#jon's at least getting a oneshot soon

[bobbinalong]

dc so firmly positioning cass as batgirl again recently, to the point that she's finally getting a solo again, makes me slightly more hopeful for babs' future as a character than i was yesterday.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

32 - Peeking the Realms Woes

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

Length: 15.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, body shaming, derogatory language, mild descriptions of blood and gore, references to past torture/rape, past character death, smut, public sex, p in v, slight exhibitionism

Notes: If you're hungry for extra content, at the top of the masterlist there are 4 oneshots which are side companion pieces. All canon to the plot but just did not fit into any main story chapter. There's 2 prequel esque chapters, one smut based chapter set in an ambiguous point in the story, and a nsfw alphabet. Just if anyone's curious! Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

You had never walked and travelled lands as something called a Queen in any times but war. Not for a second in the Westlands did you nor Robb go anywhere without a number of guard, being in war torn enemy territory. But you also had an army camp anywhere between twenty to thirty thousand depending on where exactly your men were stationed at. You were always around a vast number of soldiers and guard.

In a similar fashion, you were somewhat used to it in Kings Landing. Either you had a flock of hens chattering about behind you at Cersei's insistence of giving you handmaidens. Or you had a guard with you most typically when travelling the streets beyond the Red Keep to the docks and waters but you also lived in a city with what now was likely close to a million people. It was normal to have a guard of at least one.

But here? In the North? It was odd. Trying to implore them to keep their distance most of the time as you appreciated the quiet. Jon had discussed it with Theon, where he felt he fit here now more and gave him his full trust to lead as the Queen's Captain of the Guard. Acting the one in charge knowing exactly when to force them to give you that quiet. It was not a long trip to get here, leaving early and not caring to stop until you reached it, but as soon as you did, they were allowed to stay guard and keep their eyes out but you were thankful Theon knew to force them to give space to what was unfolding.

The raven was simple, coming from Castle Black addressed to you specifically and the moment you had read it, a weight hit you once more. Looking at maps of the land to connect the paths of where exactly to go, knowing it would be a rather simple path to get there if they let you go at the speed you needed to get there quick. Jon was the one who insisted to send people with you, and Theon recognizing the protest about to come from you as he spoke up about gathering a few guards and himself. You had leaned somewhat against the table in a moment alone with a playful raise of one eyebrow, “I know it is a hard thing for you to imagine, but I think I can manage one teenage boy on my own.”

He had all but yanked you into his front at that one, a dark tease in his eyes with a tone that of an playful condescension. “How well did that go for you, when I was the teenage boy?”

Crossing your arms best you could in the space between you, your tone was flat and almost made the playfulness in his grow. “Most boys don't throw girls up against trees to ravage them.” Narrowing his own eyes he leaned down more into your face, feeling his breath dance along his skin as he questioned the word ravage. It was your turn to smirk as his face fell flat. “Oh, so if that wasn't my first kiss you're saying you would have had the restraint not to do anything more?”

His silence almost made you laugh, both of you knowing Jon had no rebuttal to such an accusation.

But it was now as you slowly walked through the snow looking at the remains of once was, and you once more could envision exactly what had taken place here. You knew too well what war looked like and it was easy to see how such a simple village was left in tatters and the remains frozen in time to remind of the pain. If any but him had been left alive, they ran and never returned to this place.

The homes were all small and quaint, much of the decaying remains of tools and lands told you much of their lives and work were outdoors together as a community instead of singular. It made it easy to target, and you knew that's why it would have been picked. It was a village of innocent people and such an atrocity was supposed to draw the Nights Watch out, as was the attack on Mole's Town.

Slaughter innocents to draw the good men out to avenge them, but they knew better and forced the wildling group to them instead. A fight which beyond North was stopped before it ever began with the help of the Baratheon army, but it was Jon's leadership that held off the entire fight from ending before it begun with the ones coming south.

But, that didn't mean the cost of getting them there wasn't devastating.

By the time you had seen Olly, you had such an imagine painted that you knew only agony would be across his heart once reaching where he stood. His back to you as there was one area he hadn't moved from since you arrived, and his eyes likely rarely blinked looking to it. Not easy to see through the snow and ice covering, but it was the remains of bodies. Winter had encroached on them early and what should have decayed to bones was left stuck frozen and the evidence of their use haunting.

No doubt he heard you approach, but it was his pain to address, not yours to guide. You dared not think about how long he had been here waiting, or the heaviness in your heart at how he knew you would come without question. Coming up to his side, you stood close and watched as he did. He had told you what the threat one of them made was, and the degree of mutilation you knew in some mercy was done after death. Easier to carve into a body to eat if they aren't alive to fight back.

You were both quiet for a long time, and when words finally spoke, it was with a shaking breathe stemming from such a heavy heart did Olly finally find the right words to form. “He wasn't the first person I killed.” Your face didn't shift at all, but he knew to elaborate anyways. “Jon. He was the first that meant anything to me...but I killed someone before. The woman who killed my father.”

His eyes were filled already with tears wanting to fall and no doubt the crack in his voice as he continued, threatened to extend to such watering. “None of us knew they were even there until she killed him. Fell to the ground right beside me, he was already dead before I even knew what had happened to him..and then I looked over and saw her..there was nothing. Nothing in her eyes, she shot him in the neck and didn't even care one bit about it. Just moved on to everyone else..”

Stepping forward, Olly knelt down to the frozen pile as you stepped with him, kneeling as well to stay right by his side with a dutifully quiet listening. “The last thing my mother ever said to me, she just looked at me yelled for me to hide, kept telling me to hide and the second I ran..I didn't see them do it but I heard her scream..”

His hand reached out to something, running over the snow before dropping down now as the tears let themselves fall loose along his cheek. “They attacked us at Castle Black and I shot arrows into her back. I was scared the whole fight..but then I saw her, holding an arrow up and she was going to kill Jon..but then he saw me, and he trusted me to do it. He trusted me to save his life that night, and that was how I repayed her. I wanted her to know what it felt like, the way my father died not seeing it coming..but it didn't hurt. It didn't feel bad not the way it felt when..” His cracked voice fading away, you both knew the words going unsaid.

