

Benjen took the mantle up for your silent sake. “She saw more then that. Everything she saw that day was from Wills perspective, one of the rangers with him. Sometime after that, he ran. Crossed the Wall and tried to run away, and was caught by my brother.” Jons brows furrowed as he looked up to his uncle asking when did that happen. “A little before Ned was named Hand of the King.”

Jons gaze that time turned noticeably to you, not that you wanted to notice. A wondering rasp distant in his voice as he explained almost to himself. “His brothers were slaughtered by them, turned into wights and he deserted. I was there that day.” Meeting Benjens gaze with a realization striking on his features. “The ranger, Will. I was there the day my father executed him. He kept saying the he saw the Others and then-” Cutting himself off, Jons head tilted a bit as if looking back to his own memories. “Then we found the direwolves...”

Something was there no doubt, but putting it all together was a nearly impossible task. Especially when you knew was much as the both of you did, together.

A shake of his head to draw himself out of it, Jon pulled himself back in as he addressed Ser Royce. “I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t believe. I know how impossible this all sounds, but if they breach the Wall, they might not stop until they slaughter every one of you.”

The few who caught the manner in which Jon had phrased that narrowed their gazes, but little was spoken of it otherwise in the moment. Yourself nor Jon had even realized what it was he ended up saying.

“What is it you want us to do?”

Sighing through his nose, Jon swiftly pulled something hidden at his side and placed it on the table. A shard looking like black glass with the heft of a stone that would shine if the sun were still at play. “Dragonglass. It kills them and wights both. I nearly went to war with Aegon Targaryean just to get it, beacuse I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my people alive. But I won’t stand by and let the rest of the kingdoms die if I can help it. I don’t need every man in the Vale up here to fight with me, but I want you and your people to know how to survive. There’s no point in all of this, if I just let everyone but the North get destroyed.”

Sliding it towards him more, Ser Royce picked it up with trepidation. Looking its cool smoothness over as Jon continued. “I’m not asking for an answer. Just that you think about it. Beacuse they’re still coming if you believe me or not. I’m sorry about your son. Really, I am. But what happened to him will happen to everyone you’ve ever known if we don’t prepare for this.”

Tormund if anything, knew how to somehow end on not as firm or strong of a note, but certainly how to end it with a packed punch as he gestured to Jon. “He pissed off damn near everyone in the Nights Watch bringing my people south of the Wall so we didn’t all get slaughtered. Probably helped getting him killed too.”

If anything almost had you cracking a smile, it was the fact that the sentence came from Maester Wolkan’s mouth. “I assure you that story is true as well. Once you’ve seen a man walking around with a stab wound in his heart, you find yourself willing to believe just about anything the North will throw your direction.”

“If you wish to return home after tomorrow, I thank you for your help. But you’re welcome to stay in Winterfell as long as you need to decide if you even believe me.” Dismissing the meeting for the night, Ser Royce offered the shard of dragonglass back to Jon, who handwaved him off. “Keep it. You may need it one day.”

Nodding in a small bow, Ser Royce politely did the same for you before parting with nearly everyone else. As Sam made his way over to Gilly, Jon gestured for Theon that he too could leave. One of the few times he had no doubt in that, Jon was far more equipped to handle you in this specific state then any else.

Murmuring your name, Jon finally reached a hand out as if to beckon you to his side by the table as well. Pulling you gently into his side by the waist when you got within reach and turned you to face him, tilting your gaze up to his eyes by under your chin. “How do you feel? The honest answer.”

Sighing, you kept your hold of the baby close to you as if for more comfort. Muttering in hopes the only other trio of a family in the room couldn’t her your self doubt so evident. “I’m sorry I made you do this all tonight so suddenly.” Murmuring that it wasn’t your fault, Jon let the hand by your chin move so his thumb traced the cheek he was cupping the side of. Not willing to dwell on the topic, your face twisted a bit downward. “The deserter your father executed, you found the wolves that day?”

Nodding, his warm hand and body in general your only comfort so far. “The same afternoon, we were on our way back.” Asking the question of his own for the same clarification, “The ranger you saw through that day, he’s the same one..” Once again you nodded, Jon sighed but not in a manner you thought was towards you at the least. Running down your hair finally, you felt his fingers toying with the loose stands. “Feels like the more answers we find the less anything makes sense.”

Shrugging one shoulder you muttered meekly but earnestly, “You’ve done a good job so far.”

A small, soft grin Jon gave you, before cupping the back of your head. Pulling you in to press another kiss to your forehead, uncaring of the eyes watching. As if noting everyone treated you slightly different for the things occurring with you, except for Jon. The only one treating you without looking at you with a degree of unsettled weariness about being around you. “Come. Let’s get you fed, so we can get him fed.” Gesturing down to the bundle moving in your arms as he had found more ease in sleepiness between you and Jons warmth so close.

Hesitating, you bit your tongue before letting it slip out. “I’m not sure I’m up for being around everyone else tonight.” Jon however, only smiled further turning you to circle the table near the door.

Pulling you close to mumble in your ear with a tenderness that had you leaning more into him. “Good. I wanted a night between the three of us alone.”

Entering slowly, the early hours of the morning meant few were up and about just yet. It left you good time to make your way, the heft of a blade attached to your side hidden under a warmer shall draped across your upper half from the cold. Gently you had called out to him asking if you could come in, creeping the door open enough to slip in before shutting it once more.

Through the open windows, the sun had not yet arrived to the world and would not for some time you expected. Clouds covered the sky thick and dark, and just as you had awoken yourself did what normally would be snow turn into the pattering of rain against the shutters. A rare event in this cold, but it almost felt as if it created the conditions fair to what was to occur. It was much like another event, one which led back to one man as it always seemed to.

Brans room was coated in a gentle light, and a blueish tint covered the rest as the grey from the sky reflected against the white snow below. Seldom did such rain bother you, Dragonstone and Storm’s End both were nothing but scorching sun or torrential rain. You would walk the halls of your home as a girl to the sounds of rain constantly, it hardly even phased you to go outside in it with nothing to protect. Many times when one was outside, you could stand there one moment then the next great swooping clouds rushed over the skies and poured every inch of rain down for all the Seven Kingdoms all over your head.

Your main watching guard as a girl, Allard, he would joke that he could pick you up and toss you into the sea without warning and you’d be perfectly fine with it. You father always preferred you to stay on the island, but the rare occasion he would leave on business to the captiol, Allard would always take you out into the open water. It would always start raining on the ship, and you loved it.

Perhaps it was why you felt few of the nerves now. The calming sound of rainfall soothing something inside long forgotten. Bran was sat up in his bed, but he looked the nervous you expected. Gesturing to the empty side of his bed you asked, “May I sit?”

Nodding, you took a careful seat not to show off the blade just yet. A deep sigh left him before he looked at you in a freely expressed frustration. “I should’ve known about all this already.” Saying his name gently trying to get his attention, Bran only continued over you. “I’m supposed to be able to see things, learn things no one else can. I should’ve put all this together months ago.”

