#does this delegitimize me?

[uncanny-tranny]

I think respecting trans people comes with a territory of like... just because many people will pass as cis doesn't mean that it's a great idea to use their passing as a way of legitimizing how absurd transphobia is

Transphobia isn't absurd because I "look like a [cis] man," it's because transphobia is fucking ridiculous. It would be ridiculous whether or not I passed or whether I look like a "conventional man." I use myself as an example, but ultimately, passing or appearing normative should never play into whether or not transphobia is bad.

[writingforfishes]

Ahem.

Confession time.

I don't like kissing anyone and...

am actually in a relationship with a girl.

SURPRISE!

Friendly reminder I’m open to asks!! Gimme something to write about yall >:3

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

i love defending pete wentz against the mania haters who call him the music industry's mr krabs bc he sucks in other ways.

[mariesoliver]

I feel like the icj ruling specifically undermines the credibility of international law and its intitutions. The icj stated out loud that south africa's case accusing israel of genocide was legally sound (with overwhelming evidence) yet their measures are so weak... not even a call for a ceasefire... by their own standards they can't deny genocidal acts are happening but they do not have the political will or care to actually do something about it

[tpwrtrmnky]

exposition

[ID: Four panel comic with crudely drawn stick people.

Panel 1: A blue person with sunglasses and dog ears is talking to an orange person with dog ears.

Blue: "Ah, young Orange."

Orange: "I, uh, aren't you younger than-"

Blue: "I understand that you have approached me to discuss an issue. As is the doctrine of our anarcho-caninist commune, we shall conduct this meeting in expository form, speaking as if intent on being observed by an unknown third party in need of being spoonfed everything we, as individuals, are already aware of."

Orange: "Wait-"

Blue: "Let us begin by stating our medical histories: I am on gel that makes you blue and have had dog ear implants."

Orange: "I uh. I know. You told me yesterday."

Blue: "It is your turn. State it!"

Orange: "…You can look at me and tell that I'm-"

Blue: "You cannot rely on the third party knowing how you became orange!"

Orange: "…Gel. It's gel."

Panel 2: An extremely tall, hot pink person with fluffy bits around their chest and extremities, as well as floppy dog ears and a bandana worn as a mask, interjects into the conversation between the two.

Hot Pink: "I sense that this discussion is at risk of becoming an argument. Let us recite the Acknowledgment of Legitimacy, as per the doctrine."

Blue and Hot Pink: "We recognise that opinions are held by individuals and do not represent everyone of their chromatic alignment. We understand that if any individual is found to be in the wrong, it does not delegitimize their identity, only their viewpoint."

Orange: "I uh. Does anyone not believe this? Who are we disagreeing with here?"

Hot Pink: "I am on injections that make you hot pink and have taken topical fluffy fur gel. Now we may proceed."

Panel 3: Zoom in on Hot Pink and Blue as they continue spoonfeeding unnecessary exposition to you, the reader.

Blue: "Before proceeding we must also clarify that the doctrine is an idiosyncracy of our commune, and not reflective of wider anarchist nor caninist movements."

Hot Pink: "Indeed. Furthermore, I would like to establish that we exist in the context of the past affecting the present, as individuals with personal histories that affect our present state, and have established this doctrine in response to said history."

Orange: "I- how- what history- are you explaining that the past exists??

Who is this for?

How did you decide to talk like this?"

Panel 4: A green person with a tail and long, pointy dog ears appears opposite of Orange to make it all make sense.

Green: "You bring up an excellent question. I am on a combination of pills that make you green and pills that block my naturally occurring red, which I do not personally consider a medical condition but which is often pathologized as such. Before proceeding and getting to the point we must go over the historical context in which this conversation is taking place."

Orange: "Wait, no, I know history, please-"

Green: "Caninism, as formulated by Barx in the 1800s…"

End ID.]

Bonus panel:

[ID 2: Presumably sometime later, the green dogperson is still talking.

Green: "You see, the Expository Doctrine is primarily a performance art critique of the tendency to demand that media explains everything to the viewer, and how pandering to this demand causes dialogue to be unnatural, stilted and unnecessarily verbose."

Orange: "I know. You say this every day."

Green: "Indeed, part of the performance serves to emphasize how in a serial but episodic medium, such mandatory exposition quickly becomes frustrating and repetitive!"

End ID 2.]

Start - Previous - Next

[ecoterrorist-katara]

the anti-Zutara criticism that “Zutara shippers are teenage girls who only like the ship because they self-insert as Katara” is actually so funny because how does that delegitimize the ship? So…girls who relate to Katara like Zuko, and they think Katara would like Zuko, and that’s bad because…girls are wrong? Girls are shallow? Girls don’t know what’s good for them? Anyway if I were a grown ass man who created a fictional teenage girl that lots of real teenage girls relate to, and these girls believe she would like character B instead of character A, I hope I’d have the humility to say to myself “hmm I wonder why people who relate to this character’s feelings and motivations think she would react this way” instead of jumping straight to “these girls are doomed to like toxic relationships”

(And I know Zutara shippers like the ship for many different reasons, and self-insert is not the most popular by a long shot, I’m just saying that the criticism of self-insert stems from dismissal of what teenage girls like, and that feels kinda misogynistic to me)

[tzifron]

Reminds me of how the British blamed the Acadians for the Mi'kmaq resistance.

The crackdown on campuses offered a grim continuity: Police and other officials churned out all the same old excuses for quashing resistance. Most notably, their rhetoric relied on the predictable canard of the “outside agitator.” New York Mayor Eric Adams trotted it out as grounds for sending in an army of baton-wielding cops against the city’s students. And Deputy Police Commissioner Tarik Sheppard went even further on MSNBC Wednesday morning, brandishing an unremarkable chain lock — the sort of which I’ve seen on bikes everywhere — as proof that “professionals,” not students themselves, had carried out the takeover of the Columbia building. The bike-lock business quickly came in for rightly deserved mockery, but the “outside agitator” myth is no joking matter. In this current moment, the “outside agitators” conjured are both the perennial anarchist bogeymen or Islamist terror groups sending funds to keep student encampments flush with the cheapest tents available online. The “outside agitator” trope has a long, racist legacy, including use by the Ku Klux Klan. In the 1930s, the Klan issued flyers in Alabama claiming that “paid organizers for the communists are only trying” to get Black people “in trouble.” The allegation does double rhetorical harm by denying the agency and commitment of organizers themselves and suggesting that “outside” support from beyond a given locale or institution is somehow a bad thing. More recently, the canard has been hauled out in defense of movement repression in Atlanta, against Stop Cop City protesters who had made a national call for backup. And it was a common refrain for politicians nationwide during the 2020 uprising, as well as discourse around the earlier Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson after police killed Mike Brown. Blaming outside agitators or interests always was a propaganda ploy and remains so now. The idea that Palestinian liberation struggle is a mere proxy for Iranian interests repeats the delegitimizing logic of the past. In fact, the Gaza solidarity encampments on campuses are student-organized and led, with Palestinian students at front and center, and a disproportionately large presence of Jewish students too. It is students, over 1,000 of them, who have faced arrest. It also happens that millions of people have called for an end to Israel’s genocidal war, and support for Palestinian liberation is not and must not be limited to the mythic and maligned terrain of campus activism.

[vaspider]

youve got a lot of really great thoughts on a transphobia and homophobia, tbh more critical thinking than most people on here, and i was wondering how much you knew about the theory of rapid onset gender dysphoria/if youd be comfortable sharing your thoughts on the ridiculous idea

It was explicitly invented by transphobes as a means of delegitimizing trans identity, and that invention was backed up by a "study" in which the person running the study never spoke to any trans people or to any professionals providing care for trans people, only spoke to the parents of trans minors, and those parents were specifically recruited from forums for anti-trans parents.

The paper which supposedly coined ROGD was taken down for a while and corrected. Further studies have found no basis for ROGD.

What's really interesting is in the cache of emails which became public earlier this year from a former detransitioner there's a paper trail which pretty clearly indicates that the term was actually created on a very heinous website called 4th/wave/now (forgive my anti-search slashes, these people are awful) well prior to the study.

Hey, you want to guess where the parents for this study were recruited from? If you guessed "the one where the term was invented," you're right!

But wait, there's more!

It appears from the journalistic work done by Mother Jones, Jude Doyle, and Julia Serano, that this term was created by an anti-trans activist who works extensively with right-wing think tanks and who went to great lengths to hide that she invented the term.

Jude Doyle:

Finding anti-trans narratives that would “sell” to the general public was a constant concern for this crowd, and Shupe says it didn’t much matter if the narratives were based in fact or not. Marchiano, for instance, eagerly watched the spread of the ROGD theory — “[transfeminist writer and researcher Julia] Serano has already written a takedown,” she exulted in one August 2018 email. Shupe suspects Marchiano’s role is larger than the public knows: “Marchiano never explicitly said she is the inventor of ROGD, but the evidence points to her, and she’s listed as a contributor to the [Lisa Littman] study on PLOS One,” she writes to me. “My ‘opinion’ is that Marchiano and the 4thWaveNow folks are behind the ROGD study, and Littman merely fronted it for them to make it appear unbiased.”

Jude Doyle again:

On July 2, Shupe sent Marchiano a link to Jones’ blog post telling her “you’ve upset Zinnia again.” (Shupe had a tendency to send Marchiano news of ROGD, and to attribute the theory to “you” — that is, to Marchiano — whether Marchiano was explicitly named or not. In the communications I’ve reviewed, Marchiano does not reject the attribution.) Marchiano responded by saying that Jones had done something to “make her nervous” — namely, she’d dug up a blog post about ROGD that Marchiano had written under her own name.

Julia Serano:

If all of this is true — that Marchiano ran YCTP and invented ROGD — then it would follow that Marchiano was also likely skepticaltherapist, the supposed parent of a trans child who invented the idea of “transgender social contagion” in the first place.

Julia Serano again:

Also on March 15, 2016, at 6:07am (so very early in the day, likely before the aforementioned YTCP piece is published), skepticaltherapist posts her final comment on 4thwavenow before mysteriously disappearing. In a reply to someone named Starrymessenger, skepticaltherapist says: 'I wanted to mention that this month’s Psychotherapy Networker is focusing on trans youth issues, and the tone of each article is uncritically celebratory — lots of mentions of “courage,” and “bravery.” You may need a subscription or at least an account to comment, but I have so far.'

At the time of this comment, "Lisa" is the *only* person to have posted a comment on this particular Psychotherapy Networker article, as the 2nd comment doesn't appear until later that evening (7:30:15 PM on March 15th; both 4thwavenow & Psychotherapy Networker appear to be based in the U.S., so the should be only a few hours apart, if at all). Therefore, "Lisa" and skepticaltherapist must be the same person.

Did you catch all of that?

This is a fraudulent "diagnosis" explicitly invented by an anti-trans psychologist who at times has used sockpuppets to manipulate online conversations, claimed at times to be the mother of a trans child, or maybe it was her friend who had the trans child, or maybe she just knew somebody who just randomly decided he was a trans boy after going on tumblr. (Boy, does Lisa Marchiano hate Tumblr, lol.)

After inventing this diagnosis and pushing it on a forum for parents who don't like that they have trans kids, Marchiano then approaches a different researcher and uses this other researcher to launder this term, launching it into the verbal stratosphere, while explicitly working with right-wing groups who used this "evidence" to manufacture anti-trans bills. This list of right-wing groups and individuals includes the Alliance Defending Freedom, the "American College of Pediatricians," -- not to be confused with the American Academy of Pediatrics, the legitimate organization, ACPeds is a fringe right-wing group.

They literally made all of this up, this idea that transmasculine people specifically are being "infected" by online sources, and then they laundered it through a shitty study and tried to hide the laundering they did, so that shit like this can happen:

The president of the American Principles Project, a member of the coalition, recently told the New York Times that his group’s goal is to eliminate all transition care, starting with children because that’s “where the consensus is.”

This isn't about protecting children or any bullshit like that, and it's not about this fallacious "disorder" because it doesn't exist -- and they know it doesn't exist. They know it doesn't exist because they were the ones who made it up.

Like... what else is there to say? It's like if I made up Purple Big Toe Disease and claimed that all people taller than 5'10" and born on a Tuesday have Purple Big Toe Disease and should not be able to buy aspirin, because it's G-d's plan that people who have Purple Big Toe Disease should not prevent themselves from feeling the pain that G-d has planned for them, and then I asked someone to write a paper about PBTD and pretend I wasn't the one who made it up so I could point at the paper and be like le gasp, PBTD is the number one problem! We need to stop everyone over 5'10" and born on a Tuesday from being able to buy aspirin! And then some dude in South Dakota starts writing up bills in consultation with a bunch of Evangelical lawyers to deny basic health care to people over 5'10" and born on Tuesdays.

If it sounds fucking ridiculous, it's because it is.

[mamanbou]

i joke about ociel thinking he's his dad's age a lot but like really he does. something so heartbreaking about the fact that whenever ciel references his own age it's like he's making an inside joke- dryly reminding the dinner party in book of murder that children have early bedtimes, for example. as if his age is a mere technicality, it's inaccurate on some level but is still a loophole he can exploit when convenient. Feigned innocence.

Because in kuro youth primarily functions as an axis of powerlessness. Ciel can't act his age or he's delegitimized. It's just another wall he's built between his persona and his actual self. To be Earl Ciel Phantomhive The Queen's Guard Dog he buries his age, his name, his illnesses........ idk it just always gets me that he isn't only borrowing from his brother, but his father as well. Anybody but himself. He really believes it, too, that any lie can become the truth with enough dedication and hard work.. He's so good at deluding himself. But he's not a grizzled 34 year old detective :( hes just a baby :(

[alexiethymia]

Yor Briar, Yor, and Yor-san

I was reading an excellent post about the nuance in the original japanese and now I thought I’d take a crack at what this means for Loid (although other people have already made an excellent analysis on this).