You looked over to him, eyes flickering away narrowed in thought before looking back. You knew Olly could see you were looking at him, but you didn't beckon him to face you. “I didn't know anything about the first man I killed.” His brows narrowed but he wiped at his tears with the back of his hand but more came anyways in small, silent drops. “Didn't know his name, who he was, barley what he looked like.” Finally his head turned to yours, and there was a long passed distance in your eyes fading out. “I shoved a dagger into his neck and after he fell to the ground, I never thought about him again.” Asking why, you inhaled before looking back to the sight in front of you both.

It had been a long time since you thought about what happened that day. It felt like nothing compared to the ones which followed suit. “They attacked us first. Lord Stark, his men, we were all attacked in the streets of the capitol and the only people we killed attacked us first. They killed three of his own guard that day, men I knew for years. They attacked us, and after I killed one of them another shoved a spear through Lord Stark's leg and everything after that only ever got worse. I didn't think about the fact that I had killed someone until after we had won our first battle. I never thought about that man again after everything else I did. Until right now.”

The winds around you two blew quietly, brushing your exposed faces with dustings of snow picked up from the ground and flying through the air to a new destination. “You were defending yourself.”

“And you were defending Jon, and avenging your family.” Olly exhaled shakily, before nodding a bit. “We all do bad things, but those bad thing's aren't all equal in nature. You don't feel bad for killing her because you were righting the horrible wrong she did to you. But you feel bad for what you did to Jon, because you always knew that was wrong.” He didn't move away as you slowly let your hand sit comfortingly in the middle of his upper back, “We can't pick and choose what we feel guilty for, but the ones that we do is what defines us. You aren't a bad person because you don't feel guilty for killing her, and you aren't one for being forced to kill someone because Ser Alliser made you. People have done far worse in this world then you'll achieve in your lifetime.”

The winds sat between you once more until his voice was but a whisper, “You said that I didn't need to forgive them for what they did..but I would have to learn to live with them..” You nodded, waiting for the detached thoughts to assemble together in his mind. “I don't know if I'm ready for that..but if I stay at Castle Black I'll never know.”

“We can only try. I'm not asking you to make promises, only that you do your best and tell me when it's getting difficult.” Moving your arm across his shoulders, you pulled him more into your side, running that hand up and down what you could reach of his upper arm. “That and perhaps not to get too friendly with knives when alone with the King.”

Olly choked out a laugh as he leaned into you with an exhaustion. You both sat for a good while, as the boy found no energy in him to move anymore. “The snow is too heavy to bury them.”

Nodding, your voice was soft, “So we burn them. Do your mother and father one last thing, and not leave them here like this. We won't leave them to come back when the storm does.” Olly didn't move to get up, but he nodded his head. You wouldn't get up until he was ready. It was his parents he was looking for, and until he was ready to look away once he found them the two of you would sit there.

“Why do you want me around? After what I did..”

A smile easily sat gentle on your face, pulling him a bit closer. “I could ask you the same question.”

Olly's answer though, smacked right into your heart almost making you want to feel those tears sting behind your eyes. “My mother would have liked you.” You didn't need him to elaborate, you understood that with a tightening in your heart right away. Your eyes now watering without letting them drop.

Whispering in a strained silence only for him, “And she wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for a mistake. So I won't either.” Prompting him to stand as soon as he found the strength to sit back up properly, “Now we give them a proper funeral, and tomorrow you start fresh.”

No one helped you both, but you had given Theon a shake of your head when he moved to ask and he told the rest to leave you both be. He had told you that boy admires you, but Theon watched and came to the same conclusion you previously did. That maybe, you were just the closest thing to a mother Olly had left. Theon also didn't say it, but he certainly noticed how easily acting as one, fell upon your shoulders.

Certain things were undeniable sore spots for many of you now, and breaching such topics tended to mostly be spat between the two of you in jokes. It was easier to cope with what had happened to both of you if you joked about it, but certain ones he still didn't know how to bring up. It didn't pass your notice or Theon's that neither of you came anywhere near any kind of joke or insult coming close to a topic remotely sexual.

You two never had any actual attraction or interest. It was always from jokes in origin. You were pretty and innocent but short tempered and rigid. Theon was older, had a mighty appetite for women and knew you heard every time he snuck girls and whores into his chambers. He'd make a pass at you, you'd refute it with a clever comment and thus back and forth it became a game of wits to who could out sass the other.

Sex was just something you both were opposite about, and it made joking about it between you both far easier then Theon would ever get along with other girls. You never wanted him, he never wanted you and so flirting with you was safe, beacuse you both knew it meant not a thing. Jon had once joked, asking you if you shared that small corridor with Theon, how did you still know so little about sex. All three of them, Jon, Theon, and Robb all laughed at how flustered and offended you got. Saying you didn't actually listen you just heard it incidentally.

But, not once did anything close to subjects like that come up anymore. Not in jokes. Not towards you, and not about Theon's activities. Or lack thereof, now. You and Maester Wolkan were the only ones left who knew about it. Wolkan needed to know, he was the Maester of Winterfell now under Jon and when discussing his health, it had to be known. But you, not once did you ever bring it up. And he was grateful for it.

You weren't there for what happened to him, and he was glad of it. It was an indescribable memory that he some days couldn't piece together. He had meekly begged Ramsay to kill him after, and for a long time he still wished he would. But it got, not easier, but he had learned to cope with it as it would never change. Then Ramsay showed him you in the dungeons.

Theon knew why he was to be the one to serve you in Winterfell. Ramsay wanted him to get used to being around you, so that it would be a horrible shock the day he was dragged into what was being used as your chambers. And the sickening image he recalled, the extent of how violent it had gotten. Images that haunted Theon to the present. It was first night Ramsay made you and Theon watch each others eyes as he did what he did to you. And he only dragged Theon to watch the more Ramsay's appetite for cruelty towards you grew.

He purposely didn't tell Jon about a lot of the things done to you. Really, he had told Jon the truth of what happened to you, but he didn't tell him anywhere near the worst of it. He didn't know how to say it, and Theon knew that you still hadn't told Jon the worst of it, either.

If Theon were to be honest, it was clear that had Jon known the true extent of vile things Ramsay had done to you, he would've beaten him to death in the courtyard that very day they reclaimed Winterfell.

They weren't sights he liked looking back on, he knew it was to torture you as much as it was to torment Theon but it certainly stuck in his mind in the worst way possible. Ramsay had once mocked him about when men lose an arm or a leg and getting a phantom itch where it used to be. Asking if he would feel it now when seeing a naked girl, and he decided it seemed to test such a question out on you.