A tender tone on your words, you neither dismissed his doubt nor encouraged it. “You had what? A year and a half to learn what you did? Why should you be expected to know how to see what you didn’t know happened, if you’ve only just started?” Looking down from you in doubt, you continued without giving him a chance to form an excuse against himself. “I’ve been the closest one to all of this for over five years and I only just put it together when you did after knowing for what? Days?”

Doubt shined in his eyes, but something akin to hope almost flashed across them when he met your gaze once more. “You had other things to worry about.” Quick as anything with a smallish smile, did you point out so did he. It drew but a breath of a laugh out, but it was something. Better then the narrow eyed self doubt you came to fix. “When I woke up, and my mother was gone. I was upset about my legs, but also beacuse she wasn’t there. I was angry for a while after that, and no one ever told me why she was gone.”

It wasn’t untrue. Robb and yourself both knew leaving Bran in Winterfell with that information wouldn’t have been good for him in that time. Only telling him the plain truth that she had left to protect the family from something just like what was happening at that time with his father and sisters. Your hands tensed for a moment, putting the thought away. The version of the woman you wanted to think of, whether or not Bran or Sansa should ever learn of the later as Arya was forced to witness. “She could barley bring herself to leave your bedside. For any reason. That catspaw attacking her that night to get to you? It made her move fast. She wanted to be with you when you woke up, but she needed to find out who was trying to hurt you more. Many times she wanted to go back to you and Rickon but the war always got in the way. She never stopped wanting to come home to you.”

Not quite a smile came over Brans face, but it was something perhaps fond enough that it eased the pain inside of him. Fifteen he was now, and yet as he looked up at you again did you just see the innocent face of the boy of ten you left him as. His voice too finding itself dropped deeper but yet still had an air of innocence that you felt relieved still lived somewhere inside what he’d seen and been through. “He’s tried to kill you more then he has me, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t care more about that.”

A raise of an eyebrow sat with an air of playful, despite your dry tone. “I’ve died once, and more men then Petyr Baelish alone have tried to have me killed. Eventually, you become numb to it. Besides,” Pushing back and smoothing out some of Brans messier hair from sleep, the gesture felt something comforting Bran hadn’t had since before his fall. “The night it happened, you were ten, unconscious and crippled. I’ve always been able to at least try and fight back. You were a child, and you couldn’t protect yourself no matter what. You can make an argument for attempting to kill a political rival, you cannot make any for murdering a child.”

The only sound between you both for a moment was the small crackling of fire inside the room and rain against the stone outside, until you found the words to speak it. “I have something for you.” Not saying anything, Bran watched as you pulled it carefully from under your shall.

The cover against it, the entire thing was doused in gold and gems, the black dragon bone handle its only standing out contrast as you carefully placed it in Brans now outstretched hands. Slowly he pulled it open, the metal shining even here, designs traced down the middle in symbols which were not quite writing, but images and patterns meaning nothing now. “How did he even get something like this?”

Your head tilted a bit with a shift near a wince. “I’m not so certain I want to know. A man with no morals and a penchant for influencing powerful people. My guess would be not in a fair manner.”

Bran looked it over the same way you did, something so ornate that it was the very reason such a drastic search for the truth was made. Someone only higher in status could possibly have given the man the dagger, and it painted a grand conspiracy around it. And you had no doubt he did it on purpose. Bran seemed to find the same conclusion. “He said he lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a bet?” You nodded in a confirm. “Do you think he lost on purpose? Planned all the way then to frame him?”

Biting your tongue in thought, you could see something like that. “It’s possible. Always would plot very far ahead, perhaps he didn’t know exactly what he was going to frame him for, but one of his spies told him about your fall and that opportunity seemed too perfect to pass. Everything was already set into place without him even needing to interfere.” Both of you looked at the other in wonder, but those details almost didn’t even truly matter. How he planned what mattered less now, and would matter none in a few hours.

Looking down to the blade, his brows furrowed again. “Are you sure you want me to have this?”

Your smile formed instantly, again such an innocent look on his face as he asked. “I am. You can do what you wish with it, keep it as a reminder that you have more then one way to fight back even as you are now. Make sure you can protect yourself before Summer is almost too late.” It was a strange thing to grin over, but both of you did. Adding one more however, you knew this was the far more important reason. “Besides, the blade is Valyrian Steel. It the worst comes for us, for you and theres no one else there? This might be the one thing that could save your life easily. It can actually withstand their weapons and-”

“And kill them.”

Repeating it back firmly, you moved to let his hand curl around the handle more as if to prompt him to keep it close. “Most of us have ways to protect ourselves here, we know dragonglass works against wights and whatnot, now you have a weapon that can do both.”

Thinking for a moment, Brans face twisted in doubt. “You and Arya don’t have anything Valyrian Steel.” Clarifying that Arya and yourself both know how to fight with more then just dragonglass, Bran laughed a little. “I always wanted to be a Knight of the Kingsuard. Who knew you and my sister would be able to fight way more then I can by now.”

Nodding moreso to himself in general, your tone unknowingly echoed one told the same to Arya who posed the same sort of upset over it for Bran years ago. “You can do far more then need to fight. Men who aren’t fighters have done great things before. Rule as Lords of a Holdfast, sit on a Kings council. Who knows, one day you might even build castles, like Bran the Builder.” That one got a better smile from him. Leaning forward you caught his eye. “You’re worth more then your legs, Bran. More then whatever ability you’ve come into. You’ll always be a Stark first.”

It was just as your hand made contact with the door handle when he called your name. Half turning back, something more troubled sat on his face. “What were you doing last night? When you had that vision?”

Hesitating, you at the minimum could count on one hand whom would not look at you as if you were mad for it, and thankfully, Bran was at the top of that small list. Your eyes narrowed however as you answered. “Nothing. It happened completely out of nowhere...you weren’t-”

Shaking his head no, Bran knew your ask but he was nowhere close to contributing to it he was sure. Both of you looked at each other before you shook your head. Assuring it probably didn’t mean anything before telling him when to make way to the courtyard, Bran clearly didn’t believe it didn’t mean anything, nor did he think it was a mere strange one off occurrence.

And neither did you.

The rain had yet to let up. It poured as an echo of the last time you stood in a spot just like this, and how it wrapped around to the same man. Petyr Baelish was not responsible for Torrhen Karstark’s death, but his manipulation of Catelyn had led to a spiralling of events leading to a moment similar to now. Whereas then you had been in the courtyard of Riverrun at the side of Robb.

Rickard Karstark had been walked out into the clearing in a calm silence, he and Robb both spoke firmly but without any franticness or even denial of what was to come. The man understood this was to happen and had accepted it with everything left in him. The rain poured down on you all in that day too, making the morning sky appear dark like the eve as it matched how all felt.

You would never forget that day, you never had. You hated to think back on it, the way it was truly a curse. An omen cast upon Robb which came true so shortly after it was shocking. As if he predicted it in his final moments. The only anger he showed in those final minutes did Robb ask if he would speak a final word. Rickard Karstark had looked Robb up in the eye and spat out with nothing but a hatred in his soul.