Loid has only called her Yor Briar in the beginning and when he was suspecting her of playing him. But Fiona’s insistence on her full name, Yor Briar, and her notice of Loid’s seemingly stubborn refusal to use it seems to me that Loid had always previously referred to assets by their full name. It could also be pragmatic in that he knows Fiona wants the ‘role’ of his wife hence her stubborn insistence of using Yor’s maiden name, so he uses Yor-san to counter Fiona’s way of delegitimizing Yor’s role. But I don’t think Loid can sense the real reason for Fiona’s insistence, so while in his view Fiona may be acting unprofessionally, generally speaking, I think Loid would be the one acting unprofessionally in constantly using ‘Yor-san’ to refer to his ‘wife’ to his WISE colleagues especially if he didn’t use to do that before (which yeah it’s hard to imagine him addressing his other marks that way).

Although the audience knows that Fiona is acting far from being professional, with Loid’s limited knowledge of her feelings, wouldn’t she actually have a point in referring to Yor as YOR BRIAR in a working setting? Because isn’t that all she was supposed to be? An asset or a tool? And yet Loid seems annoyed by that and insists on humanizing her by calling her, Yor-san.

Now someone might say, that’s nothing to make a big deal about. It would have been a big deal had he referred to her as ‘just’ Yor without the honorific. Because using someone’s name without honorifics is supposed to connote a deeper sort of intimacy. But that’s the thing. It would have been a forced intimacy for show. ‘Yor’ is his mode of address when he’s putting on a show of being a loving husband, complete with that <fake> Loid Forger voice. Yor is what he calls her around her colleagues or his colleagues (Nightfall undercover as Fiona at the hospital) to present how they’re a completely ordinary, close and loving family. In a way, it’s a subtle cue to Yor as well that they’re in ‘family’ mode now or ‘husband-and-wife’ mode. Yor denotes her as being a mask.

Which is actually why Yor-san is perfect. If Yor Briar is her as an asset, Yor is her as a mask, then Yor-san is her as a partner. He’s used women to get to his goal before. The only thing different now is Anya and the fact that on some level he is also working together with Yor. Had he actually succeeded in his first honeytrap attempt with Yor when he thought she had fallen in love with him, I imagine that he might have started treating Yor the same way he did his other assets before. But thank goodness it didn’t succeed, and in my view, he ended up falling into the trap instead.

Yor-san is perfect because it parallels the way Yor calls him. It’s perfect because it conveys the perfect level of intimacy. They’re not actually a lovey-dovey couple as ‘Yor’ would imply, but unfortunately for Nightfall, she’s also not just ‘YOR BRIAR’ another tool to him. It’s perfect because it conveys respect which Loid has a healthy amount of for Yor. If he can help it, he doesn’t like using her. And Nightfall is right to be worried that this comfortable mode of address of Loid’s is bleeding over to Twilight as if to blur the two. Loid is supposed to be an entirely different person or character so what does it mean that Twilight also calls his wife the same way Loid does? ‘Yor-san’ and ‘Loid-san’ are partners in a lot of ways. Yor-san is whom he can let down his guard down around, and someone this perfectionist spy can ask help from and rely on.

So what about Yuri Briar? He doesn’t know the true nature of Yor and Loid’s arrangement. Shouldn’t he be calling her Yor in front of him to keep up the ruse? Again, I think part of it is pragmatic. He doesn’t want to further aggravate the siscon. But especially in light of Chapter 86 and Volume 10’s inner cover, I think (at least unconsciously) it’s because Yuri is family. I notice that Twilight hasn’t even kept up the Loid persona as much in front of Yuri anymore (which tbf can’t blame him cause how do you even react to Yuri) but it’s not as if Yuri is someone to be underestimated. Some way or the other, even if he doesn’t fully realize it, I think Twilight is starting to treat Yuri like how Yor treats him or at the very least he can’t treat him like any other enemy or bystander because he’s someone important to Yor. Which again as CH 86 would show, Fiona has already noticed, and Twilight himself is angry at himself about. I don’t think Twilight has realized any sort of feelings for Yor yet, but I guess to Fiona, his mode of address for her is and has always been telling.

It’s actually interesting to think that perhaps it’s when he’s calling her ‘Yor-san’ that he’s most like himself - like Loid, Twilight and the boy before there was Twilight all at once - with her.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

57 - Forcing Past our Saftey

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

Length: 19.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mental duress, unspecified illness, illusions to cheating/infidelity, self inflicted self harm with a sexual basis, dark themes of sexual nature, references to past rape, mentally unstable originated toxic behavior, smut, oral (m receiving)

Notes: Just a pre warning that the reader does something in this chapter that is a form of self harm with a sexual basis for the act, that also acts as a trigger to Jons own trauma as a consequence. It's a complicated situation that happens very fast but I thought some forewarning was necessary. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“Well over a decade he’s been positioning himself close to the Iron Throne. Why change his plans now?”

Palms braced against the table before him, Jons expression twisted downward with his jaw set tightly. He didn’t work in this manner, playing the games which other highborns all were so deeply invested in, but now he was at quite a disadvantage. He was up against an opponent who knew far more then he ever could about all over the realm, and Jon could answer the whats and hows all day. It was the why he had no idea of.

Likely just the way Petyr Baelish wanted it. How is one supposed to pin down the crimes of a man whom presents himself with no clear motive? One which used every filthy trick he could conjure up in order to deceive any who was finding out. Or worse, trick until he watched the ones in his way make their way to the executioners block. It was far easier to get what you wanted if you send those in your way to their death. And Jon knew without a doubt, it was attempted with you. Killing a respected and beloved Queen of a kingdom thousands of miles away had to be done in a complicated manner, especially as to not trace its sources back.

He had manipulated Ned Stark to the point it led to his head being taken while right in his proximity the entire time, but this was not Kings Landing. He did not have an in of power within the North, nor Jons council and closest men. The man desperately needed his key to the North to lay with Sansa, but the power of the North lay beyond one person. It lay in the responsibility of many now, and all whom knew not to trust a single word out of that mans mouth.

Jon had been back for less then a day, but already he felt the stress mounting on his shoulders as long as Petyr Baelish roamed free within his lands and home.

But silent frustration would not lead Jon to an answer, not really. Narrowing his eyes to the spot of the wooden table he happened to be trapped on, he gave the simplest start to the previous posed question by Lord Howland with your name to start. “Me and her were gone for months, he tried to get rid of her before. Now without either of us here, he thought it was a perfect time to get his hands on another land he doesn’t deserve.”

The group in the room was as small as Jon could bring together, dividing his closest allies between he and you to ensure at no times were his own people in a position to be manipulated by whatever this was. Arya stood closer to his side, her own knowledge of the man much closer then himself as she piped up. “If he didn’t know about Robb’s will, then he would think he’s right in pursuing the North through Sansa, but he isn’t. So why is he still here, he has nothing.”

Theon however, had the quickest answer with the solution closest to what sounded accurate as he gestured across the table to Jon. “Because of you.” Heads turned to Jon and then back to Theon as Jon watched with a patient silence for him to elaborate. “He’s born from a minor House, but according to most of Westeros, he’s still higher up then you. If he can find a way to delegitimize you in the eyes of the North because your a bastard, then he can push Sansa’s claim front and centre. A highborn girl with her closest advisor being a man from a minor house who used to be on the small council in Kings Landing sounds more plausible to him then not being able to overthrow one bastard.”

Arya beside him tried to argue that no one here was going to turn on him, and Lord Howland at least approached it with a little more calm then her clear growing agitation, not that Jon blamed her. “He may think he does not even need to do as much, only that he needs to cause enough instability that will cause the people to doubt your capability.”

For once, Jon didn’t feel the insecurity of doubt following him all his life. This time was different, he knew he could do this, and he knew these people better then Petyr Baelish ever would. Only this time instead of using Jons father to manipulate his way into getting what he wants, he was using Jons little sister. How much Sansa was in on these plans, he didn’t know and he wouldn’t if she was not yet willing to confront Jon.

He knew why, it was a strange position for her to be in. She expected to be welcome here with open arms to be crowned Queen, only to find her bastard brother had her crown and in the laws set by Robb himself, she had no rights to any of it no matter what. She was always a bit difficult for Jon to deal with when they both were younger, but the five years spent apart had not made that any better. It only drew them further apart, and too Jon knew he needed to tackle this in a way that was just, but also would not drive her away. What of the Starks left were all here where they belonged, together.

What she needed, was a way to be reminded she was still one of them, and yet the ones left were the siblings least equipped to handle it. Arya and her had not picked their relationship back up on anything close to a good note, Bran had been so far removed from the events of her life that on top of what was happening with him this was the least of his concerns. And Jon was the bastard brother who had taken her crown.

Only one person in Winterfell was equipped to handle Sansa, but it was the one person Jon refused to throw into such a mess yet. Afterall, Jon was not the only one who had only been home for less then a single day.

Sending you off to deal with his little sister, was the opposite of ensuring you were getting proper rest.

You were fairly certain if Jon could’ve gotten away with ordering the guards not to let you leave the room, he would have. Instead, he was far more clever then that. Send people your way after you were awake, which would entertain you enough that wanting to leave and wander become unnecessary. Currently you were sitting by a small table near the side of the room, gently picking at the food in front of you watching with a barely hidden grin at the sight.

He would argue that Olly was still technically considered your steward and he was simply ensuring someone brought you up things you needed. You had not yet considered what Jon had been doing at first, distracted too much by how swiftly you both went to hug the other.

It had not passed either you or him, how motherly it felt to pull back and instantly begin commenting on how much he had grown since you were gone. A small twelve year old boy the day he came in confused and devastated tears at the gates of Castle Black with the story of what the wildlings had done, and now at half fourteen he was closing in on your height, and the starting in his voice deepening no longer like a child.

It was odd to think now, that how he came into your life had distantly begun with a horrific day where he had been the sole survivor of a massacre. The way he told it to you that day in Castle Black when he confessed to what he had done, what Ser Alliser had used against him to manipulate him into that crime. You could recall realizing in his descriptions that Tormund had been part of that band of wildlings, but yet he was the first person you had met that morning who so quickly made you feel as if you had a true ally on your side. And how that trusting feeling had never stopped.

Though, you almost didn’t want Tormund to come to Winterfell, you imagined very much that his reaction to learning about the baby and what happened? It no doubt would be as loud and boisterous as the rest of his personality. Unlike the sweet and gentle sight before you.

Carrying him as he paced him around the room a little to settle him, little Eddard was taking to Olly rather well. Looking to the baby then you, he asked in a bit of curious wonder, “Is it normal he’s this small?”

Shaking your head lightly, you swallowed the liquid you sipped down before tilting your head a bit as you explained in the least detailed of terms. “He was born quite early. We had expected to already be in Winterfell when my time was near, but we were still a week away from Castle Black when he came into the world.” Your own eyes were soft looking at the wide green eyes on your son, dressed in oversized clothes as Maege and your mother had ensured you one of today's tasks would be having clothes made to fit him personally.

Turning to look back at you, Olly clearly looked surprised. “You gave birth out there? How?”

Not quite a shrug came over your shoulder as you slowly made your way through the food still, knowing you’d hear it the moment either Maege or your mother returned that you hadn’t even made it half through yet. “Women of the free folk gave birth beyond the Wall for thousands of years.” Olly though, was clever in pointing out that he presumed they would have people and help around, and your head dropped a little. “I’m sure they did, but, there was no where we could go for help. We could only pray to the gods that at least the little one there was born safe and alive, if nothing else.”

Ollys brows narrowed, he was too clever you knew. Picking up on the lack of emphasis on your own survival, but in the moment it was true. It was Jon and the baby you feared for, not you. Coming a little closer, it was not meant to be argumentative but likely it came out as such regardless. “His life isn’t more important then yours.” You didn’t react, nor even blink, but as Olly did it shook out the tone he had hissed out as he came closer in a higher pitched grovel. “I’m sorry, your Grace. I didn’t mean it as-”

Cutting him off gently, you gave a small smile. “I know what you meant.” Nodding for him somewhat to take the empty seat still across from you, a feeling of guilt came about. The ease which he shifted the baby to not jostle him as he sat down, you had no doubt were he given the chance, Olly would’ve been a wonderful older brother.

Sighing out, his tone balanced between his proper attempts of formality and a pleading more of reason to explain himself away, even though you both were aware you did not need him to. “I only meant that your life was not less valuable then his, or anyone's.”

Eyes flickering downward, they were a tint of heavy as you once more attempted to push away the thoughts which derived from thinking too strongly back to that day, the pain and blood not something that you could so easily discuss. Perhaps that was how you truly knew now that something had gone terribly wrong. You feared even thinking back to it when every mother you had known could speak of their own with no pain in the memory. “It isn’t a situation which has never happened before. Life or death, choosing to save the mother or send her life away to safely birth her unborn child. The gods do not often give women in that sort of pain, the gift of both.” In the ensuing quiet, did you stumble across a ping in your mind which you would’ve hated to forget.

Hidden away down in the tightly wound laces of your waist, you pulled a folded piece of paper, reaching across the table to sit it down in front of Olly, as you explained. Peeking nearly unnoticeably at the door as you did so. “When you make your leave, I need one more thing of you. Find Dalaric for me and give him that, tell him I need it to be to those exact specifications.”