But he didn't feel that, he didn't look at you in that manner before, and now still he didn't see anything any mind could attain something good from, only horror. It wasn't until Winterfell too, did Theon for the first time find a reason to be thankful for being cut as such. Ramsay's voice so clear in his mind as he was forced to watch one night. You had been in a mood, and thrown a small mirror at Ramsay that smashed into pieces. So the Bolton stripped you down bare and let the broken shards cut into you as he did what he did, grinning at Theon the whole time.

“Maybe once upon a time, I would have made you do this part Reek, have you bond with my bride.”

He wouldn't be able to even look Jon in the eye had it come to that. He didn't know if he could even live with himself if he was to do something like that. He was Ironborn, rape and raid and all as such but that wasn't who Theon was in his blood, and that wasn't the man Eddard Stark raised him to be. So in that very home he once foolishly thought was the true prison, had to stand and watch it happen to you and be selfishly thankful that he was so mutilated that he wouldn't be able to be forced to help.

It was easy for you to joke about things before. What he did before Ramsay, it was so long passed that the transgressions were all but gone in your eyes. To you, if you both joked about it, people wouldn't look at him as if they should still hate him. He still wasn't sure how to thank you for that, nor if you would even want that. Very likely you would tell him to be quiet and go do something else if he tried to thank you.

You two used to hate each other too. Terribly hate one another. Your first week in Winterfell after Theon had been there, and as soon as he realized you were the daughter of Stannis Baratheon did he ever ramp up how rude he was. Didn't matter to him that you were younger and short and a girl, you were the daughter of the man who destroyed his uncle's fleet, and you had a smart ass mouth that he wanted to punch.

He could still see back one day he, Robb, and Jon were attending to something in the stables when you had thrown the door open and threw something at him hard. Jon had to grab him to stop him from instinctively going to hit you back, as you had yelled at Theon for something he now couldn't even recall. He yelled back and soon everyone came to see what was wrong, you got flustered at the attention, shoving passed everyone to leave when the amount of eyes grew. Robb left to go calm you down and shoved Theon into the wall in frustration as he passed.

Lord Stark had later, made you both sit down in his study side by side to force you both to grow up. He had told you that you could not come in and let your temper out on people and if you needed to have an outlet, “Pick up a practice sword in the training yard, and don't return until you're sure you aren't going to try to stab Theon with it.”

On his own, Lord Stark had told him to ease up on you. Robb and Jon had known you for six years at that point and were very close, they knew you well enough to tease. But also that while all three of them were verging on men, you had only recently had your fourteenth name day, that you were still little more then a child. Theon had grumbled, “Doesn't talk to me like one...”

But the man had only chuckled, he too had known you for those same six years and had watched you slowly grow out of your shell tremendously from that very first month. “I'm not asking you to be friends with her, I'm telling you that you both will need to find a way to tolerate the other's existence. You both will be working closely together from now on, and I'd rather not assign a guard to watch you both every moment of the day.”

He had gone back out to the yard, where you and Robb had started to spar. Trying to get your worked up energy out on something useful, and there you were laughing and smiling the more you and the eldest Stark would go. He would compliment how much better you had gotten, and he saw nothing of the bitter, dry and sarcastic little bitch he had initially thought you of.

Now however, watching you with the guard from afar, your eyes soft as your expression was the same harsh and still as ever, but you had your arm comfortingly around Olly, who was leaning into you with shaking shoulders Theon knew were tears. And not for a second did you try to make him feel better or even tell him it would be okay. You were exactly what the boy needed you to be in that moment. This was the village that was ruined in seconds and you stood with him in the cold snow as long as it took for the fire to take what was left of the frozen bodies of his parents and home.

Olly didn't talk to much of anyone as you all made your way to Winterfell. No one asked why an orphan boy from the Night's Watch was leaving there with you, and if the space given to you both as you came into the courtyard said anything, they were smart enough to not speculate either. It wasn't anything they would guess, you were certain of that. No one guessed it, and some days neither you nor the boy himself could believe what led him here.

But there was one thing to do, once you got him settled, notably getting him used to his quarters and around the castle as if a mother would, but if he was to be here, there was one person he needed to talk to. And he had avoided that conversation since the day he ascended the steps from the Ice Cells.

It was the Lord Commander he helped murder, but now it was the King in the North he was to answer too. But as you made your way to give them privacy, Olly had hesitated to speak up asking you to stay before realizing it was not his place. Jon however, caught it well and nodded for you to stay with not a shred of ire or blame in his eyes.

You'd seen the raging red and intense violence that could brew in Jon Snow's eyes but not for a second was such emotions and aggression directed at a child. That wasn't who he was, he in his blood without having to even try, was the man always on the front to protect the innocent.

Including the innocence of a child manipulated into doing something monstrous.

Samwell Tarly could recall a day when one of his brothers had asked him if he had ever dreamt of being back home since arriving at Castle Black, and his answer was blunt as he could have made it. “No, I hated it there.” And it wasn't anywhere near a lie, but it was so much more complicated then that.

No matter what good remained in his memories of home, it was still a place that he resented. He resented the torment, he resented being forced to leave, and he resented that he had to leave a second time all because once more his father refused to see anything worthwhile in him.

He had introduced himself that first day in Castle Black, as if it meant anything to those already looking at him with judging amusement in their eyes. Told to let them know what his name was, and he gave the proper greeting he was raised to introduce himself as only the shaking nerves made it sound pathetic as he spat it out, and rambled further.

“Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill. I mean, I was of Horn Hill..I've come to take the black..”

Only to have the first thing he heard from any of their mouths, was the spitting Rast laughing to himself, “Come to take the black pudding,” Truly in those first few days Sam was sure his life had gone from one kind of bad to a new without anything to look forward too. Ser Alliser mocked him, encouraged others to mock him, and looked forward to making his recruits knock him into the dirt.

One had stood up in his defence, angry and shoving him away from them all once he grabbed him off the ground. Fighting against the rest of them when Ser Alliser demanded it, and turned around scolding him that it wasn't about to get easier. It was the first time someone had truly come to Sams defence without any expectation in return, and it was a bit off putting to Sam how rough and stern he was about it though. He was so sure, when he was assigned as the mans watch partner up on the Wall, that he hated him, and would rather have nothing to do with him.

Part of it was not being comfortable around such heights, but when he was told to come stand by the fire, Sam didn't want to. He was freezing, but standing by the fire meant having to come closer and annoy the one person who had done something nice for him, so he lied.