Robb had brought his sword down in anger of his own. For everything he had done with the wrongs around him, he was still told he was no longer worthy of the title bestowed upon him by his own men for nothing but who he proved himself to be as a man.

Yes Catelyn had released Jaime Lannister, and it was treason. Robb nor you ever denied that. Instead of acting a boy showing her sympathy for her plight it was for the girls, Robb spoke low to her condemning her for what she had done. His own mother was all but a prisoner for the remainder of her life for what she had done. Robb loved his mother and she knew that, but she also knew why he treated her that way and did not fight it. And Rickard Karstark had heard you plain as day when you revealed that she had been manipulated by Petyr Baelish to do this. And he blamed her for his woes anyways.

Those boys. No older then Bran was now. Willem and Martyn Lannister. Two good, innocent boys who did their duties as squires and were not the enemy for their name alone. You had promised them mercy and they had died thinking you a liar when they were dragged from their cells in the middle of the night and murdered. And Rickard Karstark had blamed Catelyn, felt nothing towards those two dead boys, and insulted both Robb and Ned Stark in one breath.

What would have happened if Jaime Lannister had never been set free? Only the gods know for sure, but you knew it traced right back to him. It felt as if it always did. A shadow following the ones you love, a plague slowly infecting each of you drip by drip. For who was left of the Starks, it made sense it was whom it was here to witness.

He tried to murder Bran, he had used and manipulated Sansa for years, and his betrayal in Kings Landing was what sent Arya on the run in the first place. Had he never betrayed him that day, she wouldn’t have had to run from the Red Keep and she never would’ve spent years without even so much as a roof over her head to call any kind of home.

It however, felt almost ironic. The one Stark not named so, the one he had never actually plotted against so directly, that was to be his final opponent. Jon had never been but a tool to him, a name to drop when needing to manipulate the right people and nothing more. He had been looked down on and forgotten as unimportant and yet he was Littlefingers final judgment.

Where Brandon Stark had shown mercy, where Ned Stark had wished he didn’t, where Robb never even had the chance to try. It was the bastard he couldn’t care less about which was the one who would stand before him this time. Eyes glancing to the crowd, covering him quite comfortably as she held him close you met your mothers eyes. The first she had truly seen anything of you in years, after thinking you were gone was the day you were the one with the sword heading towards the block.

She had hardly recognized that side of you then, and she barley did now. The roughness of a life she hardly understood, but stood there in the crowd with the rest. Beside Maege Mormont, near Ser Yohn Royce who stood in a watchful silence. Not so far from Tormund who watched almost with a curiosity of the finality of events which to him were vastly over complicated. It felt something, that so many stood here one in the same in the pouring rain.

If anything, perhaps it gave just the slightest bit of hope. That perhaps not all was lost and Jon was uniting people more then he understood. Without him no one would truly be here this way, and maybe the rest of the cause was not entirely lost.

Those somewhat behind where the four of you stood parted a bit as Jon approached. Dark eyes even darker then normal. A tenseness in his muscles and clench in his jaw, he took not a moment of this lightly you knew. Not for a second did he consider anything but giving this every honour and respect that most would never grant Littlefinger for what he had done.

Approaching Sansa as she stood beside you, a hand came to brace against her upper arm comfortingly. Jon’s voice was no less rough as he clearly appeared to feel. “Are you sure you want to be here for this? You don’t have to.”

A darker scowl had been etched into her face the entire time thus far, but she had been silent and still when she took her spot. Unlike yourself, she and Arya both had hoods hiding them from the rain whereas you simply allowed it to drain around you. Vaguely you could see her eyes flicker over to Arya and Bran before finding Jons again with a stern confidence. “I need to be here.”

Watching for a moment, Jon seemed to wait to see if doubt flashed across his little sisters eyes and found none. Flickering his gaze to you, no words needed to be said in your case. He read you as you did him. You had hardly any time being home, and neither of you had a chance to breathe. You both felt as ragged as you had for months in the far north.

You both knew this would not be a solution to everything wearing you down, but you did trust in Jon when he reassured you that it would be enough. Give you a chance to breath like you so desperately needed. No doubt much was coming in the near future, but Jon was adamant. He had what of his family left there was, and he needed to mend the remainders of those broken bridges between them.

But also, Jon needed to breathe beacuse he needed a chance with you. With the baby. Jon felt as if he was hardly being given a moment to be a father, to be a family with you and he needed it. You needed him, and he needed you and your son needed you both. And the looming eyes of one man had been getting firmly in the way of that. Jon needed you to trust him that it was going to be alright, because he needed you to know that he would take care of you.

Stark blood ran through his veins, but those here now calling themselves Snow needed time to each other and never truly had you had that since bringing the baby into the world. Jon never had that with his mother, and thus you wanted the three of you together to have it no matter what.

Theon on one side and Benjen on the other, it was a symbol that this wasn’t justice alone. This was truly a matter of family in uniting for this act. He had spoken somewhat, but you hardly heard a single word of it. As if suddenly the rain poured so heavily overtop of you that it deafened voices into nothing. He had looked to the girl beside you, his voice speaking but only could you make out the form of the plead of “Sansa,”.

You did not know if she said something, or nothing. He had no response to either possibility, but Theon and Benjen tossed him roughly to his knees, head over the block. Jons stood, hair pulled back, fur adorning his shoulders making him look that much more intimidating with his black eyes staring down. The hilt of Longclaw sat on the ground as both of his hands sat across the top with a patience.

You could see the words on Jons lips, and you could sense despite the tense nature of his entire demeanour, he spoke with a low rasping respect. You knew what words came from him, reading as if that was all your senses had. “If you have any last words my lord, now’s the time.”

But the rain was so loud it grew and grew. It blotted out the light peeking through the dark grey clouds and blackened around you. The rain grew muffled in that darkness but you saw not Petyr Baelish in your eyes unblinking sights.

Rain poured, and with few witnesses in the courtyard of Riverrun, you could recall seeing eyes looking towards you with a hatred that this was your fault. It was his father and he would be the only son remaining once it was done, and you knew somewhere along the way, he held guilt for what happened to you, and too maybe, what happened to Rickon. You didn’t know how but you knew why, and you saw the same anger in his eyes as you did in his fathers.

For all that had led up to getting here, you saw none of it. Your eyes had painted over white, and in the dark scene of pouring rain none had noticed until it was finished. All you could see or hear was what felt like the Sight trying to tell you something, but Bran had watched the execution in front of him. This was not his doing, whatever this was, was trying to speak to you alone. But you didn’t know what they wanted. You were supposed to bear witness to the final moments of Petyr Baelish’s life, but all you could hear was the spitting anger of Rickard Karstark on that day in Riverrun.

“Kill me and be cursed. You are no King of mine.”