“Dalaric, you mean the-”

Cutting him off shortly, you affirmed such details. “Yes. As soon as you can and that I’ll need it brought to me specifically once it’s finished.” Olly did not look to what it was he was delivering but you knew the curiosity was there, regardless of how you knew he would not presume to look nor ask. For now, it was a small project you preferred to work on in the quiet.

A small noise coming from the baby caught both of your attention as it brought out the grin in Olly quickly again. Both of you standing up in knowing, “I think, your Grace, he’s had enough of me for one day.” Lifting him up easily, still wrapped even clothed in a soft blanket, you knew until he was grown to his full proper size, keeping him warm was more important then most newborns. Draping little Eddard across your front, cupping the back of his head as you leaned down to press a kiss gentle to the top of his head, an even smaller sound almost like a satisfied hum left the baby.

“He hasn’t spent much time around any sort of crowd. I imagine getting him used to so many new faces will take a bit of time.” Olly only jested in return that with how many faces would want to see the babies, he hoped that time was short. A chuckle came from you as you shifted the little one to lay more comfortably against you should he once more decide to retire to sleep. “You are not wrong there, Olly. I’m almost shocked there isn’t a line outside my door to meet him.”

As if on a cue, the guards outside announced the return of Maege and your mother, nodding down to the paper on the table. Hiding it away, Olly gave you and both women now behind him as he turned, a small bow before leaving the room to you three.

Almost right away you yearned for him to come back, recognizing the direction both their eyes drifted towards and the lack of satisfaction found in their proceeding gazes. “What is it? I can’t take my time eating at my own pace?”

Your mother was quick as she walked further into the room, placing whatever it was in her hands down onto the furs of the bed with a shortness of a lecturing tone you were all too familiar with. “At such a rate, if we relied solely on you eating at your own pace, you’d have starved to death nearly a year ago.” The flat fallen expression was not seen by her, but you and your mother knew she could feel it as she had for most of your attitude riddled life.

Maege attempted to offer to take him to free your hands, but both of the women’s stubbornness was increasing your own as you sat down with him still. “He’s resting, he wanted to be close. I can eat with one hand, you know?”

The sheer degree of stubborn, snark, and attitude when the three of you were in the room together was almost astronomical. Clearly, the two of them had spent much time together in your absence and their individual motherly natures have now focused in on you alone, much to your dismay. Maege at the least, sat down across from you with words less lecturing. “You may be under orders to rest, but we’re under orders to make sure you rest. I’m guessing the last thing you want is to add the King into this room of lecture you.”

Your mother turned slightly with a raised brow only to notice the held back amusement in both your faces as if having a form of staring competition until you broke. Continuing to work your way through the food, you mumbled as you swallowed it down. “One could be mistaken in thinking I’m the infant in need of watching, not him.” Gesturing handlessly down to the bundle before turning to look at your mother. “What is it you are even doing over there?”

Not bothering to turn to you, she continued to put together, what you could now see, fabrics in front of her. “I took the liberty to have some of your dresses made with alterations. If you decide you wish to keep feeding him yourself, you will have a far harder time in what you normally wear.”

Your brows narrowed at her phrasing, but let it pass by. It was still too early for a back and forth with your mother of all people, let alone whoever’s side Maege was going to take. Which could be either at that point. Though you had a keen instinct as to what was going to be coming your way, and you had little patience in you that morning to tackle it.

Though, that did not stop something from slipping out, much to Maege’s amusement. “If I am to be shackled to my bed for the time being, I’m not quite sure dresses for public wear will be needed.” Your mother turned sharply, returning back that it was not her orders, you turned away with a mutter which still managed to cut her off as you spoke down to the droopy eyed Eddard laying against you. “Tell me if I begin to sound this bossy with you before it becomes a habit, alright?”

Still you thought, you could get rest and wander about the inside of the castle. You were not quite sure what it was which was making Jon want you to be hidden away. Or from what he was doing. The darkness in your stomach grew at the instance the thought entered your mind, and you begged for it to go away. Only it didn’t, it festered there as you ate. Mocking you for what you weren’t. You had hoped this fog had passed, but it was as if you woke up that morning back in a full force. Whispering things you didn’t have the awareness yet to see through as lies. And so they ate away at your anxiety.

Perhaps you didn’t want to know what Jon was hiding from you.

If judging by the frustration on Theons face, Jon could tell this day was going to go as well as he anticipated. Closing the door behind with with an exasperated tone, “Next time someone wants me to bring him all the way here, I’m gagging him.” Jons eyes narrowed in question but it was the deep set sigh on Theon that gave it away. “Loves the sound of his own voice, asking dozens of questions trying to get inside my head.”

Jon however, felt as tense as he no doubt looked. “What was he asking?”

Circling more around the table to where Jon stood, Theon begun listing many off to the point Jon wondered if the mans head was about to implode. “Then he starts asking me about how she survived that night.” Jons brows narrowed suddenly, focusing back in on the conversation he asked who, and felt even more on edge when realizing it was you the man was asking about. “How she survived at the Twins, how did she get away.”

“What did you tell him?”

Shaking his head, Theon was less aggravated as the more quiet of the study eased. “I didn’t tell him anything. Last thing I want is for him to pry into what happened to her.” That at the minimum was something Jon could agree with. Though, the phantom sensation of knives plunging into his own chest was something he at this point was sure was a story heard by many.

Lord Connington knew because Lord Varys’s many spies had word get back to them no doubt. Petyr Baelish had spies too, and Jon could only wonder what he has heard. If he had a clue what sort of place he truly had walked into. The North was a harsh and unforgiving place with little mercy, and it’s people were raised to endure as much as the lands around them. Death had only increased such a resolve in Jon.

Asking where he was currently, Theon gave an answer which Jon did not like. Though by the time he approached there, once more he noticed his little sister was nowhere to be found. Jon knew Littlefinger had come inside the castle walls to talk to Sansa, but he did not like the feeling he was getting. Arya kept track of where she was, but since he arrived back, as long as Petyr Baelish was here, Sansa seemed to avoid Jon and he couldn’t help but consider why.

He had nowhere near the closeness with her as he did Arya, but she was his sister. Jon though, was a man. Which meant he knew the sorts of things which run through mens heads, and not for a second did he like the feeling of how close Littlefinger had gotten to her. Or at least, the kind of closeness a man his age had no right having around an eighteen year old girl. A girl he’s known since she was a child.

Jon knew what you had told him, and he had not a clue if Littlefinger knew what he knew. But as he approached, the only sounds around him were that of footsteps along the crackling fire. He hadn’t been down here since arriving back, but it couldn’t be about that right now. He had to focus on what was right in front of him.

And right in front of Jon was Petyr Baelish, standing in front of the burial statue of Ned Stark. His voice spoke out loud, the echo bouncing along the walls and down into the abyss beyond them with a deep toned authority and a lack of patience. “You don’t belong down here.”

Unperturbed by his abrasive approach, Littlefinger turned with a bow and a smile that made Jon want to force off of him with something strong enough to leave a mark in its place. “Your Grace.”

Jon though, did not waver as he repeated himself. Just as firm, and his voice still projecting in the crypts as if to warn the buried members of House Stark that a rat had invaded their peace. “I said you don’t belong down here.”

A small wave of his hands as if to make a gesture lacking of ill intent, but Jon knew that smile and that glint in his eyes. He had seen that look on men who looked down on him before. It was the sort of way that Lord Janos Slynt looked at him. Though, the man before him did not yet realize such irony. “I was merely paying my respects. I had ordered the delivery of his bones myself. I presented them to Lady Catelyn as a gesture of goodwill from Tyrion Lannister during the war.”

Did Jon dare confront the issue starting now? Perhaps, he thought, if he came off abrasive at the start, he might come across as quick tempered but slow minded. For now Jon thought, that was fine. Let him think he was the smartest man in the room. “A war you sided against my family in.”

He almost looked amused, which made Jon angrier. He within seconds, was beginning to understand why his Uncle Brandon had so easily accepted a duel. It must have been satisfying. But Littlefinger merely stated a simple defence. “I already served the crown before the war, to act otherwise would be treason. I didn’t see the purpose in following your father to the grave. I’m a practical man.”

“But not a loyal one.”

The two facing one another, Littlefinger was as quick on an aggravatingly clever reply as you once had made him out to seem. “And who would you have me be loyal to? Your fathers corpse?” Jon said nothing, letting him speak for himself despite the rising anger to have the audacity to speak that way about his father in front of his own burial. “I was sorry when he died, truly I was.” Jon doubted that. “Your father and I had our differences, but he was a good man. Deserved a death better then what a boy like Joffery had given him.”

It was small, but Jon had spent years in the Nights Watch. Picking up small details in the eyes of men anytime a girl was mentioned always gave something away. “My sister, Sansa. She was there that day?”

There was no egregious change in his expression, but that was the detail wasn’t it? That glint in his eye at the story of a little girl watching her fathers beheading should have elicited something far more sympathetic then what he gave. “Joffery had his Kingsgaurd hold her back to watch. I’d even go as far to say he enjoyed her pleading for him to change his mind.”

Jon kept his words short. “And you didn’t?”

“Joffery was King. I’m not a fighter, only a man of business.” Letting him stand in the silence, Jons eyes merely narrowed but spoke nothing. Forcing Littlefinger to speak all of his own admissions. “I was on your fathers side. Robert named him protector of the realm and I begged him to seize the moment and take control before it was too late. And then it was. Pardon my surprise, but I would have presumed your bride would have told you these details.”

Blood running hot, a screaming as if needing to see you here and now as the memories of the last time a man would refer to you in such a specific term. But Jon could not tell if he knew, if he called you it on purpose. How much did this man know about you? Only saying as much to not allow him to presume to demean your position in any capacity, even alone. “She is my wife, my Lord. Not my bride.” Voice rough as it forced itself through the pain which accompanied the words all over again.

“My apologies. Your wife. How did such an arrangement come about? A man in the Nights Watch, yourself. And the realm had known her to be dead for well over a year.” Prodding his mind about you, just as he had tried with Theon. It was not the direction he was going to let this take, Jon was not about to drag your name into this after everything.

Instead, Jon without hesitation, shifted the discussion back to the previous. “I’ve heard lots of stories from her. About Kings Landing, about the war. About you.” Repeating only to clarify himself, Jon gave but a single nod. “A few, none of them good.”

He seemed unphased by much of this conversation, and it only made Jon grow angrier. “You may have heard false reports-” Jon cut in, a demanding ask if he was to call you a liar, but then did he backtrack. A wider eyed look as if realizing he had taken a step which would not go in his favour whatsoever. “Not a liar. Merely mistaken. She has been through much I presume, memories can become a bit unclear after suffering a great deal as she has, and it was so many years ago. Almost as if a lifetime ago.”

If he thought Jon didn’t know what this was, he was not nearly as smart as he thought. It was a lifetime ago, for you and Jon. But this was the last person he would open up to about it. “So you’re innocent. You didn’t betray her and my father, didn’t trick Lady Catelyn into betraying her and Robb?”

Lowering his head a little as if to present himself more agreeable. “A misunderstanding, your Grace. After all, if I had betrayed so much of your family, why would I have gone out of my way to bring Lady Sansa back home safe and sound?”

Not yet, Jon told himself. Don’t press him on that yet, he told himself. As little as Jon liked hearing his sisters name coming from such an unsettling voice. His person now looking to face his father once more, but what Theon said was right. This man talked far too much.

Continuing on as if they were now chummy. “She wasn’t very fond of you, was she? Lady Catelyn. A shame, since she seems to have vastly underestimated you. Your father and brothers are gone, and yet here you stand. King in the North.”

Jon however, let part of that tenseness within him snap. Jaw clenched as he turned somewhat back to peel his dark eyes into a glare. “Why are you still here?”

His answer only made Jons glare grow even more. “We have never spoken before. I’ve known much of your family, but not you. I wished to remedy that.” It was not quite a lie, it was dressed in true clothing but what lay hidden underneath was a vast cavern of question and demands and anger which begged to be let out, as Jon gritted through his teeth that he had nothing more to say to him. “Not even a thank you? Were it not for me, your sister would have been found guilty for Jofferys murder. I would have been bringing her remains here instead of her living person.”

Attempting to placate him, Littlefinger chose a path which unbeknownst to Jon, was all too familiar from so many years ago. Playing his hand at honesty and wit far too close to a bordering edge of a wolf with a hot blooded temper. “You have many enemies, your Grace. But I swear to you I am not one of them. I care deeply about Sansa. Just as I did her mother.”

Playing the wrong hand was one thing, but playing the hand confirming exactly what Jon had feared was really behind the mans intentions was another. The exact thing Jon knew was really going on, brought out into the light for him to see. Everything his little sister had been through, and it all led to her thinking this was the only man she could put her trust in, just the way Jon knew Littlefinger wanted.

Turning on him in an instant, before he had a single chance to grasp what was about to happen, did Jon let a hand grab at the front of the mans throat. Using his strength easily to slam him against the adjacent wall enough that Jon had to readjust his grip when Littlefingers head slammed into it roughly. But not nearly as rough as the ease in which Jon blocked any path of air to come from his lungs.

Useless at trying to pry the one hand Jon was all but strangling him with, the stutters of sound trying to crack out were as pathetic as a man like him was deep down. Only catching his eye properly did Jon loosen his grip. The roughness in voice all but a growl, as he now knew exactly what it was he really wanted. That Littlefinger had put the pieces in place to trick a thirteen year old girl into thinking he was the only one who had her well being in mind, and spent the next five years keeping her as close as he could to him.

So Jon was blatantly honest for the first time since meeting the man, and he knew it. “Touch my sister, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Shoving off from him by the hand at his throat Jon turned to leave, any second longer alone and he’d do something he would regret. Leaving Petyr Baelish behind leaning against the wall trying to regain air as he realized that Jon Snow wasn’t going to be a mark the way his father was. Ned Stark had done nearly the same, but with a condescension in his voice for hiding Catelyn away in a brothel.