Only, it was never that easy trying to lie to someone like Jon Snow.

He said he was fine, and Jon without missing a beat turned to him, “You're not. You're freezing.” After that night, it got easier. A lot easier. He found people and purpose and confidence and a true bravery, he had begun to feel pride in who he had become at the Night's Watch.

But then Jon was Lord Commander, and had returned from Hardhome seeing horrors beyond anything Sam imagined once possible as a boy. Much happened at once, Jon with the intention of opening the gates to let the free folk through, but before that, had told Sam he was sending him to the Citadel.

Maester Aemon was very sick by then, and very old and Jon seemed to decide to utilize Sam's love for learning for the better. Despite the fact that Sam knew too well, Jon had next to no one left. Sure he had Ghost, he had Edd, and the large one Tormund seemed fond of him, but Jon had no family left, no home, most of his friends were dead, and half a year later, Jon still hadn't said more then a few words about you.

He wanted to stay, to not be another person forced to leave Jons life, but it wasn't Sams choice. It was Jons. And he sent him, Gilly and Little Sam to Eastwatch by the Sea anyways. After getting on a ship, it was a port stop in Bravvos with more adventures there then he ever wanted, and finally before settling into Oldtown, Sam knew he had one more stop.

He had to go back to Horn Hill.

Sam had hoped that perhaps the many years since he had left, may have softened his father's ire towards him. His mother Melessa at least, had taken one look at Sam and smiled so brightly he could have cried, a laugh at how good he looked, and how healthy he looked.

Then when introducing Little Sam, an easier explanation to hide where Gilly had come from they told his family he was his bastard son. It was less complicated if they thought he was his blood, even though at that point in Sam's life, he knew what people would think about a man of the Nights Watch with a newborn. But Melessa had adored Little Sam, not once cared for any of the implications one way or another, merely excited to have a grandchild and meet the girl who wooed her son.

Talla was so much older now, while adulthood hadn't changed much in Sam it had made his sister go from a girl to almost a woman, one of the first things from her mouth, “Father says I have to marry Symun Fossoway. He has yellow teeth-” Considering the life he and Gilly had just come from, it was almost sweet she complained it to Sam as if it were the worst to happen to her.

His father and brother were on a hunt, and for only a moment as his mother told him, it made Sam swallow in nerves. He doubted his father had ever told his wife what his plans for Sam were.

“You're almost a man now, but you are not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you're going to take the black. Forsake all claim to your inheritance and start north. If you do not, then we'll have a hunt. And somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble, and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die...or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more.”

But he was doing this not for himself, he needed this to work. He needed his father to accept Gilly, accept Little Sam so they could have a life. Little Sam would have a better education then Gilly knew she could give him, still on her own reading journey she wasn't anywhere near a teaching level.

He needed his father to look past Sam's own shortcomings just this once. Let them stay, and Gilly wouldn't have to work in a brothel cleaning after women who all called her a “wildling bitch”. She wouldn't be working in Castle Black where at any time they could corner her alone, the worst of his brothers would attack her for being nothing but a woman. They would be safe.

Talla and Melessa had brought them both inside, the former sharing ideas of what guest room Gilly could have as if she had any concept of the luxury being offered. His mother warming his heart, telling him quietly that she couldn't be happier seeing her son with something so proud to look at. But then his father and brother came home.

Dickon wasn't as openly gleeful like his mother and sister, but Sam also knew that the two brothers were indeed happy about to see one another. Dickon had accepted the explanation, and begun going over things on his mind as if no time between all these years had passed. He was tall, strong, capable, and skilled just like his father but he had, like Sam, inherited their mother's kindness.

Sam also wondered, how much of why Sam left, did his father not tell his brother either?

Who knew but his father he had threatened to murder him for simply growing to be who he was? And sure, Sam all those years ago knew he wasn't proud of himself. He was a coward, he was shy, he had no idea what his purpose was, but now? Sure, he thought he was still some of those things to a degree, but now he at least knew when it came down to it, he would push forward for the people he loved. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't anywhere near enough, not for his father.

Sam preferred to read over learning to hunt, and his father hated that about him. Hated that his nose was always on a book rather then learning from whatever nightmare his father was putting him through that day. But it was the way one man at Castle Black had said those words to him, discussing how Sam wasn't a fighter like his father.

It was Stannis Baratheon who told him with a pride in his eyes and voice, as he realized Sams goal was to search the old manuscripts for answers of the threat far North.

“We have to know how to fight them. Keep reading, Samwell Tarly.”

The King who answered their call for aid, the King who still cared, had seen Sam's worth in his love of books and learning. Had not looked at him judgmentally for it, and instead seen him for something Sam could provide which others couldn't.

Yet, that night as he sat at the table with his father, mother, Talla, and Dickon, and at his own side Gilly and Little Sam, his father looked no more happy with him then the day he left. Dickon would ask what beyond the wall was like, and when Sam was honest that all of the food he had from the wild was hunted by Jon, his father found it pathetic. As if Jon being the fitter, stronger one who knew how to hunt was shameful against Sam who simply had no talent for it.

Gilly knew how to hunt, but she didn't shame him for it. Jon had hunted all of the animals the two of them ate beyond the wall and he didn't judge Sam for letting him do that work.

When Gilly had mentioned she knew how to hunt, especially rabbits, Melessa had not been phased, only knowing enough to say Gilly was from the North. “I imagine it’s common where you’re from. We once met a man, Lord Umber from Last Hearth, wasn’t it, Randyll, who said he taught all his daughters how to hunt.” Talla had been impressed on her own, looking at Gilly, “Your father taught you to hunt? Our father would never teach us. I think our father could learn a thing or two from your father.”

Agitated with the conversation, when Sam had politely went to accept bread from one of the servers, his father had dismissively scolded him, “Not fat enough already?” And it all had begun to spiral from there. “I thought the Night’s Watch might make a man of you. Something resembling a man at least. You managed to stay soft and fat. Your nose buried in books. Spending your life reading about the achievements of better men. I’ll wager you still can’t sit on a horse or wield a sword.”

Sam wanted to tell him he could ride a horse, he killed a Thenn, he killed one of the Others with nothing but a dagger made from dragonglass to protect Gilly and Little Sam. But he wasn't here to convince his father of that, and Sam could tell that Gilly wanted to bring it up in his defence, and had spoken of it before he could come up with a way to change the subject. Once the image of Gilly being North of the wall was out there, there was no hiding who she was.