[keithkog]

When I get wounds, Lance usually finds ways of kissing them. Honestly it feels a bit childish, since he told me he was kissing a boo-boo the first time he did it, but I let him anyways.

I started doing the same thing for him after a while. He seemed to like it, and it makes me feel like a better boyfriend.

-Keith

[blanceyblance]

Unpopular Klance opinions because I had been in this fanbase for quite a long time. So I have seen things and I'm coping with current events yk

Fans do tend to treat them both differently 100%. We all have our biases of course but fics do tend to baby Keith more, his mistakes are usually excused and Lance's pain is used to fuel his character development. Lance is usually the blandest most protective sunshine boy or an unrepentant jerk whose suffering is deserving because he choose Allura instead.

And some fics who try to focus on Lance growing post s8 only end with his big character resolution being...winning Keith back? Show that he has grown enough to finally deserve him or something. Eh, not a fan.

Both are pretty boyish boys but different fans have different interpretations of the characters and thats fine. But it seems that the reaction for Keith going for more "feminine" clothes and appearance is more accepting, while some people react strongly if its Lance instead.

Like the way some oppose so much to the idea of Keith being taller than Lance but also make Lance clearly taller than the actual difference they have in the show.

And the way some people are still mad about Lance's childish rivalry in the first seasons before his relationship with Keith improved but say nothing about Keith's jerkish tendencies or justify it with "he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings"

Just let's maybe think why there is the tendency to make Lance the boyish, tallest, abrasive, perverted one while Keith is the sensitive, beautiful, short, innocent one

Maybe I will add more things later but, basically as a Lance stan I have become really cautious with the KL content I see.

Nothing wrong, overall that's how fandom works and I'm not entitled to the content others make, its just my personal taste and observations and i needed to vent

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

the girls are fightinggggggg right now in the loguetown au; "And what if I do think that?"

"Then you're fool," Mihawk sneers, and drops to one knee.

Pain lances from ankle to thigh for the excruciating moment it takes for Mihawk's muscles to adjust to the abrupt movement, and then recedes into its usual tonal throb deep within his flesh. Mihawk ignores the flashflood of sensation entirely, leaning forward at the waist so he can reach forward and retrieve the earring with a minimum of effort.

He plucks it up with his left hand, rolls it in his fingers, and revels in the silence coming from Shanks' direction while simultaneously wondering how long it will last.

Seconds pass. Shanks is silent.

Mihawk crooks his fingers, checks if the row of tiny amethysts inset in the gold is unbroken. It is.

Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, my love. You should know by now that I won't ever lie to you, not even spare your feelings.

No, that's unfair.

Oh, Shanks does know. He's simply…foolish at times - many times, in many many ways - too foolish to know when to keep his mouth shut.

"…What did you say?"

Mihawk looks up then, and is momentarily blinded as Shanks…

…as he-

Ah.

Ah.

Mihawk blinks, and as the glare fades from his eyes, Shanks' face fades in. His brows are a tight furrow of red, his mouth is twisted into some bastard mix between a pout and snarl, sitting poised on the curve of his jaw. The tip of his sword is inches shy of Mihawk's throat, the length of it continuing to reflect sunlight into Mihawk's line of vision.

Ah. Mihawk has gone and actually upset him.

Foolish. Foolish, foolish. Foolish.

"Tell me what you said." Shanks demands. His eyes are a bright silver sparkle in the shadow of his wayward hair, his voice; sharp. Sharp, sharp, a needling provocative sound. Childish. Foolish.

He heard what Mihawk just said, heard it loud and clear. But then, that's not the point. He's picking a fight. Trying to pick one. If he thinks he can bait Mihawk that easily, then he's a -

"Fool. I said you're a fool." Mihawk says. And then to drive the point home; "Foolish boy."

He can't decide what is brighter, what is more blinding: the shine of the sword, or that glitter in Shanks' eyes. Or perhaps. Perhaps they are one and the same.

They are.

Shanks blinks.

Mihawk becomes aware of pain under his chin. Well. Not really. Not pain, not at all. A long time ago it might have been. Now, it's just a sting, just an itch, just the tip of a sword digging into the soft flesh just past the ridge of bone meant to shield it.

Shanks' sword.

Oh, you silly boy.

"I'm not," Shanks says, "a fool."

He's actually upset. He's -

"And I'm not a boy."

Mihawk presses his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, holds there over the slick tissue. The sword tip has not broken his skin - not yet - but he can taste it, warm, metallic, hard iron. Not painful, though. Not yet.

One move of the wrist and it goes into his mouth, his throat. One wrong move.

Or not a wrong one. Not a…

"Then don't act like a boy." Mihawk says.

Shanks looks like one.

Oh, how he looks like one. His eyes are bright, his hair is a red mess. His shirt collar is wrenched opened to its limit, his sleeves are shoved up his arms. Pants creased with movement, ripped at one knee. He's barefoot. The straw hat hangs off-center, haloing the curve of one shoulder.

He looks like a boy.

But he's not, he's not.

[incorrectpokechampionquotes]

Lance and Iris are arguing about who gets a game next.

Lance: Who do you think it will be, Diantha?

Diantha: I don't really care. You're both so childish sometimes.

[uninspireddreamsandwhims]

An Idiot's Guide to Free Cake

I wrote a Klance fic a few months ago based off a Tumblr prompt by alrightevans, "I just saw a thing on fb like ‘does somebody wanna be fake engaged to me for like 2 hours to try free wedding cake samples’ and I'm just…………………imagine ur otp". It's my first time posting on here so hopefully this goes smoothly lol. It's also lightly inspired by a story a friend once told me of how she faked an engagement for free cake at a restaurant lol. I had a lot of fun writing this and I just figured I'd share it here as well! If you'd rather read on AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/56362210) Thanks for reading! _____________________________________________ Keith slid into the slightly sticky booth seat, already regretting the decision to come.

Well. He wouldn’t call it a decision. That would involve options. Non-coerced options that didn’t involve threats and blackmail.

Keith buried his face in his hands, taking a deep, steadying breath. It’s just one dinner. All he has to do is grit his teeth, order his food, avoid eye contact, and dip once an appropriate amount of time has passed. He can do this. He has to do this.

His dignity is at stake, after all.

Distracted by his internal pep-talk, Keith didn’t hear Lance approach until he was crashing into the booth across from him with a loud huff. Keith dragged his head up to glare at the man.

Lance, late as always - though this time thankfully so - seemed unbothered by Keith’s glare. He flashed a smile at the hostess who showed him to the table and thanked her warmly enough Keith noticed the beginnings of a blush bloom on her cheeks. Even after the hostess scurried off, Lance still didn’t turn to look at Keith.

So this is how he wants to play, huh? Even though Keith planned on using this exact tactic, it annoyed him that Lance had started before he could. He got here first. It should be him starting the averted glares and pointed silence.

Keith mentally kicked himself. He was being childish. Lance tended to bring that out in Keith; a side of Keith that even he didn’t know he was capable of until Lance came into the picture. Lance just had a way of getting under Keith’s skin. He knew all the ways to make Keith tick. It would be humiliating if Keith wasn’t able to do the same to Lance. Though, unfortunately, that’s precisely why they’re in the predicament that they’re in.