“You’re a funny man, huh? A very funny man.”

But then it was the appearance of the woman in question poking her head out to grasp his attention, swiftly leaving Petyr behind to pull himself together. The way which the Stark had glared at him as Cat promised they could trust him, not unlike the very glare on the son here, himself. Or the one many years before when it was Brandon Stark overlooking him with a sword to his throat, before Cat had pleaded to spare his life. But there was one thing that Jon Snow was which Ned nor Brandon Stark were not, he realized.

The Starks he knew before were violent and quick tempered, but Petyr Baelish stood there glancing up to the stern statue of Ned Stark and thought to himself. Jon wasn’t violent and quick tempered alone, he was a truly dangerous man.

Nothing but Jon Snow’s own self control spared Petyr’s life.

If you were being perfectly honest, you knew that you should have been far more mature then this. But it was too late to take it back, and the agitation was so obvious on your person it was like water clean enough the fish could be seen swimming along under its surface. Only the fish here was an insecurity marred in a stubbornness that you couldn’t make go away.

You didn’t even have a clue Jon was anywhere nearby when it happened, considering hardly a few minutes of quiet had been found before he walked in. Holding your son up high in a soothing rocking up and down to lull him to sleep after it was all said and done, knowing you likely looked somewhat a mess when he walked in, you almost felt embarrassed for how not put together you looked in front of him.

Not put together was one way to phrase it, the darker pit in your gut called it what it was. How unattractive you looked was a far more honest description, the darkness hissed at your insides. Jon though, seemed to pretend for now as if he didn’t care when you knew he did. Gesturing to the hall as he closed the door with an amused glint in his eye. “Is there a reason the wet nurse came up to me upset saying you were shouting at her?”

A hesitation in your movements, wide eyes coming over before smothering it all by returning focus back to the still falling asleep one in your arms. Just a murmur with a pinch of knowing shame of how immature it had been. “Likely because I shouted at her” Jons ask of why as calm and simple, but now you could add erratic to the list of things making you so unappealing to him. “I don’t need her help, I can feed my son perfectly fine on my own.”

Sensing Jon walking closer, you willed yourself not to tense up at the gentle hand smoothing out the more messy strands of hair down your back. His rasp was warm and amused as it was affectionate but it was all an act, it had to be. “She’s also here to help you, you know? Take care of you while you’re recovering.”

Biting your tongue, you looked down to the slumbering Eddard with a softness on your voice not often heard towards adults that day. “She was insistent they could feed him while I slept. I didn’t want that, I’d rather get little sleep and feed him myself then hand him over to someone who doesn’t know him.”

It was very difficult to figure out what Jons tone was, you felt as if the fog from days ago on the journey to the Wall had returned today and in front of Jon it was stronger then ever. His gentle mutterings followed with one hand holding you at your hip, as the other smoothed up and down your upper arm as he pressed himself somewhat behind you. “Alright, no more wet nurses.”

Nodding a small bit, you still hadn’t looked at him. But did you want to ask yourself why? No. So you spoke while still not looking away from his son. “We got him this far together, as long as he has us, that’s all he needs.”

Your heart begun to race the second the thought came to you. Did that sound as if you were trying to beg Jon to be here? Begging him to play a role he didn’t want? Forcing him into something against his will, but when you glanced up at him, you almost talked yourself out of it. Hair still up, everything he wore in place, weapons all still attached, looked not like he had not done anything your fogging mind was scared of. But in truth, he had been busy all day. Jon had plenty of time to get himself back together.

And you couldn’t even grant him the sight of a pretty, calm wife at the end of his first day back in Winterfell. Pulling you comfortably into his front, Jon playfully nudged the side of your head before pressing his lips to mutter in the same spot. “We all need each other.”

He was playing along. He didn’t need you. He needed you to raise his son. Not that you blamed nor judged him. It was your fault you had let yourself look and act so pathetic, not Jons for disliking that about you now.

Pressing a kiss now to below your ear, he rasped in a way you had suddenly wondered if any other had got to experience today. All you could hear were the things Cersei had told you to the point it took you a moment to register Jon had even said anything. “Did you want to come down to eat, or do you want me to bring you something so we can eat together up here?”

Neither, you wanted him to do what he wanted not placate your pathetic needs. So you lied. “Olly brought me something earlier, you go eat. I’m fine here.” Jon asked if you were sure, but you bit your tongue so hard you almost flinched as you nodded. An unpleasant warmth behind your face and stinging eyes, Jon tried to tilt you with finger gently under your chin likely for a kiss. So he still wanted that. You had something. Cupping the back of your head caressingly, Jon captured your lips in a deep yet still somehow chaste kiss. Pulling away only so much you felt his lips and breath warm on yours with every word. “How about I bring something up here that you can pick it, at least? So we can eat together.”

You had not a clue the degree to which Jon was picking up the very insecure manner which you were trying to shove him out the door. “It’s fine, Jon. Other people want to spend time with you too.”

But you didn’t look at him, and with one more kiss and a tender murmur that he loves you, Jon left the room. Leaving only the crackling fire behind, and a hunger in you which had not eaten since that morning. He didn’t need to have people see you at this side looking and behaving this way. And Jon was too nice to tell you, he was grateful you weren’t forcing him to. Eddard would be long asleep and gone to the world by the time Jon would return tonight.

Hopefully it would give you enough time to get ready. At least try to appear like a girl he still wants.

The advantage Arya had at this stage in her life, was that she still was far more quiet then most gave her credit for. At least in terms of sneaking up upon someone, as she was now. Hiding away on one of the more remote landings above the courtyard, the blacks and greys adorning her person were nothing like Arya had seen Sansa dress in before. It looked as if she wished to be perceived as intimidating, as was the scowl which sat upon her face more often then not these days.

The entire look reminded her too well the way Littlefinger did, and was dressing. One influencing the other, and even the style which she recognized her sisters hair in was much like ones she had seen time and time again on Cersei during their stay in Kings Landing. Nowhere even on her did see even a hint of anything even remotely looking like the Stark sigil, not even the fur around her shoulders was right. She could tell in an instant it wasn’t one made here, but whatever they would’ve used in the Vale.

Arya hadn’t recognized Sansa the last time either. By the end she dressed and wore her hair like every other proper southern girl in the capitol and not a hint of it reminded Arya of home. But even now, still as they both stood there, it still didn’t feel as if she came home. It felt like a stranger had walked in wearing Sansa’s skin. The thought would’ve felt amusingly ironic to Arya had she not been too distracted in the contrast.

For years, Arya felt like the one who did not fit in. The years Sansa would call her ugly, saying she was so hideous only Hodor would marry her. The manner in which she and her friends would look down at her and call her Arya Horseface as long as no one else was around. Arya never felt like she looked as beautiful as her mother was, as Sansa was and the later always was sure to remind her of that. Arya felt as if she never fit in, but yet, this time Sansa was the one standing out in the wrong way.

She looked out of place everywhere she went and made few attempts to reconnect or introduce herself to most of the people here. But things were not last time, Arya did not approach her sister in silence hoping to demean her or insult her, there was no use in that anymore. They did that as children. But she would not hold her feelings back, no matter how aggressive she knew she was to come off as.

“You haven’t spoken to either of them, have you?”

With almost a gasp, Sansa spun around in a startle. Looking down to Arya with wide eyes turning narrow, “What are you doing here?” Only a flat expression on her face she simply replied rather obviously that she lived here too. Sansa’s eyes dropped from their wider stance to something more annoyed right away. “I meant what are you doing sneaking up on me?”

Only a shrug came to her as Arya approached. Standing beside her sister resting her forearms along the wooden railing before finding her voice, still as jesting as it was knowingly a tone which annoyed Sansa every time. “It isn’t my fault you’re oblivious to what’s around you.” Whatever glare was sent her way, went unacknowledged for a moment. Giving her the chance to respond on her own, but the sounds of distant talking and yelling were all down below not between the two of them for a good minute.

By the time she found her words, Sansa had already started to put up excuses as if Arya had not learned to see right through them. “They only just got back, I’m waiting for them to settle in first.”

Quick though, she didn’t let that one stand. “You haven’t seen them, either of them for years.” Your name slipping from her mouth in a rising frustration. “We all spent what? A year? Two? Thinking she was still dead. You haven’t spoken to Jon since before we left for Kings Landing and after everything you refuse to go see them. Why?” Sansa tried to implore that she had just said why but Arya took none of it. “Are you too afraid to face them or do you just not care?”

That it so happened, set off something within Sansa’s own anger. Turning to her with an edge behind her raising tone. “Of course I care, Arya. Do you think I was happy thinking everyone else was dead?”

Facing her as well, even the height Sansa had grown since she last saw her, Arya was nowhere near that but did not let it intimidate her. “I don’t know what you think, you haven’t said anything to any of us about it. Any of it. You haven’t told anybody anything about you. Ask what happened to us.” The next word came from her mouth with a thick layer of spite to coat them in. “Or is Littlefinger the only one you trust now?”

“Don’t call him that-”

Twisting her expression into a disbelief, Arya almost felt herself scoff. “That’s what you got out of everything I just said. That I called him a nickname you don’t like. Instead of explaining at all why you trust a man who betrayed father, who betrayed all of us, more then once.” Her voice was raising, and knew Sansa’s too would raise with it.

“He helped us, he helped me escape Kings Landing. Whatever you think he did, it was because he had to, did things to survive to help me survive.” Jon had only been able to speculate a truth, but Arya then heard the truth that put something in her on edge. “Without him, the Lannisters would have found me guilty for murder.”

The question came out of nowhere. “Did you?” Sansa’s head jolted back a bit at the sudden change, Aryas eyes narrow but penetrating in an unnerving manner. “Did you kill Joffery?”

Yet Sansa’s answer was not what she was expecting. “Do you think I did?” Arya at first, said nothing. The girl she once knew was a firm no. That Sansa was not a killer, but she did not yet know about this one, and when this version possibly became someone capable of it. Sansa though, had inadvertently found the root of something Arya had long dug deep inside of her. “Could you have done it, if you had the chance. Would you kill Joffery?”

Arya however, for a brief moment, did not see the stranger wearing her sisters name. Nor the sister who bullied her for their entire childhoods. She only saw the sister who at some point as young girls, still felt like her sister. The one who when very small, would clamber to your side because back then Sansa so strongly adored you. The one who would remain attached to you all day long if she could. Back in the years sometimes you three could all feel like sisters together. For even just that moment, thats who Arya felt as if she was speaking too, and she was honest the way she would’ve been then. “I wanted to. Ever since that day at the Sept of Baelor, I wanted to kill him. Everyday I thought about it. Killing him, Cersei, Illyn Payne. I’d say their names before I went to sleep. Like I wouldn’t be able too until I did. He murdered father and got away with it, and I wanted to make sure father got justice, to get justice for what they all did to our family.”

With no way of knowing, Arya had not a clue that Sansa stood there in silence, remembering her own want to do just that. How close she came to be willing to throw her life away, to just push Joffery from the ledge of the walls and watch him plunge to his death the day he forced her to look at her fathers head. She knew that feeling too well, and how the only thing which brought her out of that moment was the sudden snatching from Sandor Clegane, stopping her from doing something stupid for her own sake, then covering up for what she was about to do.

Before her, Arya continued, and she was sure she hadn’t spoken any of it out loud before. And yet here she was for the first time, saying it to Sansa of all people. “When I heard Joffery was dead, part of me was annoyed. Every night for years I spent saying his name because I needed to give our family some kind of justice for what he did to us, and that was taken away. But really, it didn’t matter anymore by then. Because it still wouldn’t have changed that I thought everyone was gone.”

She refused to go back to that night, the sights, the horrors, the blood and the nightmare which outside of the tears falling as Arya and you hugged, she refused to recall. Arya stood there knowing the feeling, and did not allow the sights and sounds come with it. “I wanted it to make me happy that he was dead finally. But I just felt...empty.” Your name once again coming out without noticing the strange doubt in Sansa’s gaze toward it. “She was dead, Robb’s still dead. Joffery had finally died, but they were too. What did it matter?” Looking back up with something as held back as it was genuine in a distant pain she told Sansa, “Maybe once I could’ve killed Joffery. But by the time he died, what was the point in getting justice for a family I’d never see again.”

Something was brewing in the gaze behind her older sisters eyes, but Arya could not so easily detect it outright. It was hard to read on someone she barley knew anymore. A confused distance at within her voice as much as it was hesitant in her eyes. “Why do you keep saying she died?” Aryas brows narrowed in question, and Sansa clarified further she meant you. “You keep saying she was dead, but she’s not dead. The Lannisters lied about that. Why do people keep saying that she was dead?” Her voice dropped into something she was clearly even more confused about, which Arya realized she knew she did not have the answer to. “Why do I keep hearing people talk about her as if she brought Jon back from the dead?”

Arya still could see at least once. The sight of your corpse so bloodied, and mutilated that it was not only you which was drenched in your blood, but those who mindlessly tossed your body to lock it away and do what Arya feared she would not wish to know too. The unsettled manner in which neither you nor Jon wanted to talk about his death or how he came back. Not in a way as if he could not back up such claims as they were lies, but a memory he dared not look back on because it was still too fresh.

Arya had known you were dead, and had confirmation from more then one source that Jon had been too. Everything she learned in Bravvos, but none answered that question. She did not understand it when Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr spoke of it to her, and she still did not understand it when watching in a gut wrenching horror, the sight of what became of her mothers corpse walking with an angry vengeful spirit within it.