Sam wasn't ashamed of it, nor did he care how people looked at him for it. But he certainly did not like how instantly, instead of making any notion of Sam breaking his vows, he had taken his ire out on him through Gilly. Randyll Tarly pointing to a shining, sharp blade. Sat on a wall mount made out of antlers, the hilt of it shaped as that of a bow and arrow with such images carved deeply into the wood surrounding it, whereas the rest of it looked little to stand out. “It’s called Heartsbane. It’s been in our family for five hundred years. It’s Valyrian steel. Only a handful of them left in the world. It’s supposed to go to my firstborn son after I die. To him.” Gesturing to Sam in the dead silence of the room, “But he will never wield that sword. If he were to become Lord Tarly of Horn Hill, it would be the end of this house. I took you for a Mole’s Town whore when I saw you and I made my peace with that. Who else would have him? But I overestimated him. No. It was a wildling whore that seduced my son.”

Turning back to his son, he was standing tall but no one else moved an inch, and everyone but him, was greatly uncomfortable as he grew more spiteful. “This you getting back at me, boy? Bring that to my table and making me dine with it. And you got what you were after, didn’t you? A bastard. A half-breed bastard.”

Melessa had stood, disgusted by his blatant hatred, guiding Gilly and Little Sam away with Talla following. Slowly leaving last was Dickon who stayed silent, wishing he had the bravery to stand up for his brother's side instead of saying nothing.

Sam was angry, however. Gilly being a wildling didn't make her any less of a person. And there certainly wasn't anything wrong with being a bastard. Jon was a bastard of the North, and was the most admirable man Sam's ever known, a far better man then the father before him.

Randyll had approached his son, now standing with a held back anger of his own looking up at the man. “Your mother’s a fine woman. You’re not worthy of her. To please her, I’ll take the wildling in. She can work in the kitchens. The bastard will be raised here. But this will be the last night you ever spend at Horn Hill.”

It was a risk, but he had left, and taken them with him. Gilly and Little Sam were his family, and they all belonged together, so they took what little they had and left in the middle of the night. Perhaps it had been childish or maybe it was the first brave act of rebellion against his father he found the courage to do, but he had taken Heartsbane with him, saying it was his families sword after all, not his fathers.

When Gilly had asked if his father would come for it, Sam said with the only pride he had.

“He can bloody well try.”

As you sat there in Maester Wolkan's study, you supposed you were lucky that no one saw what led up to it. Wrapping the underside of your forearm as you tried not to shake from the blood loss that took place as you made your way to see him in the first place. He no doubt had heard the whispers of you losing your mind by that point, but took no question that you simply said your hand had slipped. It became a problem however, when Jon had come into the room with tense eyes as he stared at you as if hiding a horrible secret.

“What happened?” His voice was tight and controlled likely a bit too much to not come off as trying to hide such intentions. Stepping closer to where Wolkan had you perched on a stool so your arm could lay flat as he previously had been stitching the worst of it.

He answered for you when you had paused with wide eyes, “Her hand slipped with a blade, she came to me before it could get out of hand.”

Jon watched how hesitant you were to speak and you both knew that he had realized why. Taking the moment he kept a more controlled volume, despite the twisting of angry worry in his face as he spoke to you instead. “Out of hand? The amount of blood I just saw-”

Wolkan kept his cool and you thanked him with a silent glance. “The wound is deep but it didn't cut a vein. It will heal easily and she got to me at the perfect time to clean and close the wound. Little things to be thankful for, sometimes.”

Inhaling deeply, Jon watched silently as your eyes nervously flickered between him and Wolkan, the later wrapping the rest of your forearm now that the worst of the bleeding had stopped. “You should come see me in the morning.” Putting away some of his tools as you pulled your arm gently into your lap. “I will want to check for any sign of infection, and regardless I will rewrap your dressings and clean it out.”

Nodding at him, you felt a strain in your chest as you raised an eyebrow at him, a silent unrelated question Jon could not see, but Wolkan only hummed quiet in an answer that spoke what none could gather but you two. Moving to politely held you stand from your perched position, but Jon had already stepped to your side, an arm wrapping around your waist to all but do the hard work for you, lifting you up and to the ground as he spoke. “I appreciate you helping her, Maester Wolkan. Thank you.”

“Always what I am here for, your grace.” It was a stroke of luck you felt that being sworn by oath to a family of monsters did not mean it made the maester for them the same. Getting to Winterfell at the captive of the Boltons and realizing they brought Wolkan with them, you knew it meant for whatever reason Luwin was gone and you dared not think what led to it or why.

There was getting used to Wolkan, but he did his best under the leadership he was put under and at the least was a little bit easier going in the time he had seen you in those months of a hell. The man was quiet but kind and very smart. On the relieving side, serving Jon seemed to bring him far more peace then years under the Boltons ever did.

You hoped that for just right now, it meant he could keep another secret just until you could ensure that secret's safety. A raven had come in for you, and after reading it's contents as you had finally settled back into Winterfell, you told him to keep the information to himself. With what you now knew, this one needed to be protected and that included ensuring it was somewhere not out of your reach and protection before revealing it safely.

Jon leading you through the quiet of the halls, you had glanced up to him from the side noting he had not moved his arm from your waist. “Do I even need to ask how it was you knew where to find me?”

Instead of what you expected, a deep chuckle vibrated through Jon's chest instead, pulling you a bit closer to his side playfully. “Next time don't choose a steward who used to be mine, and maybe he wouldn't tell me right away.” Only half a smile on your face, you almost could shake your head at the thought. You had told him to clean the blood up and not go get someone as it wasn't a big deal, but Olly had clearly not listened as soon as Jon came into the room with questions at the sight.

You didn't know what the two of them talked about, but they had been in the study for a while before coming to a conclusion, and that it was likely a little easier for Olly to serve Jon through you rather then jump back into his service as if it was just like before. A new trend in Jon's life it seemed. Getting used to someone who backstabbed him or his family though their forgiveness in you.

Continuing beside you, “He was worried about you, don't blame him.” Ensuring you didn't, Jon nodded before glancing around. Turning you with both hands at your upper arms, did he direct you to stop and face him, keeping his hold there as his grey eyes were bright but worried looking down at you. Your own hands, one wrapping around a wrist of his and the other toying along his waist distractedly. “He also said when he came into the room it had sounded like you had been screaming.”