Keith lifted his chin defiantly, refusing to utter a word to Lance. Not even a sign of acknowledgment. Lance came late so he should say something first. Instead, Keith busied himself with the menu, scanning the options.

Fuck this place was expensive. $25 for a plate of pasta. For most places Keith goes to, $25 can cover the meal, drink, and tip. Why they couldn’t just meet at a college town restaurant was beyond him. Lance just had to pick this place. Keith rolled his eyes in annoyance before scanning the rest of the menu for something somewhat reasonable. He found a burger, with fries (truly a surprise), for a little over $18. It was still going to be a pricey meal, but at least it wasn’t $25 for pasta.

Across from him, Lance picked up his menu and scanned over the selections. Softly, almost too quiet to make out over the din of the people around them, Keith could have sworn he heard Lance say, “Jesus.” Lance’s teeth tugged at his bottom lip, chewing absently as his brows pinched together in time with his eyes dropping lower and lower down the menu. Keith gritted his teeth.

If you’re so shocked by the menu, why did you pick this place? He wanted to snap. But he’d already sworn to himself he wouldn’t say anything first and he’ll be damned if he breaks so soon. Keith looked around the cozy, intimate restaurant. They were seated in a cramped booth against a dividing wall that split up the main dining area. The kind of booth that encouraged closeness and murmured conversations. It seemed like a place that preferred you to lean in close, maybe hold hands, and share stories or inside jokes with one another. A small oasis in a crowded restaurant. Keith found himself leaning back against his seat, chasing away the idea.

The lighting in the room was soft, almost annoyingly too buttery yellow for comfort, which made Keith rub his eyes in agitation. Waiters bustled around, bright smiles plastered on their faces. Some walked from table to table, their sole purpose being to offer wine and top-off drinks. This was definitely not the kind of place Keith often found himself in.

He thought about his past few meals - whatever concoction he could create to fill his stomach while not draining his wallet. Until recently, he’d been coasting off a diet of cereal and ramen. But he was sick of ramen and he was beginning to think he might be lactose intolerant. He’s not proud of it, but recently Keith succumbed to mixing store-bought queso, chicken nuggets, rice, and hot sauce and using it as a dip for his chips. It tasted better than it should have.

So while Keith was not looking forward to the price of this meal, and was most definitely not looking forward to spending it with Lance, he was, at the very least, fucking thankful to be eating something other than the remnants of his fridge.

A waiter coasted up to their table, high ponytail swinging even after she came to a stop. “Hello and welcome! My name is Addison and I’ll be taking care of you two this evening.” Her voice was bubbly and sweet. Lance glanced up from his menu, startled by her sudden appearance.

He recovered quickly, a smooth grin unfurling across his lips as he returned her smile. 

“Good evening Addison,” he replied, voice gentle and welcoming. It wasn’t flirtatious, as Lance often is with others, but Addison still seemed a bit flustered. Keith wanted to kick Lance in the shin but he held himself back. He wasn’t technically doing anything wrong.

“Right, erm…” Addison trailed off for a second, seemingly losing her place in her routine. “Can I get you guys started with any drinks?”

“Just a water for me,” Keith told her. No need to spend almost five dollars for a glass of soda that was mostly just ice. Addison gave a quick nod before turning back to Lance.

“I’ll take the summer peach tea,” Lance told her. Of course he would get something like that. Never mind that Keith didn’t know what options there were to begin with, having deliberately chosen to avoid them on the menu. But he wasn’t shocked. It was an entirely Lance-like drink. Sweet, fruity, and overly indulgent.

“Oh, that’s a good one. I get that all the time,” Addison said, sounding a bit too sincere to be genuine. Keith wondered how often she even ate at the restaurant. If it were him, he wouldn’t dare eat where he worked. Just being there for work was exhausting enough. It would suck to come in when he wasn’t even scheduled. “Would you guys like any appetizers to start with? Or are you ready to order?”

Lance shot Keith a wide-eyed look, the kind that would be comical if Keith wasn’t already so annoyed with him. Part of Keith wanted to say, “Why yes, we are actually.” just to watch Lance scramble to find something. But that would be a little too dickish.

“I still need a minute,” Lance admitted, sheepish.

“Oh absolutely, no worries,” Addison reassured him. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.” She zipped away, disappearing almost as fast as she came. Keith sighed, sinking back into his seat as the silence settled over them, creating their own shitty little bubble of discomfort.

Lance’s face was pinched, brows puckered and his lips scrunched in his thinking expression. Keith watched as he began to tap absentmindedly on his chin with a long, slender index finger. Finally, Lance puffed out a sigh, seemingly coming to a decision. He placed the menu on the table and glanced up, jumping when his eyes met Keith’s.

Keith’s own eyes widened, startled by the sudden eye contact. Quickly he dropped his gaze to his hands, fingers curled into a tangle in his lap. He heard Lance clear his throat and wondered if Lance would be the first to break their standoff.

But whatever Lance was about to say was interrupted by Addison’s sudden return. Lance thanked her warmly, not the least bit annoyed by the interruption, while she cheerily deposited their drinks onto the table. Keith felt a surge of gratitude to the server, thankful to prolong the inevitable for a few moments longer.

“So, are we ready to order yet?” She asked cautiously. Keith glanced up, casting his gaze from Addison, to Lance, and back to Addison.

“Um, I am…if you are,” he mumbled, looking back at Lance again. Lance nodded, shooting one last look at the menu. Taking the chance, Keith gave his order to Addison. “I’ll take the classic cheeseburger. No tomatoes on it, please.” Addison’s head bobbed as she jotted down the order.

“No tomato, got it. Everything else on there okay?” Keith nodded. “And are the fries okay as your side?” He nodded again. She smiled and took his menu from him. “You got it then. And for you, sir?”

Lance glanced up again, the usual smile unfurling once more. “My turn already?” He let out a small chuckle. “There’s so much to pick from, it’s hard to settle on just one thing.” Addison laughed.

“Oh, I know. The menu changes every season, so there's always something new.”

“Does it really?” Lance asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. “That sounds awesome. Makes you want to come back to try it all." Keith wanted to roll his eyes. Lance seemed to make it his goal in life to be liked by everyone. "But for today," Lance continued, his face briefly scrunching up before finally deciding. "I think I’ll settle for the shrimp ravioli.”

“Excellent choice,” Addison said as she scribbled on her pad. “I haven’t personally had that one before - shellfish allergy - but I hear customers raving about it all the time. I’ll go put these in for you.” She swept away again, her ponytail swinging like a pendulum behind her.

“I like her,” Lance mused. Keith shot him a look, eyebrow rising in a silent question. “She seems nice,” he added without looking at Keith. Whether he was talking to himself or he noticed Keith’s gaze was unclear. Instead, Lance unraveled a straw from the plastic casing and plunked it into his drink. Keith squinted at the concoction. Tea was settled at the bottom, mixing with what Keith assumed was lemonade on top, with chunks of peach floating alongside ice cubes. He wondered if that was any good. And how well that would go with shrimp.

