#heat is disguesting

[dreams-in-daylight]

.

[uurynn]

Of course he would not get response. He hadnt expected to. But he had to try. He tossed his phone haphazardly on his bed and it made a soft thunk sound as it hit the floor.

Wrynn lay his head back onto his pillow, each breath skipping in and out of his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, and the tears that had began fell from the force. He could not fall back asleep however, and he rolled over in bed to face his window. He did not move until the sun came up.

As he watched the sunrise, he felt a mental kick. He pulled the covers from his body, and slipped his feet to the floor. He hadnt stood in about 24 hours time, evidenced by his inability to immediately stand. He held onto the bed for a moment, standing in place and allowing his body to grow comfortable with the sensation before slowly walking himself to his bathroom.

Wrynn stared into the mirror, disguested with the sight of himself. Had he had any more tears in his body, he would have shed them again. But he could not cry anymore.

Pulling his sorrow soaked clothes from his body, he dragged himself into the shower. The heated water felt like silk on his skin; he even allowed himself to drink from it. At least I'm getting water in.

Soultie

//Closed starter for @princess-sojourner //

As the morning light gently fell over his eyelids, it brought him out from his soft and comfortable slumber. His arms caressed the pillow beneath him sweetly, his momentary unconsciousness and unknowing of the previous nights' events not coming to his mind quite yet. As he breathed in a big sigh, and moved to stretch, he took in the scent of the woman lying next to him. The sudden ecstasy that overcame him was alarming, and the memories quickly started to come back.

Wrynn sat up in the bed, the covers still on his waist as he looked around the room. A mild panic set in, his face beginning to burn red in color. The clothes strewn about the room in such a messy fashion matched up with every second he played back in his mind, up to the bed sheets that had been pulled on, nearly coming off one of the corners. More memories and moments returned, and the feelings in his chest nearly blew up in his face, leading down to his stomach.

He stood, quickly snatching his sweatpants from the floor and pulling them up his legs. With another swift movement he ran into the bathroom and quietly shut the door, and sat on the floor in front of the toilet bowl. His arms curled around the bowl, and saliva dripped from his mouth from the impending vomit.

Wrynn had never felt this feeling before, and it was, nearly word for word, the feeling of imprinting. Something taught to his kind from a young age, it was meant for those of his species that intended to bond and mate for life. He had never wanted to do such a thing with a human, especially one who knew nothing of this secret he kept. Through several drinks and drunken flirting, however, the two fell tangled within the night, and everything Wrynn had ever known was shaken and upside down with nearly no warning. His every desire was burned up, and replaced with a deafening need to be with her. She, who lay sleeping, still, in the connecting bedroom, only 6 feet away from him.

He began to throw up, the taste of liquor from the previous night returning even more unpleasant memories.

[stedesbonnets]

a little scene from part 2 of promises, currently called oaths, that i had to write in order not to forget it. don’t know if part 2 will actually happen (i have to finish part 1 first). don’t know what chapters this is. don’t know annnytthing. 

in which ronnet insults brienne and gets his ass kicked. yes jaime can move his golden hand due to magic! but he can’t hold a sword

As she crosses the Great Hall to reach the spiral steps that lead to her room, Brienne sees a man standing in front of the Iron Throne, gazing in awe at the dozens of molten swords, their sharp edges cutting through the air, with enough lust that can get him hanged for merely looking. He stands with his hand on his sword, his orange flaming hair slicked back and tied with a black ribbon. His cloak nearly reaches the pearl marble floor, two griffins on red and white.

Connington. She has heard that he is in court during one of her walks with Jaime from passing guests, but she didn’t think it was true. She curses under her breath and continues to step towards the stairway, hoping the Throne will keep him mesmerized so he won’t hear her.

But of course, the sound of her boots against the floor carries through the empty hall, and he turns around. Brienne keeps her eyes on the last step, the rail balcony and the golden carpet that stretches down the corridor to her chamber, but she can feel Ronnet’s eyes on her.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my lady of Tarth!” He calls and his voice gives away that he’s well in his cups. She takes a glace at him- wide eyes and uncertain stance. Definitely drunk.

“Ser Ronnet,” she grits him through clenched teeth and a growing frown. Her cheeks heat up, her stomach seethes- with both disguest and anger- and the urge to flee takes over her. She plants her feet on the floor instead, and turns to face him. I’m not two-and-ten anymore.

“I thought you’d still be in your little island,” he scans her up and down with those unyielding green eyes, a smirk on his face, and for a heartbeat she sees Jaime in front of her, and not the man who was her betrothed. He is nothing like Jaime, though, wouldn’t dream to breathe the same air as he does, and she is no terrified girl in her Father’s hall. I have a sword now, and no need for a rose.

“Apparently not.” She keeps her tone netural, devoid of emotion, like she has done with many men before him. She’s glad she is in tunic and breeches instead of one of the gowns that are kept in her bedchamber. He would’ve had a great jape at her expense if she were.

He bursts into a laugh, sparying the marble tiles with spit. She’s about to bid him good night and walk away, but he seems determined to go on. “Yes, I’ve heard all about your grand escape from your dire Sapphire Isle. Is it true that the Kingslayer swore on the Trident for you, you great beast of a woman?” He continues, his laughter roaring within the walls. Tears stream down on his face. “What are you, exactly, his whore?”