You bit your lip but Jon didn't even blink, just a building concern swimming in his gaze that had you weak to it. Shrugging a little bit, you tried desperately to play it off. “It was nothing, he probably-” Jon more sternly murmured your name as his head tilted a bit with a sharper look as if warning you to not lie to his face about this. Quiet as you looked into his eyes before dropping them as your face fell a bit, “Last time I don't even recall getting out of bed, but I was wide awake and..I didn't even realize I had even dropped the blade across my arm until Olly came in the room..”

Olly wasn't sure to believe you when you said it wasn't a big deal, but you knew you couldn't get Jon to believe that in any capacity. Not now. His own expression falling almost a bit more upset, one of his hands came up to run along the hair at the side of your face before cupping your cheek. “Was it the same as last time?” Shaking your head no, Jon glanced down the corridor but still none were around at least. “What was it?”

There was only two you recognized this time, but it was two you had seen before in the last. One woman, a bit older then you, hair almost a silver white and a cold, yet smug look as she had cared not for the pleading. The one with her though, was the Westeros knight you had seen before but his face escaped you from knowing the name attached to it.

But the mind you found yourself in? The things which happened, and the lack of any emotion on her face but perhaps that of some enjoyment, it shocked you. Even coming out of it, it shocked you. The mind you looked through was not someone good, but there was a conflicted mess of emotions swirling in their mind.

The way he ended though, the way she let it happen? It didn't matter what occurred, there was not a thing even a man like that could've done which would have made him deserve that. Perhaps you felt so shaken, as you felt the screaming agonizing heat as he did in the seconds before your mind returned to you, blood across your arm as Olly called your name in a panic.

But trying to relay that properly to Jon? It was hard to explain. It was hard to word how terrifying it felt, the way she looked at him as he was pleading desperately for any mercy.

“Dany, please-”

Jon stared at you in a distant unnerved manner, this was the second time the same woman was at the centre of both. Looking up at him, you could feel your throat burning from the desperation and your heart racing as it recalled the fear of how uncaring she looked at him through your eyes. Murmuring your name fading into a tense quiet, Jon moved his other hand from your upper arm to wrap around your back and pull you into him.

He hadn't mentioned it, but he had seen the way you almost disappeared in the hall during the reception. The way you looked sick and terrified for only moments when he gently coaxed you back to earth before you were kept too deep into whatever it was you saw or heard. He knew trauma, and that was far more then just a memory. He didn't say it, but the way he held you close told enough, that whatever was pulling your mind here and there was beginning to scare him.

The worry that if he left you on your own too long again, what could this escalate too before you hurt yourself even more? How was he supposed to protect you from something he couldn't even slightly control? Jon knew his entire life at that point was strange, unexplained things happening to him, but they weren't supposed to happen to you. They weren't supposed to leave you looking this shaken and panicked at what you were seeing.

Muffled against him, you tried to reassure him, “We've been through a lot in a short amount of time, maybe it's only stress.” Jon shortly muttering back a question of is it, before you paused. Holding him around the back of his neck more, “No one has ever died and come back, this could be normal.”

“I saw visions of you before and they were nothing like this.” Inhaling deeply once more you could hear his voice was deep and tight trying to keep himself collected against you. “Something is doing this to you, but I don't know how to help.”

Pulling back, you found the need in your heart straining to quell the tone break in his voice. Cupping both sides of his cheeks, you hated the concern so blatantly across his eyes. “You can't protect me from everything, Jon.”

Shaking his head once, he grabbed one of your hands to twist. Pressing a kiss to your palm, “That won't stop me from trying.”

But for just a moment, the way in which his large hand gripped part of your hand and wrist did you not stand there anymore. Looking up brightly at not the man your present mind knew was in front of you, you were sitting. In a room glowing with gentle firelight as innocuous music played around you that set nothing in your mind off.

You had your hand rushing towards him in a much more playful manner when he snatched you just like this, holding it in the air just like this but a smirk across his lips and bright blue eyes tinged with a complete mischief as he pulled you a bit closer.

“Striking your King is an act of treason.”

But as soon as you could see Robb, you were back here. In the halls of Winterfell as Jon murmured your name with that same panic returning to his eyes. Instead you pulled your hands down to rest over where the carve in his heart was. You looked much more reassured then Jon did, despite the floating in your chest warning you that this was starting to happen at an alarming frequency.

Changing subjects swiftly was the safest route, which worked easily to bring him down to something simmering in his shoulders. “Come, we have a bit to do before we meet with everyone. At least have our affairs prepared before we get yelled at for it.”

Jon relaxed, chuckling again as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “This is my order, I'll be the one getting yelled at if anything.” As you both made your way down the corridor once more, you shook your head with a sigh. “I'd rather they be angry with me then you.”

“I think that ship has long since sailed, Snow.”

A smirk so much easier danced across Jon's lips as he tried his best to walk forward and not just shove you into the nearest wall. “You know that one doesn't work quite as well when it's your name too now, Snow.” His tone dropping with a playful prominence on the name as well as he glanced at you trying to hide your own smirk.

“What are you going to do, your grace?” Pushing it a little as you didn't even glance at him letting the words pass you by with a quick dryness. “Going to punish me for using our name against you?”

And with that you had snapped the restraint he held. One hand on your hip now as he shoved you into the wall roughly, his other trapping you in as his palm rested on the stone wall beside your head, leaning close enough so your world vision was hidden with his curls. Grey eyes dark, looking down you with not a shred of shame for it before following it back up. Not even with a smirk, almost just a raw, dark, frowning lust that he couldn't contain. Like he did these things without any thought behind it.

The hand on your hip tightening, “I should punish you for taking my name in the first place.” Stepping closer he could almost press his hips into yours should he take a step more, as you felt the hand on your hip fisting the skirt of your dress as it raised slightly. His breath stuck hot against your skin, taking another step, feeling a teasing press of his hardening cock that almost made your mind beg and plead to just open your legs for him now, regardless of how anyone could see. The hand beside your head drifting down to your hair and raking his way through to the back of your neck, he tilted your head up to meet his eyes gently.

Your voice but a high pitched whisper as the blood in your veins sparked you like a spreading fire. “Too bad my King has a meeting with his high lords to prepare for. Not nearly enough time for that.”