All this knowledge, and Arya did not understand a single bit about it. But she was still honest in the only true way she could say. “Because they were dead. Both of them. They were both stabbed to death, and now they’re not.” Sansa it sounded as if she did not believe it, but not in such an accusatory way of calling her a liar. It was more as if Aryas genuinity made the lack of beleivability of the claim come off as eerie to her, only asking how that would be possible. “I don’t know.”

Sansa had yet to really have a reaction, almost as if her mind did not know how to react as opposed to keeping such a feeling only internal in front of Arya. “Then how do you know that’s true?”

But Arya only looked at her. She should have realized what so many of them did by now. Something about them was different, it was why she could accept such a thing like what she saw from Beric Dondarrion. It was in Arya, it was in Jon, it was in Bran. They all knew it, but why would Sansa not realize the world was not what she once thought? If was as if her sister still walked the world not knowing that something in their blood was making them different, was allowing them to do things no one else seemed to be able too. Still she thought, Sansa deserved some explanation.

So she told her. She had not a clue how you returned to life, but that she did know without a doubt, that you were the one who brought Jon back. “I don’t know how she did it, or if she even knows how, but she did. And I know that they both died to get to where they are, but you haven’t even spoken to them once. Why? Beacuse you can’t see passed that you think Jon stole your crown.”

A defence begun to come up in Sansa, a mixture of anger and half exasperation. Arya could not tell if it was what she solely thought, or if it was simply an excuse for her confusion. “Jon was in the Nights Watch, he couldn’t inherit anything even if he wasn’t a bastard.”

Arya felt no need to yell anymore, just something in her expression twisting in almost a disapproval as well as her tone. “You still don’t get it, do you? You still can’t see passed that about him, as if it matters, as if Robb didn’t leave the North to Jon because he was his brother. Jon’s your brother too, but you still can’t just treat him like it.”

Whatever words Sansa tried to speak, Arya did not allow them to come into the air. “If you cared about Jon, you would’ve gone to see him already. It’s been five years Sansa. He wanted you to come home as much as I did, and ever since you got here, you’ve let a man who betrayed our family into our walls, and ignored the only Starks who are left.”

Her own voice dropped as well, neither sister quite knowing where the other stood, or even what they felt within themselves. “It’s more complicated then that Arya.”

Shaking her head, Arya was quiet. “It really isn’t. But you’ve let Petyr Baelish of all people convince you otherwise and you come home trusting him more then your own family.” Arya could still hear her fathers voice that day in her chambers, pulling her close to his side with his comforting voice saying what he knew she needed to hear, hoping if she said it now, it would be the same for Sansa. “We’re Starks of Winterfell. In the winter, we look after each other. Protect each other. But all you’ve proven since coming back is you don’t want to really be part of this. All you came here caring about was getting a crown, and now that you learned it doesn’t belong to you, you’ve avoided all of us like you aren’t still one of us.”

A held back weight notably sat in Sansa’s throat as she tried to let her words out without interruption of her own doing. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

Arya though, only told her the same truth as before. “And you have no idea what any of us have been through. Because you really still haven’t come home, have you?”

Words not spoken between them for a moment, Sansa had found the discussion to circle back around to one of her first questions before the shouting match between them. “You never answered me, do you think I killed Joffery?” Arya that time, did not hesitate to say no. And neither sister could tell if that made them feel better or worse. Almost walking away, Arya held back whatever she was going to say which would only reignite the anger between them.

Instead she turned half around to meet Sansa’s eyes again. “I wanted you to come home because your my sister. I just wish you would try and remember that for once.”

Swiftly did Arya make her way indoors to the warmth, but leaving behind the watchful gaze of her sister with a confusion still in her mind and heart. Turning to the courtyard as she had been watching out on before, did Sansa see Petyr in the distance. But with everything he had said to her that morning, the only thing Sansa could convince herself to do in that moment instead of what he said, was to follow in Aryas footsteps.

Walking off without acknowledging him any further.

In truth, the contrast of conversations was almost amusing were Jon aware of the discussion previously held been Arya and Sansa. The seriousness between them then, and yet as Jon walked beside his sister now did he find her much more energetic and enthusiastic attitude mixed with an annoyed bit of a whine familiar as if no time had passed. “I didn’t say I want to get in the way, I just want to know when I’ll be allowed to see her and the baby.”

Running a hand over his mouth, Jon felt as amused at her as he did unsure of what he should say. He didn’t want you to feel ambushed by people, not now of all times. He knew the next morning you and the baby were going to see Maester Wolkan, and Jon had begun to think he might push certain things back to the late morning to accompany you. Hear and see with his own eyes if you two were where you needed to be physically, and stay behind after you leave. A few questions of his own before it got out of hand, but he couldn’t tell Arya all of that.

In a hesitant manner he hoped his baby sister did not pick up on, Jon kept it simple. “If everything is alright in the morning, then tomorrow probably.” He could see from the side of his vision, Arya looking at him confused, asking what he means by that exactly, but Jon only muttered an honesty which he did not know how to elaborate on. “I’m not sure.”

Regardless, he parted ways and swiftly made a path towards his chambers. Hoping that he could easily persuade Maege and Selyse to leave politely. The evening was long without you, and Jon wanted to see little Eddard off to bed before finally being able to just spend time with you the way he needed.

Telling the guards that unless it was a dire issue, not to disturb he and you until morning as he stepped into his chambers. The sight though, was not the one he thought he’d be faced with.

“How long has he been down for?”

Head rising up from where you had gently been watching the baby as he finally slept soundly, you felt your nerves pick up. It thus far had been the longest amount of time you and Jon had gone not having one another in any capacity since Dragonstone, and it almost could be mistaken that you were brand new at this all over again. Murmuring quietly as you kept your eyes glancing down to your slumbering son one more time, “Not long, but he should be asleep for some good hours.”

Hearing him walk into the room, you willed yourself to turn around. The long, silk like robe draping along the floor gave not much away that you had a short, dark shift on underneath and nothing more. It would not be much, but it was the best you could do. Long before Jon was to come back did you spend attempting to put yourself together. Look the opposite of the more chaotic state you had been in prior, so he could enjoy the sight this time.

Or more truthfully, bracing yourself for what pain might you need to hide when you finally gave Jon what he actually wanted. You weren’t healed enough to be ready without physical pain, but you wanted to convince him you still were of worth, so you’d let him take you, and hide the pain for his sake.

Jons warmth engulfed your back as he wrapped an arm around your front to gently tug you close, head dropping to look over your shoulder as he rasped in your ear. “What’s this?” His free hand gently tugging at the robe while his deep, low tones sent familiar shivers down your spine. Muttering just as quiet but in a much more jesting tone you flatly told him it was a robe. The chuckle along with his breath dancing hot across your skin made those shivering feelings for once, almost feel as if they were overtaking the nerves. “I meant I’ve never seen this before, it’s fancier then what I’m used to.”

Your eyes flickering to the side as the question slipped out a bit breathless in nature. “Is that a bad thing?”

Instead, Jon chuckled again. Smoothing that free hand up and down your waist leaning down to seek past your hair and press a kiss to your neck. “Not at all. You look beautiful.” At least it worked, you thought. Only Jon couldn’t help himself, pressing another light kiss then another all to the sensitive spots along your neck. “But it’s like you said, darling. There’s nothing you could do to make me not think that every time I see you.”

The huff almost like a laugh which left you elicited a smirk from him as you somewhat leaned your head back to rest against his. “You already have me, you know. You don’t need to try and flatter me into things.” Jon pulled back a little, likely to get a better look at you as your hands gently rested along his forearm at your front. Asking a bit confused of flattering you into what, you bit your tongue for a brief second before guiding him into a safe version of your answer. “Whatever you want.”

For a moment, his tone husked rougher and deeper just the slightest. “And what do you think I want?”

You knew you could’ve answered, but Jon also didn’t like outright forward and pushy, at least not on you. Choosing instead to turn suddenly in his grasp, you barley gave him the chance to look you over as you kept close to his front. Hands reaching up to begin undoing everything, as he accepted your silence for now. You always were quiet with him doing this, starting with the belt keeping Longclaw strapped to his side, and walking away enough to place it carefully along his desk.

Moving slowly onto everything else, you realized in a moment of clarity in your mind how much you missed doing this. It had been months since you both could stand in his chambers and take your time undoing the heavy layers on him from the day. One step then the next, everything coming off always dutifully put to the side for him until only his much more soft final layers remained. The trace sensation of a hand possibly running through strands of your hair was mostly lost as you continued with his boots until only articles of clothing remained on him as yourself.

The moment you moved to stand upright, Jon gently leaned down to guide you up to your feet. A hand on your waist and the other reaching up to let his thumb rub back and forth along your neck and jaw, his forehead pressing gentle against yours as you let yours rest on the final layer on his torso. Reaching up behind him did you without needing to even look, free his dark curls. His breathing growing a tad harsher as you ran your fingers through to tame them from the days tension before returning to his chest. Almost so slowly part of you wondered had he even noticed, did your hands drop to the laces down the middle of his shirt.

Only the tightening of his hand on your waist indicated he knew what you were doing at first. Half way down did you feel him inhale deeply before moving. Not enough to interrupt your work, but his head leaned down again into your neck, leaving much more noticeable kisses against the sensitive skin. Brushing your hair out of his way before both hands slid down to hold at your hips.

It was a feeling rushing alive through your veins as if for that moment did the fog fade further and further away from your mind. Eyes fluttering but refusing to stop before you undid the laces. Palms sliding across his chest, the scars littered about you had memorized long since exactly where they were and what they looked like in detail. Tracing a small few you could reach before gently beginning to push off the material, prompting Jon to free his hands so you could get the rest of it off.

Instead though, of allowing you to turn to put it down, Jon tugged you back to his front. Keeping his lips pressing lingering kisses to your neck, only using one hand to grab the shirt from you and toss it wherever it could have landed. Rising his head up, Jon barley met your eyes for even half of a second before slinking a hand up again to grasp one side of your jaw to tilt you up. Only a glimpse of his dark eyes before yours flew closed as he captured your lips.

Slow moving his kiss was, but long lasting and deep to the point he tilted you up more to his angle, stepping closer to match it so he held much more of the power in urgency. Soft and guiding, your hands smoothing along his torso much more freely, up to his shoulders before moving back down. It felt familiar, the scars, they felt like something you could always focus on.

Refusing to let you leave his lips, Jon licked your bottom lip and wasted not a second in gliding his tongue to brush yours as soon as you parted your lips for him. The hand on your hip wrapped around to your back, pulling you closer into his front as Jon kept you where he needed to kiss you. Tasting inside of your mouth as it slow but still somehow something which made the air feel raw between you both.

Jon would pull back, but never enough to disconnect the kiss before chasing the taste of you once more and guiding you to follow him and explore him back. Thumb running what it could reach along your cheek, your hands finally dropped lower and lower. Even slower then before. You hoped Jon was distracted enough that he hadn’t noticed. Loosening the laces of his breeches, you had leaned up more to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, Jon eagerly meeting your lips with something even more needing and rough.

It was as at the same time, you pushed passed the increasing beating of your heart to slide your other down under the fabric did you feel Jons brows furrow before pulling away from your lips. First snatching your wrist tightly, yanking you just enough that your fingertips danced across his lower hips. Brows narrow with something more you could describe as angry or disapproving did he tilt his head at you a bit. Your breathing begging to catch up with the air stolen from your lungs, eyes wide meeting his so dark and grey, you could’ve let him speak first. But you played your hand a bit too out of character, Jon knew you didn’t normally play dumb. “Is something wrong?”

Expression twisting into confusion now, you swallowed down a weight of nerves telling yourself not the time, not now you had to stay on track. Jon rasped out as the disapproval was strong within his tone as well as the lecturing to follow. “You know we can’t-” Your attempt of an innocent ask of you both can’t what, did his eyes narrow more. “I can’t take you to bed like this, you’re still recovering.”

Excuse you thought to yourself, you spent time coming up with an excuse, so say it. “Maester Wolkan said I’m mostly healed in that way, it just might some discomfort for me at first-” You cut yourself off that time. Jons head jolted back at bit, no doubt as his eyes trailed what he could of your figure from here, attempting to figure out what you were doing. Tune dropping to more of a whisper, nearly in a defence as the nerves returned now dripped into a lake of embarrassment. “Only at first..”

Jon was short and to the point as his disapproval did not make him grow angry but also did not allow you to move in any capacity. “Did he tell you you’re completely healed?” Shaking your head no, he pressed again. “Did he say it would be safe for you to let me take you like that?” Another shake of your head no, dropping from his gaze more that time. “Then we’re not doing this.”

In truth, Jon had swiftly let go of your hand to drop at your side and from your cheek with the intention to both grab your hips, but all you felt in that moment was a lurch in your heart. The sudden throwing you away from where he touched you felt as if he was trying to cast you back from his personal space, not at all understanding why when you took a bigger apprehensive step back did he look at you with such wide and bright eyes doused in more confusion.

This already went a lot worse then you had planned. “I didn’t mean to presume-” Cutting yourself off once more to exhale, eyes fluttering closed to regain your breath and heart for if only a second before attempting such words in a different fashion. “We don’t have to do that, I wasn’t attempting to pressure for it.” The longer he watched you in the quiet, the more the foot between you both grew within your mind as many feet into miles away. The lack of any words spurning on the nerves to fill the air with even more rambling excuses. “It’s been so long since we’ve been together, and -”

Not anger again, but he spoke each word slow and with careful purpose as if trying to convey a point to your irrational mind. “That’s because you gave birth to our son. You’ve only just stopped bleeding.”