Just the thought of that made his nose wrinkle. He wasn’t a big fan of seafood and the idea of eating shrimp and washing it down with a peach-flavored Arnold Palmer sounded awful.

“Is that any good?” He finally asked, caving. He wasn’t technically losing his one-sided cold war, Lance had spoken first after all. Whether it was just to himself or to Keith didn’t matter.

At least, that's what Keith told himself.

Lance’s gaze flittered up, eyes wide like he was surprised to hear Keith speaking to him. He blinked, slowly, before considering. “It’s pretty good,” he admitted. “But I am regretting it, now that I’ve ordered.” It seemed Lance had come to the same conclusion that Keith had. Peach tea and shrimp ravioli probably weren’t a match made in culinary heaven.

“Can’t see why you’d think that,” Keith said, his tone dry and words a little more sarcastic than he’d meant for it to come off as. Lance bristled slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he was readying for a fight. Keith winced. “Sorry,” he muttered. This was supposed to be a peace negotiation. He wasn’t here to make things worse.

A few days prior, Lance and Keith had gotten into another argument. Keith couldn’t even remember what it was about; their bickering had been the background to so many hangouts that their friends finally sat them down for an intervention. Shiro and Allura led the intervention while Hunk played mediator for Lance and Keith. Pidge was just there for the chaos.

Regardless, the issues between Keith and Lance were getting too big to overlook and their friends were tired of it. Keith hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten until Allura firmly stated that until they got their act together, neither would be invited to any gatherings in their friend group.

Keith could tell that the command sat heavily on Lance. When Allura announced the plan for Lance and Keith to go out to dinner and play nice…Keith contemplated throwing the whole friend group away. But he couldn’t do that to them. He cared about his friends more than he was willing to admit out loud and would be lying if he said he didn’t find the time they spent together enjoyable. Lance included. It was the first time Keith had ever been part of a friend group and it felt good. He liked spending time with them, going bowling, studying in the library, and doing other silly shenanigans around campus. 

…Not to mention, Keith wasn’t so sure he could replace them if he did throw them away. He wasn’t exactly approachable the way Lance was.

“Whatever,” Lance sighed, leaning his cheek against his palm, giving him an almost pouty look. “So…” he started, looking like he was, for once, at a loss for words. “You’re into places like this, huh?” Keith frowned.

“Why would…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Wasn’t this your pick, Lance?” Lance snorted a laugh.

“God no. If it were up to me, dinner would be Taco Bell and we’d have gone through the drive-thru.” A laugh burst out of Keith before he could press his lips together to suffocate the sound. In a half-hearted attempt to smother the sound, he faked a cough, covering his mouth with his hand to hide the smile spreading across his lips.

“How romantic,” Keith replied dryly. Lance shot him an over-dramatic wink which earned him another laugh from Keith.

“Romantic indeed though,” Lance mused, eyes roaming the dining area. “I didn’t even know a place like this existed in this town.” Lance turned back to Keith, brows furrowed in confusion. “But wait…if you didn’t pick this place-”

“Absolutely not,” Keith cut in.

“And I definitely wouldn’t choose such a place…” he cocked his head just slightly, the move reminding Keith of a confused puppy. “Who the hell did?”

Keith lifted one shoulder, trying to banish the thought from his mind. “If I had to guess, probably Allura. Seems like the kind of place she would have been to at least once.” Lance hummed softly in agreement. “Though if I’m being honest,” Keith bit back a sigh. “It was also very likely…”

“Pidge,” they said in unison. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, before sharing a small laugh. 

What the hell is going on here? Keith thought to himself. This was probably the most he’d ever enjoyed himself in Lance’s company. Keith never thought there would be a day that he'd genuinely laugh with Lance instead of at him.

“Yeah, I can see that one for sure,” Lance agreed, rubbing a hand down his face. “That gremlin would definitely have chosen the most awkward place possible for us to meet.”

“Awkward? What would make you think that?” Keith said, his tone on the verge of teasing. Lance stared at him, a flustered look on his face. He thought Keith was being serious. 

Keith grinned, pressing on. “I mean, we’re just two dudes, sitting in a small, intimate restaurant with mood lighting and music, on a Friday night at six pm. Entirely normal.” Somewhere between “two dudes” and “mood lighting” Lance caught on to the fact that Keith was joking and had smothered another laugh into his hands. His head was tilted down, making it hard for Keith to see Lance’s expression, but he felt a small flutter in his stomach. He was so used to getting on Lance’s nerves, and vice versa, that it was a bit odd to be making Lance laugh. It was weird to be laughing all. This was not on Keith's Intervention Dinner bingo card.

After a moment, the laughter subsided and the two lapsed into a comfortable silence. Neither said anything for a few minutes. Keith wondered if he should say something, but Lance beat him to it. “You know, it’s a shame we’re sworn enemies.”

Keith blinked. Once. Twice. “What?” Of all the things Lance could have said, “sworn enemies” wasn’t even in consideration. Where had Lance gotten that idea from?

It seemed even Lance was starting to feel self-conscious about his statement. His cheeks flushed a faint pink, but he carried on regardless. “You know, academic rivals—sworn enemies. Destined to never be friends. That sort of stuff.” Keith considered what Lance had just said.

“I don’t get it.” He said finally, voice flat with confusion. He squinted at Lance. “When were we ever academic rivals?? Lance, we aren’t even in the same major.” The pink in Lance’s cheeks reddened.

“Before college,” he muttered. “Back at the Garrison.” Keith’s memories of the Garrison were foggy. Not due to time, but to a lack of desire to dwell on those days. Dropping out of the Garrison was the best thing he’d ever done. He’d very nearly foregone schooling altogether. It was only due to Shiro pushing him to get his GED and then eventually look into colleges that Keith even made it to where he is today.

“Still not sure what you mean,” Keith admitted. Lance looked appalled. No. Not appalled. He looked outraged.

“What?” He snapped, his voice spiking for a brief moment. Keith shot a nervous look around the room. “What do you mean? How could you not know what I’m talking about?” Keith opened his mouth to say something but wasn’t sure what would be best in this situation. He snapped his jaw shut, hissing a breath out between his clenched teeth. There he was. This was the real Lance. Loud, dramatic, and with a chip on his shoulder about god knows what. Keith felt his irritation begin to rise. 

“Well you see Lance,” Keith said with forced patience. “When someone says, ‘I don’t know’, it typically means that they don’t know.” He shot Lance a glare, surprised to see the ferocity in Lance’s eyes as he glared right back at Keith. 

“I spent every day at the Garrison being compared to you,” Lance snapped, jabbing a finger at Keith. He was doing his best to keep his voice low but Keith could tell that others were starting to look at them. Keith couldn’t find the will to care about that though.