You didn't mean it as a challenge, but you should have known better. You were in the hall where any could pass by, but as Jon pressed you up against the wall anyways it didn't matter. His hands grabbing your wrists and yanking them up above your head, switching to hold you there with one larger hand as the other yanked your dress up for him, his lips attacking yours rough and deeply.

As soon as he felt your bare skin under his touch, his mouth moved to your jaw and neck with sloppy kisses but rough bites as he rasped in you ear. “My men also expect their King to fuck an heir into his beautiful wife. I'm doing my duty.”

Shivering in his touch your fingers flexed wanting to reach out to him, voice barley there as his mouth continued to bite into your neck, his fingers of his other hand drifting under the soft fabric hiding you from his touch. “Is that all this is?” Holding back a high gasp as his fingers drifted down to run lightly along your wetness, “Not a very appropriate way of doing such a duty, my King. Where anyone could find us.”

Pulling back, his eyes darkening to a black as he stared you down, finding your clit with the wetness on his fingers as you jumped. The hold on your wrists tightened as you did so. Jon rubbing tight, rough circles into it and breaking your resolve as you melted into his touch. “Maybe they should find us.” Your lungs tightened as you opened your mouth to cry out as the pleasure burned into the roughness of your clit as he was relentless of the pace. Mouth trailing up to your ear as he roughly snapped his teeth into it as he hissed, “Make sure I'm doing right by my new wife and watch me take you apart. I'd have showed off how good you are for me on our wedding night, if it didn't also mean any of them had to touch you as well.”

Letting the touch on your clit slide down, Jon sunk those same two fingers deep to the knuckle inside of you with no hesitation, the heel of his palm roughly rubbing into the sore nub sparking you to cry out loudly. Jon capturing you lips with his to muffle whatever echo was left in you.

Running firmly along the sensitive wall inside of you, you arched into his touch as much as you could. Letting his lips steal your whine of his name into his mouth, and returning such a gift by sliding his tongue into yours.

Thankful the thin material was still there, collecting the otherwise unseemly evidence of how wet Jon's fingers were being soaked as your hips tried desperately to grind into his touch. The hand keeping your wrists above your head slipping down finally, grasping the side of your face near your jaw as he kept your mouth firmly against his.

Licking along your tongue with greed as he increased how deep and fast he fucked his fingers into your soaked core. Your hands raking through his curls in an instant as Jon pressed his hips firmly into yours before moving to grasp over your dress at your breasts, groping tightly before finding the collar of your dress and slipping under the fabric.

His fingers inside of you moving fast and soaked as you felt the coil twisting and begs for mercy unheard in Jon's kiss but how roughly he grasped, twisted and almost tugged on your nipple under you dress had you gasping desperately. Jon's incessant touch pulling you right over that line and your orgasm flooded between your legs as he still kept himself tasting inside of your mouth. As soon as you arched up and seized, the feeling washing across your veins and limbs with a cry as it snapped inside of you, your own hands reached down.

Hands almost shaking and fumbling as you tried to work past his layers as you still clenched around his fingers with a bit of a jump at the aftershocks still hitting your core from your orgasm. Pulling from your mouth Jon looked down to your hands before leaning to nudge your nose with his, taking over for you with much more ease even with one hand. Only undoing enough that he could reach into his breeches and pull his cock out.

Jon pulling from your wetness and two fingers soaked, he reached up so they sat obscenely at your lips before pushing them just as deep to the knuckle despite your whine, moving to sloppily kiss back along to your ear as his other hand yanked your dress up enough to manoeuvre under it. Almost looking back at you for a moment as he let you suck, before he pulled them from you and once more kissed you. Your tongues sliding along the other as he much more freely groaned at the heavy taste on his own tongue.

But just as you grasped at his shoulders in need, Jon yanked up one of your legs to rest at his hip, pushing you more into the wall just as he slid his cock deep inside you. Your cries in his mouth almost painful as the thick stretch burned but you arched into his touch. His hand on your thigh as the material slid down your leg and almost exposed what Jon was doing, holding it up tight at his hip as he fucked up roughly inside of you with a grunt.

This wasn't a fuck made to last, his pace was fast and he was rough and pounding where you could hear how soaked you made is cock in an instant. His free hand cupping your jaw as he pulled back to look at you, teeth almost gritting as his eyes black watched you try desperately to hold back any sound.

His cock burned you, made you want to scream and run from the pain of how long and thick he slid inside you, but the pleasure taken from you left you unwilling to fight back and raking through his curls tightly. As if all you knew to do was take it. Jon's eyes were dark as he looked down at you, each pound of his cock jostling you as he wished he could strip you bare then and there to watch better.

On the contrary though, his deep tones washed over with something so bright and soft as he looked at you, “I love you so much..” The degree to which you clenched around him had Jon bury his head in your neck to hide his own groans. Your hands gentle now through his curls as his cock rutted deeply into you.

Nodding into him, your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and up into his hair, your voice weak as your lungs held no air trying to keep any cries from your words and little able to come out as a result, “I- fuck, I'm yours..”

Another groan as he picked up the pace and slammed his cock inside of your soaked cunt at a rough and fast pace before biting deeply into your neck. Nodding into his biting, Jon yanked the leg at his hip up high and shoved you more against the wall at a better angle to fuck up inside you, but completely exposing how deeply he was fucking you should anyone walk by the side where your dress was slipped down.

You shook at how it almost felt as if Jon wanted someone to come by and see what he was doing to you. Yet unbeknownst to why, Jon desperately did. He never had this inclination before, but his new life with you, buried inside you, Jon was consumed with a few dark desires. One of them almost challenging his men to watch what they could never give you.

He hated how depraved of thoughts they could become. Jon pounded into you harder at the images in his mind taking over. What it would be like, having you pressed against the wall just like this, but making you face away, your back pressed against his chest and instead Jon would pull his head from your neck, rest his forehead against the back of your hair and watch his cock sink deeply into your ass, and how much the plush skin of your cheeks would bounce at the force.

Jon didn't think he knew how to ask you for that. You weren't some whore that men paid for, you were the woman he loved more then anything, his wife. But he couldn't stop himself as he fucked you fast against the wall. How filthy would it feel to spill deep inside your ass, or how much he wanted to lay you out, and shove his cock to fuck between your breasts after marking them up all for him with his lips and teeth.