Was it guilt? Shame? Embarrassment? Or all three blended into a poisonous well of violence telling you that if you did not have one use then to provide another. You knew it would hurt, that it was still too soon, but you were willing to not care in order to give him that. But Ramsay had taught you one lesson you still remembered, if not one way, you had use for men in another.

Eyes softening as you looked at him, returning back to his presence you sighed out. Fingertips running more innocently along his chest as the painting in your eyes matched. Voice gentle and sincere not wanting the night to end like this. “There are other things we can do, that I can do.” Looking at you in thought for only a second before Jons expression morphed into a doubt, your name muttered low as you continued to now rest your palms higher up along his shoulders, his hands instinctively returning to your waist. “We’ve never gone this long without...something...and you still have two ways you can take me.”

Hands again tightening on your waist, his now black eyes boring into yours as dark as his voice. “I never wanted to do that as an alternative-”

But his chest moved more as his breathing grew heavier, the more your fingertips danced upward to toy with his curls as you kept the opposite end in your person. “There’s still another thing I can do. It’s like you said, we can’t do the things you normally like,” Jon attempted to interject that he never said that but you continued on knowing he wasn’t sure if you interrupted him on purpose or not. “But there are some, and you deserve to feel good.”

That was unfair, trying to be soft with him. An innocence that he could not hide worked him up, the twitch of his cock between you such a symbol. “You deserve to feel good too.”

If Jon thought something about the way you dismissed it so easily, he kept it to himself for now. “What will make me feel good, is giving you something you deserve. For everything you’ve done.” An even rougher tone as your left hand drifted downward along his torso again, asking specifically what. “For being the one to bring our son into the world,”

“I think you had something to do with that more then me.”

Again you kept your lightness in voice knowing he might not be sure if you kept meaning to not acknowledge such small comments. “For keeping him safe, for coming to protect me, for getting us all home safely. Trust in me, Jon. There is plenty you deserve to be thanked for.”

Eyes fluttering shut, Jon blindly pulled you closer with a few fingers under your chin. Capturing your lips with his only for such a cruelly short time before nudging your nose with his, muttering low. “This is what you want, right?” You didn’t answer at first, thinking the obvious answer of silence was yes but you truly should’ve known Jon better then that. “Answer the question, darling. Is this what you really want?”

The nod you gave was certainly not enough. Jon pulling back enough to narrow his eyes at yours, your shoulders deflating a bit. “I want this, Jon. I promise.” The warmth of his body so comforting and yet overwhelming so close, you felt lulled into a calm where the truth was far easier to understand within your head.

Turning you so your back faced then bed, as you went to sit Jon tilted his head with a knowing look to listen to him properly. Letting him slide the silky robe to pool at your feet, drifting hands toying with the edge of the dark shift with a raised brow. The very moment you moved to slide the thin straps down your arms though, Jon took over such a task for himself. Letting it too fall before kicking it all off to the side, staring down now with eyes dark as a black night sky. The rasp so low it almost husked like a growl as his hands toyed down your arms to your hips. “Seven hells. How am I supposed to get anything done knowing you look like this?”

Another rough swallow unsure what to say, part of you, unsure if he meant it no matter how much the clearer part of your head shoved that darkness back down. “You’re King, you can make me do whatever you want.” Not said in any sultry nor seductive manner but it made Jons cock throb more that way. Finally meeting his eyes you sat down gently, one of his hands running along your hair, fingers raking through the strands before finding a for now, gentle hold at the back of your head.

Steady as you had been all day were your hands as Jon allowed you to finish what caused the debate in the first place. Slowly pulling his pants down and off his legs, you felt now two hands properly gathering your hair in an easy hold. Your hands sliding up to rest at his hips, eyes wide looking up to him without looking as if you wanted to stare at his thick length. Dark eyes with such a tenseness in the remainder of his face as he caught you off guard. His tone as desperate as his cock was but the words not what you thought. “You said whatever I want, does that mean I can command you to keep your hair this long?”

It did not occur to you, despite how much it stood out to Jon, you smiled brightly for the first time since he had gotten you back. “Only if you don’t also force me to wear it in those ridiculous southern styles.” Jon nearly grinned himself, assuring you that would never happen. “Then whatever you want, I promise.”

Only a fortnight and already you had forgotten. Lips parting with your wider eyes once more taking in his size, his thick cock hard and begging for you to take care of it. The nerves this time flowing faster and faster the more you considered the girth of his cock, heart asking to race along with the nerves inside you. Taking him into your hand, a shaking exhale left you not quite quiet enough for Jon to not catch it. Your hand couldn’t wrap around him properly, but that was fine, that wasn’t the act he wanted.

Only guiding enough for you to lean towards his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed a gentle kiss to his length, and another, and another. Only small and fleeting presses of your lips but you trailed them up his length and down then back again until the faint trace of saliva had begun to coat him, making your touch against him a little smoother, but just as light. The second your kiss had left it’s mark against his tip did Jon give out a hiss the same instance his hand in your hair already tightened.

Slowly, you refused the idea of skipping right to things. Another kiss with a small brush of your tongue and again, his hand tightened in your hair, muscles under the hand still at his side tensing. The small coating of seed already finding it’s way onto your tongue as you licked at his tip in small motions with your lips always to follow.

Your hand finally leaving him to grab at his side once more, Jon tensed heavily at that sensation alone, yet nothing compared to his strength grasping tightly as you took him into your mouth. Barley moving passed still his tip, such a sensitive spot should your eyes have opened, would’ve seen it was making his free hand clench and unclench over and over trying to give you the room to go at your own pace.

The stretch you had forgotten, the feeling of your jaw taking something of such size had trickled in a phantom ache. Tongue slowly moving along what you could reach but hardly moved yet, allowing the saliva to build before easing more of him into your mouth, only another inch and you could hear his rough exhale.

Inch by inch did you let his cock further into your mouth, only reaching halfway when you felt that feeling arise. Heart beating faster but you would refuse it access, you promised it was about him. Easing your way back only to once more take half of his cock, and a pace most men would call insufferable was what he still allowed you to go at. Mouth taking him half down your throat, a hum adding to the feeling as you moved up and down his cock with something still at ease.

But you were not yet done, you still had much to go, much to take, and he deserved a wife who could take all of him no matter what. Another inch further, the lurch in your heart returned but it did not overpower the feeling of such a thick length already so deep. Only the tip left before taking him all the way down just before last few inches remaining as you sucked his cock. Small growling sounds deep within Jons chest were let out but never did he say much.

Not with this he ever did, but the hand in your hair was tight. Very tight. And you knew he needed more, you took it slow. The pace meant to ease you into taking his size but also to flow the racing of your heart, the panic building of something being so deep despite how little you wanted to disappoint him now. Still, you knew you could take him, but you were gentle and too much fighting such an internal feeling to do it yourself. You thought little of the manner which the thought arose in phrasing or what it could mean behind the fog as it grew more again.

You needed Jon to just force you to do what he wanted.

Blindly did you grab at his free hand. Uncurling his tensed fingertips into an ease as you pulled him back behind you, allowing him to curl it around the back of your neck under where his hold on your hair was. Jon gritted out your name in warning, but you squeezed his hand and Jon could read you better then you could’ve hoped as you let yours return to his hips. His voice but a rough husk full of such a strong desire, such a thick northern accent already now as thick as his cock. “Darling, please. I don’t want to force you-”

But you nearly whined around his length, and the following swearing curses from his mouth had spoken to how desperate you were for it. Once more, it hadn’t yet dawned on you what specifically Jon could truly pick up on, but your mouth so warm and wet around him he was weak to your gentle asks. It wouldn’t be until much later would Jon realize what it was he picked up on exactly.

“If I get too rough,” Another whine vibrated around his cock and pulled a grunt from him at the sensation. Don’t finish that sentence you could beg him, be rough. Be too rough. Ignore the blood flowing fast in your veins warning of a panic following and be rough with you, you wanted.

Grasping your hair in a firm hold, Jon pulled you almost all the way off his length before sinking you right back down, only this time he pushed you passed where you stopped. The second you could feel the coarse hair around the base of is cock though, did Jon pull you off almost all the way again. Over and over he dragged you down his cock but each time he fed more of his cock to you did he go faster. Not a shred of air to be had in mercy as he bobbed your head up and down his length with such an ease behind his grip in your hair did the hand behind your neck slide somewhat. Resting more along the side closer to the front of your throat his hand moved, and tight in grip still.

That time, your head stayed in place, it was Jon who thrusted his cock as deep into your mouth as he could go, which was every thick, agonizingly long inch. Fingernails tensing into where they dropped by his thighs as if to hold on for him, and a muffled sound of need barley making its way to Jons ears. He pulled you on and off his cock quickly, but now that he moved inside of you as if a toy for his making, he was less kind.

The hand in your hair cupped the back of your head, forcing you forward to meet his cock as it slid down your throat. Soaking him as he stretched your mouth but the growling sounds of need now erupting from Jon told you he needed this. He needed to treat you roughly. Cries leaving you as did the tears fall behind your eyes still closed, the feeling washing over you of a mixture.

A warmth which you felt low in your blood but refusing to travel to where you once wanted it. But the other part didn’t want it to. Jon was rough, rougher then you think he noticed as he all but was using your mouth as a toy for his pleasure. As if you only existed here and now to feed his cock into when he needed. Moans or cries, need or panic it felt hard to differentiate if you didn’t want to stop or if you liked it. Either way, the darkness took over instead to whisper that he’d hate you if you made him stop now.

“Fuck, how were you born so perfect to take me?” He thrusted down your throat as he also begun to move you to follow his path, offering him pure obedience every single inch he shoved into your mouth. “You were born for this, for me- born to take all of me..” If that was a nod, you gave whatever little of it you had.

Feeling his cock throb hot inside your mouth, you refused to let it happen now. He needed your mouth this deep, this rough, this mean and you did what you could. Sucking his thick length in the small moments of control you could offer to his cock even more. Your jaw hurt, your lungs burned as did a racing in your heart and blood speak another story that you told to be quiet despite something in your heart telling you to stop, and stop now.

Rambling lost as Jons head fall backwards as he just pulled you down, your nose pressing against the coarse hair and Jon would barley pull out of you before shoving you back down over and over. “Can you take all of me?” You could barley understand him, his voice a slurring husk with his accent so thick you couldn’t really comprehend his words over the sound of blood racing in your own head.

Forcing you back down, Jon this time held you there so deep in your throat he nearly let the hand on your neck tighten. “Yes or no, will you let me spill down your throat?” No, don’t ask. Don’t give you the option, you wanted him to force you to take whatever he fed you.

Only an indiscernible nod he caught before his head dropped. Eyes dark and wide as his lips parted watching you barley able to move as he thrusted so shallow deep in your warm mouth. He spoke, he said words, but none which registered.

Jons cock throbbed until he moved your head roughly all the way down, holding you there at the back of your head as a mighty growl of your name left him like a true animal. The hand at the side of your neck however, moved to your throat in anticipation.

His seed spilled deep down your throat, even against his warm figure it was hot, and thick. So thick you struggled to swallow it, muffled gags high pitched and desperate as he refused air. Only when you drank all of his seed could you breathe. The hand around your neck tightened at your throat, each swallow he could feel under his hand, Jon seemed as if it made him give you more. Feed you more of such thick seed as if in this cold outside the only sustenance you needed to stay warm and fed was his seed.

Jon came more then usual, thick spurts of his seed painted your mouth and the back of your throat all pooling in your stomach for him. Letting you ease up but not yet moving you. Your own instincts took over, gently bobbing your head up and down his cock, licking and sucking every which way you could to ensure every drop of his seed was brought out in his pleasure. Hissing against you finally, did Jon have nothing left and dragged you off of him.

His breathing heavy, but nothing of yours. Hands tense at is sides, your head dropped gasping for air you felt deprived of for so long and faint traces of his spend mixed with your saliva. Hand cupping the back of your neck now, massaging the area more soothingly as his voice still as deep rasped gentle down to you. “Look up at me, come on darling.” Guiding your eyes to meet his, yours were hard to read beyond something overwhelmed and exhausted. Jon shook his head to a thought of disbelief in his own head. “Gods, you’re so beautiful.”

A flush travelled through your body at that one, but Jon just knelt down to your level. Cupping your cheeks, he pressed his lips to yours with such a tenderness that you almost thought he wasn’t even breathing. But slowly guiding your lips, sliding his tongue into your still warm mouth the second you gave him a sliver of access did you whine into his mouth. The sound gifted as music to his ears as his much more deep gutted groan had him crowed you more as he kissed you rougher and deeper.

Only tearing away when it was him who needed air, Jon tilted your head down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

You still let him move you at eye level, his nose brushing against yours almost playfully as you struggled to touch him so affectionately back. “And I love you.” Prompting you up onto the bed, Jon turned you into his chest. Cradling the back of your head as you reached meekly onto him but snuggled into his warmth as a cat does a blanket.

With his warmth around you, and the exhaustion of such a racing in your heart still not yet simmered, but despite it all, you found a calm and did you fall asleep in Jons arms without issue.

But that was just it, you fell asleep without issue. Jon remained awake realizing the issue. Red flags had been all over the encounter with you, but it was one thing which had Jons arms around you tighten and keep you so much more protective in his chest. He knew you liked when he took control, you had never all but begged Jon though, to just force you to take him. You wanted Jon to force you down his cock, force his cock down your throat roughly.

It took Jon a very long time to finally even allow his eyes to close, to attempt sleep. Realizing exactly what had happened, but also, the same realization that you had not a single clue what you did. He never told you, it wasn’t your fault. But it was there all the same. Chest tight and nerves flowing heavily through his mind which now could not stop filling his head with such gut wrenching thoughts, that comparison had startled him truly.