“To me?” He asked, incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you get compared to me?” Keith wasn’t positive, but he was almost certain they rarely crossed paths at the Garrison. When he’d met Lance during welcome week two years ago, both newly minted college freshmen, he’d been surprised to hear that Lance had already known him. Since Keith was notoriously bad at remembering faces, he’d just brushed it off. Now he was starting to wonder if that’d been a mistake.

“Because,” Lance hissed. “No matter what I did, no matter how good I was, I could never beat you. Even if I did, technically, surpass you in terms of grades, there was always something or another that you still managed to do better. And everyone talked about that. If I was second place, you were first. It didn't matter if you'd already left. I was constantly chasing after your stupid shadow. It wasn’t just teachers comparing us, our peers compared us too.” He slumped back in his seat, his back thumping hard against the booth seat. He looked utterly defeated, the anger draining out of him. Keith felt a small stab of guilt looking at him.

“I didn’t know that,” Keith admitted, a little embarrassed. He had felt like he’d been drowning during his time at the Garrison. It was strange to hear someone else reflect on it like he’d been some scholar student.

Not some fuck up that dropped out in a fit of rage.

Keith leaned back in the booth, unsure of what to say. He glanced across the table at Lance who looked too immersed in his bitter memories to notice. Keith wondered what he would have been like if he hadn’t dropped out. What Lance would have been like. Their relationship certainly wouldn’t have been any better. The chip on Lance’s shoulder was far too great to overlook and Keith had been too eager to jump into every fight that came across his path at the time. It was probably good that they didn't encounter each other back then.

Not that much has changed in him, it seems. Considering the way he and Lance still bicker and argue even though Keith isn’t always sure why. Sometimes it was the way Lance looked at him. Or the way he seemed to imply certain things. Other times it was just his obnoxiously loud nature. How he seemed too carefree in a crowd. Too at ease no matter where he went, even when he got swarmed by others. Like honey to a sea of flies.

Keith hadn’t wanted to be another drop in the swirling mass. But there were times he craved it. And maybe that too was why he started being nasty back at Lance.

Sunny, golden boy Lance. Always eager to please. He was a friend to anyone and everyone, and despite how he seemed, intelligent as hell. Looking at Lance made Keith feel like he was looking at a bitter reflection of himself. Of who Keith should have been. Smart, determined, charismatic, and a bit more (okay, a lot more) outgoing. Even though Keith knew if he had stayed, things would have only gotten worse, there were times when he looked at Lance and felt that bitter surge of jealousy. And like a little kid who felt inferior, he wanted to knock Lance down a peg sometimes.

Keith bit back a laugh at the stupidity of it all. Was this seriously worth all the fighting? Was it worth nearly splitting up a friend group because of some shitty emotional baggage?

“I just…” Lance started to say. Keith watched Lance swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stalled on the words. “I just don’t know why you left.”

Keith winced. He wasn’t expecting that conversation. He had half expected one of their friends to have spilled the story to Lance. Allura, Pidge, and Shiro all knew the story. He wasn’t sure about Hunk. Hunk was so easygoing it probably didn’t occur to him to pry.

Keith let out a sigh. “It-”

A waiter arrived, his hands ladened with their dinner. “Alright, so I’ve got the shrimp ravioli,” he placed it down in front of Lance when Lance held up his hand. “And the burger,” he continued, sliding the second plate over to Keith. “Dinner of champions right there,” he added with a slight chuckle. Keith bit back a snarky remark, glaring at the retreating waiter’s back.

“Did you just get bullied by the waiter?” Lance asked with a forced chuckle, attempting to steer the conversation away from his previous question. He busied himself, fidgeting with his plate and avoiding eye contact. Keith rolled his silverware out of the fancy napkin tangle it was trapped in, a tad too aggressively.

“Sure as hell sounds like it,” he muttered. He popped a fry into his mouth and goddamn it that was good. His mood eased as he ate a few more. “About your question from before,” Keith could see Lance tense, his eyes laser-focused on his plate. His napkin was gone and Keith wondered where he’d put it. “It’s not like it’s a secret…”

“How is everything y’all?” Addison chirped as she manifested at the edge of their table. Both Keith and Lance jumped, eyes as wide as saucers. She giggled a little. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you two.”

“You’re good,” Lance assured her, recovering first. “Everything seems perfect so far, thanks,” Keith grunted in agreement. Satisfied, Addison flashed them another smile and disappeared, probably off to startle another table.

They sat awkwardly for a long moment, Lance playing with his pasta and Keith pretending to busy himself with his burger. This is worse than earlier, Keith thought. At least then it was intentional.

“Garrison and I didn’t mix,” Keith said finally. Lance froze, still staring at his pasta. “I was…” Keith trailed off, searching for the right word. Hopeless? Helpless? Pushed to the brink? “Miserable,” he decided, choosing the least pathetic sounding option. “I hated being there. When Shiro was gone and it was just me left behind,” he pressed his lips together. Inhaling deeply, he finished, “The Garrison doesn’t care about its students. Just their results. And I had too much going on to give a shit anymore.” He looked over at Lance, surprised to see his eyes locked on him. Ocean blue depths unfathomable. Keith squirmed a bit in his seat. He didn’t like how Lance looked at him, eyes impassive for once. It was too unsettling.

“I didn’t know,” Lance said softly. Keith’s body went rigid. “Garrison sucked in a lot of ways. But for me, it was everything. I didn’t think about how it would be for someone else.” Lance swirled his fork in the sauce on his plate. Keith wiped his palms - for some reason they were sweaty - along his jeans.

“It’s not like I made it known,” Keith sighed. “And we barely spoke.”

“Yeah, but,” Lance pressed his face into his free hand. “That doesn’t mean it was fair.”

“Definitely not.”

“And I feel like a complete asshole right now.”

“Glad you’re aware.”

Lance lifted his head, eyes narrowed as he shot daggers at Keith. “Not helping,” he snapped. Keith laughed, shaky but genuine.

“I thought it was.” Lance rolled his eyes but didn’t retaliate.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He was sitting up straighter now, his eyes serious. “I didn’t realize. And that’s not a good excuse, nor should it be considered one. I was an asshole and I made my problems be your problems too.”

Keith was a little thrown off by this. He hadn’t expected such a heartfelt apology from Lance. “It’s okay,” he said. “Truly. It was shitty that you had to put up with their comparisons. It wasn’t fair that they kept pitting you against me. You’ve made amazing accomplishments. No one should have made them or you feel less than.” Lance blinked, his expression stunned. For a minute, Keith worried that Lance would start to cry.

“Thank you.” Lance’s voice was small and shy. A little guarded. He popped a ravioli in his mouth. “Damn this is good,” he said, mouth full. Keith laughed, picking up his burger. The food was good. Almost good enough to forgive the ridiculous price. “I’m taking some of those,” Lance said suddenly, swiping a few fries off Keith’s plate. Keith let out an outraged sound and swatted at Lance’s hand the second time it crept near his plate. 