Brienne’s hands close into fists. She takes a deep, long breath, until she can feel it filling her lungs, reaching her hands and legs. Nothing in the Seven Kingdoms will please her more than to unsheath her sword and beat him until her almost husband is curled no the floor, begging for forgiveness, but she won’t attack a drunk man, no matter what a fool he is. A griffin who wishes to be a lion, nothing more.

A growl comes from behind her and her heart sinks. No. She doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, but she does anyway. Jaime stands at the Hall’s enterance, clutching his sword, looking so gallant in his white armor. She almost feels like in a song, a maiden in distress and a handsome knight to save her, but she’s too terrified to feel anything. No, he shouldn’t see me like this.

“What did you call her?” he snarls, marching towards Ronnet with such strength that could have shaken the earth, a deadly look on his face, fierce as blades. For a moment she thinks he might set his hand on fire, but no, he wouldn’t. He promised himself, so long ago. But he won’t let Ronnet go unhurt.

“Jaime, don’t-” she manages to take only one step forward, pushing her arms against his chest, but it’s too late. He curls his right hand, his golden hand, into a fist, and slams Ronnet so hard he looses his footing.

She gasps at the impact, one hand still holding Jaime back, the other covering her mouth. There is a bone breaking, for sure, then Ronnet is crying out on the floor, sheltering his nose, blood leaking between his fingers. 

Jaime doesn’t mind her shock, however. His eyes are fixed on Ronnet, flaming like wildfire. Some of the blood stains his golden hand, but the rest of his snow white uniform is untouched. “She is a highborn lady and you will call her by her name, unless you wish to become a begger in the street!”

Ronnet rolls onto his back and pushes himself on one elbow, groaning. When he lets go to examine the blood on his hand, his nose is twisted and already turning purple. “Yes, my lord,” he says and glances at her. “Brienne the Beauty.”

At her side, Jaime shakes, his fury so visible she can feel it sending vibrations down her back. She closes her eyes, if only just to detach herself from this reality, and she knows the air might turn static and and full of smoke if she doesn’t drag him away. She steps in front of Jaime to rip him off of Ronnet. “Come,” she whispers, only for him to hear.

At her words, Jaime’s gaze fixates on hers, as if he could see through her until she spoke. She expects a quarrel, for him to insist that Ronnet should apologize to her, or even beat him more for his last insult, but his face soften and he relents, nodding.

She release the grip on his arm and they walk through the great door, leaving Ronnet and his bloody nose behind. Only when they are outside, Brienne remembers she intended to take her leave for the night and go to her chamber, but she needs some air to breathe and cool her mind.

They walk a few paces on the balcony over-looking the courtyard and the gardens on this side of the Red Keep, Jaime glancing back and forth in search of other men who would like to insult her, before she sighs and buries her face in her hands. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Jaime frowns at her, and she senses he’s about to dismiss her complain with a saracstic comment. “I think you mean, thank you Jaime for defending my honor,” he says, with a bit of pitch to his voice that sounds nothing like her.

She rolls her eyes, but a smile reaches her lips as she wraps her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, Ser Jaime, for defending my honor,” she repeats, leaning close to him, dragging the words in a way that makes him snort, “but you shouldn’t have hit him. He was drunk.”

“And a fucking bastard,” he says and she wants to scowl him for calling an anointed knight such a thing, but what has Connington done for her to defend his honor? She giggles, instead, and lets Jaime enjoy his jape.

The moon is full tonight as they pace on the balcony, stars brightening up the autumn night sky. The smell of roses lift up in the gentle wind from the gardens and no one is down the courtyard at this late hour. From under, their practice cabin comes into view, with the small tree growing behind it and the oil lamp hanging from its usual place on the door, unlit. It isn’t just theirs to take swords from, she knows, but she likes to believe it is only theirs to use. 

Jaime slows down his pace and when she peeks at him, he’s looking at the floor, his eyes narrowing in a particular thoughtfulness that she has come to recognize, his tongue runs on the tip of his mouth, like when he’s considering his words. She’s about to ask what’s wrong when he speaks.

“About what he said, how he called you,” his voice is as low as hers has been when she pushed him away from the Great Hall, and he takes a single glace at her before staring ahead. “You aren’t obligated to do anything. You don’t owe me anything, I mean.”

She wants to scoff, to sneer and tell him that she doesn’t believe he would ever force himself on her, and that even if he did- she would have knocked him into the ground. But on rare occasions he decides to open up to her, like when they sat outside of their cabin, in front of the fountain, and he told her how much his family has made him to hate his fire powers. But the atmosphere needs to be broken or he’ll beat himself for hours after.

“That’s right, Jaime Lannister,” she says, light as winter butterflies in the snow, and jams a finger in his silver breastplate before she spins around and smiles at him, as sweetly as she can. “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

His jaw slightly drops. She isn’t one to curse- let alone when handsome men who happen to be the sons of the person who cursed her fall from the sky- or tease him either, and she relishes in the shocked expression on his face. She continues to walk as he stays frozen in his place and twirls to flash him a last grin, disappearing in the hallway to her bedchamber.