By the time he fell asleep he knew. Enough was enough. He had to handle this soon before it got any worse. He refused to let you force yourself down this path that he was sure, you weren’t even aware you were setting yourself on.

Something dark in your head was afraid Jon didn’t want you anymore, and were desperately about to start offering anything you could, your safety or well being be damned to try and hold onto his love a little longer. Jon despised that even in motherhood, the world refused to ever let you catch your breath.

Because, you had been clearly very confused, not understanding why Jon didn’t want to hurt you.

A good part of you felt bad, but it was something you wanted to do without him. It wasn’t the same for him and you didn’t truly have the words to explain it, nor did you know if you should. Already it was nearly a miracle that Jon did not awaken as you slunk from his grasp. Slowly and surely you managed, wrapping something warmer around your person as you dressed before peeking back to the dark sight of the room. First, the baby awoke to your gentle touch. You wanted to feed him before you did this, and a quiet as a baby boy could be, not a sound was made.

Finally, both Jon and the baby fast asleep, you crept the door open quietly to slip out. A gentle small smile to the guards who respected the quiet with only but small gestures back as you made your way down the corridor. You knew it must have been quite late into the night as hardly a soul was to come across your figure as you walked through the castle and out the doors. Not quite dressed for the snow outside, but you had a different destination then out here regardless.

Spotting the glass gardens in the distance you had the certainty that you were indeed alone. Not a soul would be out and on this side of the yard so late. Thus, you easily made your way passed and to the steps which led and down and down into the ground eventually revealing the crypts. So many generations of Starks, so many of which stood tall with direwolves by their side as it went on and on.

A family so long existing just as this in the world, it felt minuscule to imagine your families, the contrast of here to the tombs of House Baratheon on Storm’s End. Only three hundred years did they go beyond. Another existed there before you, but you knew not what happened of their remains. Only that when your House came into existence, so did the remains of the last get wiped away.

Step by step and you could hear the faint sounds of strings as you thought of it. The dark, horrible screaming nightmare within your mind hearing the music as you considered perhaps a House only disappears from the world should the ones which ruled after be cruel enough to wipe them away. There was not a scrap of memory for House Castamere aside from a morose song which sung of their doom and lingered in your mind of an attempt at the same.

Perhaps your family was not that different. Perhaps it was why walking through the crypts here did you feel as not belonging as you did in the tomb of Storm’s End. Not enough of either to be a person whole on your very own. Just scattered fragments of families making up a malformed figure in the shape of a woman. But you already knew that, that you were merely shards of a broken person.

After all, you had a father. Living and breathing to fight the same fight in the North, but you had not even attempted to write him or ask your mother if she had. You had a son, your father had a grandson this time who had lived long enough to be born into the world and you had not thought to inform him of it. Even now, you did not know what you would even say. But there was a father you walked towards, and it was him which you went to see.

There his statue stood, tall and stern as he ever was. The sword carved into his hands tall just as Ice was, as if to symbolize that in death if not life, Ned Stark stood guarding Rickon who was buried beside him. It felt so long ago that you stood in that very spot, knowing that you would have to step forward and begin the process of making a burial spot for him. As fresh as the wound was for Jon especially, you now could look back and almost be thankful that you and him both came to the same agreement to bury him that night. The last memory of his little brother would be one not of rot or decay. He in the cold air, had remained and as if the gods could only do one thing for him, not have his body lost or desecrated in the battle which erupted around him.

You hoped he knew. That Rickon knew that in his death, Jon had not hesitated to charge towards the man who did it. That he had not wavered in what he was going to do, and that as finally Jon descended on his home, had beaten Ramsay bloody for what he had done. That the time they saw one another was so short, but that everything of that battle was for him. That Jon took what forces he had to Winterfell as soon as Shaggydog’s head arrived at Deepwood Motte. That he did not hesitate to shut down suggestions of gathering stronger forces when his little brothers life hung in the balance.

Rickon was only a boy of six when you last saw him. His hair more red like that of his mothers, so small that you could so easily pick him up to move him as if he weighed nothing. His voice still high pitched with wide and bright eyes. He had not taken it well when you had returned to Winterfell only for you and Robb to leave soon after for war. He was angry and felt abandoned even though Robb and you both tried to assure him otherwise. Bran had said the free folk woman you met, Osha, she was trustworthy. That she cared deeply about them both, and when Bran knew he had to go beyond the Wall, he trusted no one more then her to keep Rickon safe. You knew it was not her blame how it ended.

Looking to where the lay, you recalled him then. By present day he would have been eleven. His hair darkened more in their curls just like Robb and he looked so much as he did at that age too. But you felt the guilt. A dark looming feeling making your head feel as if it was suddenly filled to the brim with liquids turning to metal to weigh you down. Rickon still would’ve been too young to understand it was you fault, but as your eyes returned to the statue of Ned Stark, you knew he would understand that.

The wind against your skin as Robb spoke beside you, you could hear him speak so clearly. Standing at the border of the bridge at the Twins, knowing that you all had not the time to fight your way through, watching two riders approaching, as the time ticked away.

“Father rots in a dungeon. How long before they take his head? Father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took.”

But you didn’t do that. Did you? You fought beside the men fighting for the same cause, but you did not do whatever it took to secure Rickons safety. Jon had known you would’ve left. Would’ve given yourself back to Ramsay in order to barter for Rickons safe return. Jon could still fight for his home, but you wouldn’t have an eleven year old boys blood on your hands. Ned Stark did whatever it took to protect his daughters. He had confessed to a crime he did not commit, hoping that his admission would at least give Sansa and Arya some safety with his compliance. He risked and lost his life to protect them.

Who have you protected? Ned Stark was dead. Robb was dead. Robbs unborn son was dead. Catelyn is trapped in the body of a vengeful creature pretending to be the woman who you once saw as a mother. Rickon was dead. Shireen was dead by your own hands. Renly was dead. Barra was dead as was every nameless bastard cousin you never had the chance to know.

Bringing him back didn’t change that Jon was murdered trying to protect you. Arya survived on her quick intelligence. Bran survived despite every single odd being stacked against a crippled boy his age. Sansa survived no doubt using her perception of naive kindness as a shield to protect her. You protected none of them. You protected no one ever.

Looking up to the man you had missed more then when you thought your real father was gone, you could not help but think that you didn’t belong down here. You weren’t a Stark in any way that mattered the way they all were. You stood before him, symbolizing so little. You did not matter in this place or to it’s people. You were what you were always told you’d be.

A wife to breed her husband sons and daughters. You would fulfill that duty until Jon no longer had use for you, and you would never resent him nor your children for it. Cersei had told you that no matter what, no matter how bad it got, she had her children. That they kept her alive. You loved little Eddard dearly, and you knew your purpose here was Jon. You loved them both, but you thought perhaps you should stop pretending as if you were the exception to the life Cersei warned you about.

You hoped tonight you had proven at least some pleasurable value to Jon. It was hard to say what you felt. Part of you liked it, you always did with him. But the other part of you? The panic overwhelming of what if none of it would be enough to make him still want you, and you had to play into the lie of how much your mind and heart hadn’t filled with panic and anxiety. He needed it clearly, and so you wouldn’t dare deprive him of it. But your mind the whole time screamed at you that Ramsay had been right. This was all you were good for.

Even with your son here, Jon was your life, your purpose, he was truly everything to you. But you weren’t to him, and you’d do whatever it took to at least keep this false image of love he holds for you as long as you could. Your mind had made your time together that night complicated in your heart every single time you worried about what you will do when he doesn’t even want this from you anymore.

The fog in your head promised it would happen, and you listened to it. And in the subsequent fear in your mind, forced yourself to just endure what you knew you normally, would’ve felt good doing. If not for the heart twisting fear that he already was casting you aside for a woman who he could enjoy himself with properly. At least if you let him do whatever he wants, he had reason to keep you in his bed. The fog in your head promised you after all. Promised that if you didn’t just give him what he wanted, he’d set you aside and it was difficult in that fog to tell yourself otherwise. It wasn’t Jons fault he didn’t want you. It was yours.

“Scary how well I know you.”

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to the side with wide eyes and a gasp of shock at the sudden intrusion of self hatred. Hands holding out as if to tame a spooked horse, did they apologize for scaring you. Catching your breath as your heart raced, you shook your head dismissively. “No apology needed. I simply didn’t notice I wasn’t alone anymore is all.”

A nod of understanding was given, and then you both stood there. More guilt ate at you, but you also knew, guilt sat right in the bright eyes Theon had. Taking a few steps closer he didn’t close the gap much, but enough he could lower his voice to a more appropriate level. “Fine, but I will apologize for the way I spoke to you. Our last conversation before you left.”

Closing your eyes with a sigh, you let your hand drift up to pinch at the high bridge of your nose. “Theon-”

But he took another step, that time with not the hesitant waver behind his tone. “No, I need too. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Not as my Queen, and certainly not as my friend.”

Your arms dropping back down to your sides, you looked from his gaze for a moment. Recognizing at the corner of your eye, him more closing the gap. Following his lead you sensed, you both stood side by side before the statue of Ned Stark. Not the only one you were, who felt as if he did not belong down here. Theon spoke once more before you could gather your thought. “I know you don’t like being told this, but it isn’t your fault how we left things. I didn’t know how to handle you leaving, and I took it out on you instead of just saying that. No matter how close to everyone else we are, they will never get it. What being Ramsay’s prisoners was like. How he could make us forget we were even human. Only you understand that, and I was mad you were leaving.”

The silence was heavy, as was your gaze with stinging eyes looking towards the statue before you as your voice found itself. Quiet for only him to hear even in the empty halls all around. “We didn’t know if we were ever coming back.” You could see from the side of your vision, Theon nodding a little in an understanding. “It was more important to give everyone the hope that they knew we were coming back, instead of the worrying question of if. I thought I was sparing you the pain of thinking that was the last time you were ever going to see me.”

Theon for the weight bearing down on both of you, actually let out a chuckle. “You didn’t come back to life too bright, did you?” As if no pain was in your heart, your head whipped to the side with a scowl and glare he knew all too well. “You two were gone for months, you didn’t think eventually I was going to start worrying about that very thing all on my own?”

The nearly jesting glare subsided slowly, as you once again looked forward. Your tone easing a little from the far more withheld place it took previous. “Having some hope for a little while felt better then giving you none from the very beginning.” Theon however, only pressed. Asking why you didn’t just fight him on the way he dismissed you before leaving for what you feared could be forever. But there wasn’t a grand array of complicated emotions attached, you knew the truth was for once, very simple. “I didn’t want to potentially leave forever on an argument. Robert and Renly both died with our last real talk being an argument, and never being able to take that back feels horrible. I thought at least even if you were mad, I could avoid souring your last memory of me.”

Theon smirked though you did not see it. “Do you remember the day you threw a rock at my head?” Brows furrowing, you almost said no until the memory slipped in behind your eyes. Though he didn’t see it, you too begun a small smirk as you nodded once. “If someone told me then, that we’d be standing here fifteen years later saying this sort of thing to each other I might have thrown a rock the size of your head at you to avoid it.”

Hardly what any could call a laugh, but between you what was left out was all you both had in the moment. Silence came over you for a bit until it felt safe enough to broach. “Do you ever worry he’s disappointed?” Neither of you had to ask whom you were referring to. “That he looks at what you’ve become and wonders where did he go so wrong that’s led to you being on this path?”

Of all people, there was not a single point of contention between either of you that Theon felt exactly that. No matter the work you did to help him come away from it, there was no doubt he would look back and feel the same guilt that he had for months once you both were gone from it all. Not answering directly, Theon somewhat shifted the discussion to elaborate in a much more personal way. “Do you know what the first thing was my father said to me when I got to Pyke?” Shaking your head no, Theon could still hear it clearly as you did the strings earlier no doubt. “Said that Ned Stark had me just as long as he did. Took me away as a frightened boy, and what came back. So I said what I thought was true. A man, his blood and his heir. And without even looking at me he said, we shall see. Already he doubted me being there. Saw right through me the whole time and still I wanted to impress him. I didn’t have to fake who I was here. Told you and Robb to convince you both to let me go, that Ned Stark raised me to be an hourable man and I did everything he tried to raise me to not become. Of course I worry he’s looking at me wondering how I ended up this way.”

Theon never belonged back with them, you knew. He left with good intentions and Balon Greyjoy twisted him into thinking he wasn’t a man for it. But when asking what would he be disappointed in you for, your throat became dry like sands in the deserts of Dorne. All of it you thought, he should be disappointed in all of it. You knew you had many times been a disappointment to your true father, and even in his death you knew you too were a disappointment to the father who actually showed you love.

Your lack of an answer wasn’t pressed. The one which you spoke was a work around that real one you dared not speak out loud. “At least we are disappointments together.”

It was some time before either of you spoke. A long time before either of you found the courage too, but once again through the fog it was not you who was collected enough to find the words. “My sister tried to rescue me once. From Ramsay while we were still at the Dreadfort. She took a group of men to get me out of there and bring me home.”

You already knew this story, but broaching that subject was one Jon had said he wanted to tackle himself, since he did the most damage. In his words. Prompting Theon with reasonable responses, “Why didn’t she?”

Already you knew the guilt and shame she felt, but too did you know Theon had no reasonable way to know any of that. And the bitterness was evident. “I was too scared. Didn’t know if it was a trap. So she left. Came all that way and left.” Just as you wished to say anything of comfort, did Theon come to his true point. “But despite that, despite everything else that came after. I’m glad I didn’t go with her.” Why was all you could ask as he left your heart a bit strained. “Would’ve meant leaving you behind. No matter what Ramsay put us through, I’m glad the only time I escaped was when I was able to bring you with me. The night we left, I was worried come morning you would’ve just killed yourself to avoid marrying Ramsay and I had to do it or I’d lose you for good, and you were all I had left. We were all each other had left.”