The rest of the dinner passed smoothly, Lance only managing to steal a few more fries before Keith nearly jabbed him with a fork. Once they’d cleared the air, it appeared they had a few things in common. When Keith had mentioned that he’d never been to the beach, Lance was distraught. He started gushing about the joys of beach weather, promising to take him one day.

“This summer,” he said, eyes shining. Lance was grinning so wide he looked like he was glowing. “I’ll take you to the beach. We could do a whole weekend trip.” Keith grinned, surprised to find that he was actually considering the idea. He’d never been one for the beach. There was no way Lance was getting him into the ocean.

“Let’s make it a group trip,” Keith suggested. “Allura would love to go.” Lance surged forward, jostling the table. Keith glanced over at where their empty plates had been pushed to the end, worried Lance’s sudden movement would knock them over.

“Oh my god that would be amazing!” Lance exclaimed. “We could rent out a beach house or something if we all pool together our cash. We could get sparklers, do picnics, barbeque…I can even teach you how to surf, Cowboy!” Keith spluttered a laugh.

“Cowboy?”

Lance shrugged. “It’s better than Mullet, right?” Keith grimaced.

“How are we doing now?” Addison asked, sliding up to the table. She scooped the plates up as she spoke. “Do we think we can stomach some dessert?”

“Uh…” Lance shot a look at Keith. The curiosity was clear on his face.

“Could we see the dessert menu?” Keith asked for him. Addison bobbed her head, chirping that she’d be right back with one.

“Thanks,” Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. Keith shrugged.

“You know it’s going to be ridiculously expensive,” Keith pointed out. Lance dragged out a sigh, splaying his arms across the table dramatically.

“That’s true, but I like looking anyway. It’s like window shopping.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “So you torture yourself even when you know you shouldn’t?”

Lance looked like Keith had just said something incredibly dumb. “Well…yeah. Obviously.” Keith shook his head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re unimaginative,” Lance shot back. “Live a little. Enjoy the flavors of life.” He pulled his cup closer, blowing bubbles into the remaining liquid.

“Y’know,” Keith began, bemused by Lance's sulking. “I know someone who once got a cake slice for free at a place like this.” Lance squinted up at Keith.

“Seriously? How the hell did they do that?”

Keith smirked. “She faked an engagement with her friend.” Lance’s eyes widened, a startled huff of laughter bursting out of him.

“You’re kidding!” He laughed. “That’s amazing. Why have I never thought of that?” He paused, his head tilting to the side like he always does when he’s considering something. “Do you think that stuff actually works?” Keith considered the idea, fingers twisting on the ring he always wears on his right hand. He noticed Addison heading towards them, a menu in hand.

“Only one way to find out,” he said slyly. Lance’s expression shuffled from confusion to shock, landing on bewilderment as Keith slid out of his booth and knelt in front of Lance. Lance played the part well, hands flying up to his mouth in fabricated surprise - probably to hide the laughter plaguing him. His eyes glistened and Keith had to hand it to him, the guy could act.

“Lance,” Keith said, struggling to keep the snicker out of his voice. “Would you…” he blanked. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Was he supposed to give a speech? What would make this more believable to the onlookers slowly beginning to tune in? 

Luckily, Lance saved him. “Yes!” He squealed, throwing his arms around Keith’s shoulders. It was the closest the two had ever been and Keith’s frantic mind stuttered. Lance pulled back, just far enough to press his forehead against Keith’s. His skin was warm and the faint scent of his cologne - citrus and bergamot - tickled Keith’s nose. Lance fluttered his lashes dramatically, a soft huff of laughter escaping before he could stop it. He bit his bottom lip, most likely to stop himself from laughing even more.

“Can I put it on?” He asked Keith, voice soft and sweet. Keith stared at him, in awe of the performance Lance was putting together. Damn, he really wants that cake huh?

“Uh, sure,” Keith muttered, his voice a bit too rough. He took Lance’s left hand, willing the ring to fit as he slid it onto Lance’s finger.

It was a perfect fit. Lance did chuckle then, loud enough for others to hear him. But it felt right. He cradled his hand against his chest, beaming at Keith as he did so.

“It’s perfect,” he cooed. He glanced up, feigning surprise as he took in the onlookers watching them. “Oh!” He exclaimed, pressing his hands to his cheeks. “This is so embarrassing,” he said, a bit too loudly to be casual. Keith bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. He noticed Addison hovering not too far away, her hands covering her mouth, the dessert menu dangling from the crook of her elbow. She looked so moved by their performance that Keith felt a little guilty for fooling her.

“Oh my gosh you two,” she breathed. “Would you like me to…I don’t know…take a picture?” Lanced nodded excitedly, passing her his phone. As she readied the camera, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck once more, his cheek pressing against Keith’s.

“This is gonna be one hell of a story to tell the others,” Lance said through his teeth, his grin so wide it could split his face in half.

“They’re never gonna believe us,” Keith muttered back, his own smile broad and genuine. The story was so far-fetched that Keith wasn’t even sure a picture would be enough to convince them.

Addison snapped their picture and returned the phone to Lance, who gushed about how “perfect” the photo was. Keith was rising to stand when Addison announced that she would be right back and walked off with a wink.

“I think it worked,” Lance hissed, eyes sparkling with glee.

“It better have, I didn’t put in all this effort for nothing,” Keith teased. Lance rolled his eyes. They both knew who put in the real work to convince the crowd. Lance took out his phone again, fingers flying across the screen. Before Keith could ask what he was doing, his phone pinged with a message alert.

Lance: Guess what???

The photo Lance sent to the group chat was surprisingly good. Maybe it was the camera on Lance’s phone or the lighting in the restaurant, but the two looked convincing. A little too convincing. Keith’s cheeks were flushed but he looked happy. Genuinely happy. Like it had been a real proposal gone right.

Pidge: You’re JOKING

Hunk: What happened during your dinner???

Allura: Mission…successful?

Pidge: Is this real? This has to be fake right? Did you two stage a photo to make us think you actually made up?

Hunk: That sounds like something Lance would do…

Shiro: Uh…Keith???

Lance: ;)

By the time Addison came back to their table, the two were laughing so hard, Lance was wiping tears from his eyes and Keith’s face was hurting from smiling so much. The cake she placed in front of them was chocolate, with a looping chocolate syrup, “Congratulations!” on the plate. At Lance’s suggestion, the two took turns feeding one another for their first bites.

The cake was dense and fudgy, with bursts of tart raspberry sauce between the layers. It was way too sweet to be something Keith would typically order, the chocolate icing coated his tongue and melted into a sugary syrup in the back of his throat. Keith watched the way Lance melted with every bite, his expression pure bliss as he shoveled bite after bite into his mouth.

“Best fake engagement ever,” Lance said around a mouthful of cake.

Keith smiled, knowing that the cake was probably worth every penny of the ridiculous price that it normally sold for. Later, be it tomorrow or the next day, Keith knew he would feel a bit guilty for conning the restaurant. But for now, Keith savored every last bite.