Voice but a whisper, you barley would register to any ears were they not as close as Theon. “Would have spared you far more pain then you deserved though.”

Theon was as strained in voice as you, but the weight was more sure of himself through it. “My actual sister abandoned me. But you’re the sister I chose, and I wasn’t going to do to you what she did to me. And if Ned Stark is disappointed in me for that, I’m going to just have to live with it.”

The fog in your head was so heavy and so hateful, you almost felt like you truly were trapped with Ramsay still. The only moment you were a person being what little brevity you and Theon could fine, before you ascended those steps and returned to a fog which you were lost in all alone. For even just moments down here, it was a reminder of what being you felt like.

Still so late into the night, by the time you returned to the cold air of the courtyard Theon had since left to try and sleep. Asking if you were fine getting back on your own, but your answer of yes did not include that it was a lie. You weren’t sure you could handle returning to a bed you didn’t know if Jon truly wanted you in. It would be a few hours still anyways before the baby would wake in need of you again.

Standing in the cold as snow lightly fell all around you in the empty courtyard, your breath was the only sound heard as it exhaled cold in the air, beyond the night around in nature. It was beautiful beyond belief, Winterfell in such a wintery sight, and you felt unworthy of it as you stood there.

What you would do until morning dawned in the peak of the sky, you had not known. Until one single step was taken, when a voice spoke out behind you. Your name being called softly and hesitantly from a voice you had not heard in five years. Turning to see from where she had been hiding by the glass gardens in the dead of night, you almost didn’t recognize her as a woman, from the girl you left her as.

In kind without doubt, in your more whispered surprise, returned the gesture right back and spoke hers with something just as soft.

“Sansa.”

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

>.>

This is why people don't take the Libertarian party seriously. And at this point I have no idea if this crap is just a psyop meant to delegitimize the libertarian movement.

So for those unaware. The Constitution of the United States protects the rights of the Citizens of the US. "The People" mentioned in the Constitution is a direct reference of the Citizens of this country. If you come here illegally, then your "Rights" are non existent. You broke the law in coming here. You have no background to be checked when purchasing arms which is already a federal law. And the reason it exists is to find people whose rights have been removed by due process.

If you come here illegally you ARE a criminal. You have the rights to be treated humanely. We have zero other obligations in that regard. We are not the world's babysitters here in the US. But let me explain this more so you can understand this.

Suppose for a second this anarchist view of the Second Amendment ends up being backed by law. (Despite the fact the spirit of this law is not what the founding fathers had in mind which DOES matter). If laws were repealed that allowed for that view of the Second, we would see more waves of illegals, able to arm themselves to the teeth and start butchering US citizens. China? Russia? Yemen? Iran? Doesn't matter. You'd effectively be giving them a free pass to form platoons of illegal, ARMED aliens, to start killing us. That's not fear mongering. That's the next logical step a enemy state would take.

This is insane. I'M A LIBERTARIAN but this is bat shit. Either the LPOL is a psyop, or they are actually insane. The second does not protect the rights of people whom are not citizens. Period. The "Inalienable human rights" protection to own a firearm does not protect non citizens. I'm sorry. And we are already having issues with swaths of illegals killing US citizens. Fuck the LPOL.

[drdemonprince]

DEVON PRICE thank u for being literally the only other person I’ve ever seen who believes Trisha Paytas’s right to identify as a non transitioning femme gay trans man. I’m always on about this to my friends & tbh I think they’re tired of hearing about it lmao

I put this in my tags responding to ur tags on the brokeback post but fr she came out as a femme trans man who likes men and was like “I’m still going to use she/her tho” and everyone Lost Their Shit and bullied her on the internet essentially until she stopped publically identifying that way. And she chose to come out as non-binary and use she/they bc then she wouldn’t face so much backlash. And like it’s literally all just about what she “passes” as or what her gender presentation indicates to others as opposed to how she feels about herself and defines her own gender. Which tbh? I feel like most of the people that harassed her over that were queer and trans people saying she must be confused or was like delegitimizing trana identity??? But fr the people upset about it were just policing and scrutinizing her because they felt like that identity label didn’t match with her gender presentation. It’s fucked up, I wish we lived in a world where Trisha could have been a trans guy and the trans community would have just been like “oh awesome :) good for u, I hope u feel like you know yourself better at the end of the day”

Literally!!!! I thought it was so fucked up that people didn't just let her identify how she did simply because she didn't want to change her presentation. Supposedly leftist people have decided that because she has been problematic it's okay to demonize her for being "annoying" or seeming "crazy." they invalidate everything she says and does in the most ableist transphobic fatphobic fucking ways and it honestly hurts every gnc trans person or genderfluid person when they act that way. I HATE when members of our community promote that gender conforming respectability politics shit. it has done a lot to make being trans harder and worse for me too.

[txttletale]

idk how to put this sorry if this comes off as rude/confrontational I'm not trying to be — when you say stories about forgiveness/reconciliation, do you mean more the type about forgiving & reconciling with family, or more generally (so like including - this isn't the best example but I can't think of any better rn - catra for example? where it's about being trapped in hurting people because of trauma and breaking out of that)? or is the thing you dislike more stories' framing of forgiveness as a moral imperative?

sorry if this doesn't make sense I'm just curious what you think bc you've raised some interesting points and would really like to see you elaborate on them

don't worry you don't come off as rude whatsoever! while i think my points apply broadly to how forgiveness is treated across media (rare actual example of cultural christianity) -- i obviously am not, like, against forgiveness or stories about forgiveness on principle. what i dislike about all the narratives about people forgiving their abusive parents is that:

like you said, it's always framed as a moral imperative. there is always an underlying assumption that forgiving the abuser is the 'right' and 'correct' thing to do, that not doing so would be wrong. this is tremendously insulting to survivors who have every right to not forgive their abusers!

in most of these narratives, the parent barely does shit to be forgiven. there's very often a narrative equivocation, in fact, between parent and child. like, sometimes the parent won't even be expected to apologize -- sometimes, even more grotesquely, both the parent and child apologize for their shared supposed 'wrongdoing'. this is also obviously insulting to survivors, who are not in any way responsible for their abuse or for having a poor relationship with their parents.

the reason why this in particular pisses me off so much is that it mirrors and in turn contributes to the cultural expectation on abuse victims in real life to maintain contact with their abusers, the constant casual pressure from everything from strangers to friends to acquaintances saying 'well, can't you just put it behind you?' or 'look, he's changed' or 'she's your mom' or 'you'll only have one chance to have a relationship with your siblings' or whatever the fuck. the sanctity of the family is a cardinal value across a lot of societies and this sanctity means a constant, neverending societal pressure to bow to sweeping abuse under the rug. i've seen many people i care about struggle deeply with feeling obligated to maintain relationships with family members who treat them like shit and make htem miserable every time they interact bc of exactly these sorts of sentiments being everpresent in their cultural environment. & these narratives always paint that sort of pressure as being well-founded and fair and ultimately for the better, which is absolutely repellent to me.

so, yeah. i am not against narratives where an abusive person actually confronts their actions and changes and repairs that relationship (that's another fucking thing, these narratives always put the onus and responsiblity on the character who was abused to forgive rather than on the abuser to earn forgiveness, just like in real life familial abuse victims are always fucking expected to be the ones to repair the relationship). i think such narratives can be powerful and compelling and explore questions of what the value of 'forgiveness' or 'redemption' even are, as well as dispel the mystique and exceptionalism often attributed to the 'abuser' as a holistic malevolent figure that can be cleanly separated from every other parent/grandparent/sibling/etc.

what i'm against is narratives where someone who is abused has their feelings delegitimized -- their rage is wrong, counterproductive, they need to let go and move on, they need to forgive their abusers and let them back int otheir lives because oh, they did something wrong too or oh, their abuser had a difficult life, or whatever the fuck. to which the answer should be a flat -- no. they don't. all the more power to people who choose to do that if that's what makes them happiest and safest but absolutely nobody has a moral obligation or need to forgive an abusive family member. obviously i am exaggerating slightly when i say every abusive parent subplot should end with the parent being killed with hammers, but i'm using the hammer murder as a synechdoche for a narrative treating an abuse victim's antipathy towards their abuser as something legitimate and justified and obviously reasonable rather than a flaw or something they need to move past.

[thaliajoy-blog]

Rereading the Dany part of AGOT exclusively has led me to yet unforeseen places of discomfort like the whole Dany & Mirri Maz Duur story even surface level is very tragic & I'm obsessed by what is there what is underneath the surface and what could be in that dynamic (maybe I'll get into it another day) but the tenth Dany pov chapter in the novel is harrowing before the pyre starts because you see the contrast between how Mirri and Drogo are treated and it's distressing. Mirri is tied to a the pyre and whiped so she stops talking. Drogo is washed and clothed lovingly by Daenerys, she even speaks to him, apologizes to him, feels fondly about him, tries to give him a real king's funeral. But it makes sense, tragic sense. Mirri put Dany in an incredibly miserable & and vulnerable place. She murders Drogo & Rhaego. She is more than Dany's ennemy but Dany is not in a position that would make her want to forgive those actions, even based Mirri's trauma that Dany knows all too well about. So it's this fucked up thing where the birth of the dragon is preceded by an hommage by Dany to a man who is very obviously monstrous in GRRM's writing - Mirri murdered a child out of vengeance, but Drogo lead the killing, traumatizing & enslavement of many more children simply because it was in his power. And Dany loves him (and even names a dragon after her - I'm sorry Drogon there's that aside from the fact that your name is pretty stupid my sweet baby), a frightened love born out of the need to not just die from her awful situation as the teenage bride of a warlord. I'm thinking about how like Irri & Jhiqui still see themselves as slaves despite everything Dany does to delegitimize slavery ; in her continued fondness towards Drogo Dany kind of refuses to see her chains and her past victimization.

And it all comes back to Mirri, this monstrous victim, this wise demon, the maegi, the magic teacher, the one who cannot be forgiven. Tied to the pyre. Unwilling witness to Dany's marriage with the fire. This benefits us all to wonder & mourn and ponder about how complex & mindfucked GRRM made this situation (and I kind of love it as it is) rather than to designate one victim & one abuser and rant about how the fandom at large doesn't realize how really innocent one is and how really evil the other is.

Surge of thought on mirri lately brought to you by my obsession with Epic the Musical and how the Horse & the Infant, Just a Man and Ruthlessness kinda fit her I think.

[eucatastrophicblues]

The problem I have with the attitudes in American Catholicism is that they’re cowardly, and hypocritical, and built upon this frustrating double-edged sword of “I don’t actually want the consequences of my actions to happen BUT I don’t want to change the way I vote”, and no one seems to want to face that. I’ve had a lot of people tell me that the reason they voted Republican is because of abortion, because they believe abortion is murder. Okay. Murder is bad, we agree on that. Now, what about environmental degradation through pollution that causes pediatric cancers? What about the campaigns on the right to delegitimize and ban vaccines? What about the dismantling of social safety nets and anti-welfare attitudes? What about the hatred for the homeless, or the insistence that they jump through hoops to access resources that are not good enough? What about the privatization of government agencies that service the vulnerable? What about civil forfeiture and police brutality?

All those things are murderous too. You’re voting for the party that’s for them.

Okay, you say, but those things don’t directly cause the murder of children. Except they do. Take a peek at infant mortality rates before our robust food and drug safety standards and widely accessible vaccines. Congrats! That’s what you voted for.

For the past eight years I’ve been told by countless Republican Catholics and Christians that voting red didn’t really mean they’d go after Roe v Wade, that voting red didn’t actually mean that the kinds of utterly horrific human suffering that pop up in countries with a total abortion ban would happen. “This isn’t really going to happen,” they say. “But we have to vote for it anyway!” They want to lose, because they want to continue protesting and continue feeling like moral exemplars but they don’t actually want to face the fact that they might have voted in a tyrant. They don’t even personally care about abortions - pro-life activists reliably get abortions all the time, while loudly insisting that this doesn’t actually make them pro-choice. They also coerce people in their lives to get abortions all the time. This movement wasn’t started to save babies. It was started to convince gullible Christians to vote for tyrants.

None of you want to believe that you’ve voted for someone evil. You say “oh, I’m a sinner” and wring your hands in a self-shielding, self-soothing way. You twist yourselves into knots to acknowledge that you’re imperfect while professing lies (I’m not responsible for what that man does if he’s elected, I voted for a single issue and my choice should only have that consequence, I’m not culpable if I’m just wrong about what happens, God doesn’t care about elections) because you can’t face that you, yourselves, with your own hands, did this.

You are the cause of tens of millions of mental health spirals. You are the reason people are frantically passing around suicide prevention hotlines. You are responsible for the panicked and desperate prayers for impossible salvation coming from the mouths of countless frantic Americans of all stripes. Your choices have caused several people I know to plan to flee the country. You have increased the amount of human suffering in the world.

It’s your responsibility and your duty as a Christian to face that. To own that. To take it before the throne of the Most High and ask for forgiveness. You don’t get to say we’re all exaggerating. You don’t get to say we’re panicking for no reason. Republicans tried to overthrow the government in a violent coup. The other side is begging their friends not to commit suicide.

You caused this. You caused it because you thought that the hypothetical deaths of hypothetical children (who, because you voted for Republicans even though state constitutions have been AMENDED TO GUARANTEE ABORTION ACCESS as a direct result of Republican policies, can be proven to not actually matter to you!) were more morally vital than the real deaths of real people happening right now.