He had no idea why he was consumed with thoughts like this, but the way you grasped at him, clenched around him and let him fuck you as if you were designed for his lips and cock alone, was doing something to his desires he never knew about before.

You hid in his shoulder, weakly crying his name as you suddenly came around him. The coil snapping after twisting so burning tight as you were pulled up to meet his lips. Jon biting and kissing you deeply as you came around him, before you felt his cum. Thick and hot as he spilled deeply inside of you, grinding deep until you clenched around him in too much shocking stimulation.

He shushed you with gentle kisses as you whined as he pulled out. Putting your leg back down gently, and cupping both of your cheeks tenderly with a kiss as he put both of your clothes back where they belonged. It was quiet between you both for a moment, gently tracing your noses along the other as you smoothed out the curls you had raked though until you felt your heart slow and world return to your vision outside of Jon.

Leaning up to give a tiny kiss, you looked back. His grey eyes bright with a smile charming off his face as you almost grinned back with a beam. “Now we are certainly going to be late.”

You honestly could have rolled your eyes, if he hadn't captured your lips in another kiss as Jon muttered, “Oh, I'll make sure of that.”

These Starks thought they were so terribly clever didn't they?

It was not an easy thing to do, making a Northern man cry. Reputation made people think that they never did because they couldn't. Unemotional and cold in heart as the winter around them, but in truth it simply was just held inside them securely.

It had been the first time in a long time that he cried, the day Howland Reed learned of Eddard Stark's death.

His son Jojen had seen it, he had the Sight. With no reason to doubt what his son had said, it hurt him greatly to realize he was the last of them. Everyone that had played a pivitol role in some capacity in Robert's Rebellion and all of them but him died before their time. But then again, they all had before their final days anyways.

Something in a lot of them died near the end of that war and no one had quite found a life beyond it, in a way they all were trapped in the rebellion twenty five years later until the last of them died too. Jon Arryn had been first. The brave man who had to make the hard choice of rallying his bannermen against the Mad King, died of a fever, but Howland knew better. He knew Ned would have known better as well.

Then it was Robert, the most obvious of them all. Robert had never lived passed learning that Prince Rhaegar Targaryean had kidnapped Lyanna Stark somewhere along the roads near Harrenhal. He became angry then and he stayed angry until his last day no doubt. He was a wild card, especially when contrasting him to the man Ned Stark used to be. Even looking past a man dedicated to the wife he loved, it was not in his nature to be like Robert.

Robert had bastards all over the country. The ones in Kings Landing were dead, but there were more out there. A man who drank and whored to that degree? Stones, Flowers, Waters, he likely had at least one in all of the Kingdoms. Most of them would just never know it. He could recall it was that nature which she hated.

Lyanna knew who Robert was at his worst, and the simple fact was she also knew that was a life many highborn girls would find themselves fated too. Rare for a highborn girl to have a husband like the way Catelyn Tully had eventually found love in Ned Stark. But in those days, Lyanna's prospects were looking at a lifetime of being insulted by her husbands infidelity.

Ironic, he thought.

But, it never got any better for Robert. He thought he loved Lyanna when he hardly knew a thing about her, and it was that thought which made him angry realizing what Rhaegar had done. And when Ned Stark came back from the war and she was dead? He stayed angry.

Howland only knew bits and parts of the story some from Ned, much from what Jojen could see but it wasn't pretty. Rhaegar Targaryean had been dead for twenty four years and Robert hated him as much then as he did that day they learned what he had done. He wished Baratheons were made a little more of what Northerners were. Just keep some things inside.

But, it was Ned Stark who Howland Reed cried for. Not many knew how deep their bond ran and none but the two of them knew why. They didn't often have the chance to see one another after the rebellion, and even less when Howland finally had his kids but they spoke in writing still. Just not willing to leave his home when he had them. Finally through the horror, Meera and Jojen were Howland's blessings and he missed them terribly.

He knew why they had to go, why they had to go to Bran Stark and now Howland could only hope that somewhere beyond the wall his children were still alive. But, Ned Stark still wasn't and it ate away at him since the years the Lannisters took his head. He hadn't come out since then. Ned died and Howland hid in his Keep in Greywater Watch, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he couldn't anymore. He didn't know what would do it, but he knew it was coming.

But then he'd remember he was the last one. Not just of the men of those days, but the last one who knew. What was he to do with that information, he knew much many didn't. Much that Ned knew, much that Lyanna didn't want people to know and a lifetime of keeping it all inside making him turn inward at how stonewalled he needed to be to contain them.

But there was only one secret that mattered, one that was why Ned Stark had spent the rest of his life trapped within the traumas of rebellion. The reminder of that truth was there for him every single day and when it wasn't he was in a place that served to haunt him with what would happen should the worst come out. Come be Hand of the King Robert said, come to the place your brother and father burned alive trying to demand safe rescue of your sister.

Come witness a place that terrified him to have such a secret be in. But he kept that secret as far North as he could get once those days came knocking. It was all he could do to keep that secret safe still.

It was late at night as Howland finally left. Travelling on his horse along the Kingsroad. Winter was everywhere now, and it didn't slow him one bit. His horse would have to freeze and die to slow this journey down and even then he would keep going. Someone had to keep that secret safe and Howland was all that remained so he had to show his face. But it was along the road that he relived it. He and Ned's reason for why they became the men they were and the complications of what it all meant.

Still now he could recall how in one moment a young girl off in the distance had spotted what was happening, and how as quick as he saw her did she come to his aid. The girl likely no older then fourteen or fifteen, came to the aid of Howland who was even then, already a man. He had been jumped by boys over six years his junior in the roads towards the Tourney of Harrenhal. But, Howland Reed was small and quick. Not large and strong. They were though.

Yet that young girl with black hair and grey eyes came jumping to his defence without a second thought, using only a dull tourney sword to try and chase the boys attacking him off. How she that day brought him to her lair, as she had jested calling it, to get her brothers to help treat his wounds. He met all four Starks that day.

Brandon was the eldest, tall and handsome and had a quick wit and hot temper just as he had seen on the she wolf who rescued him. Benjen was the youngest, only a few years beneath Lyanna in age but laughed easily and held a maturity Howland admired. Offering him armour and a horse, saying if he wanted to get back at the boys who beat him he'd be happy to provide them.

He could still recall the way he and Benjen teased how quickly from a feirce defender Lyanna went, to a watery eyed girl. Hearing a sad song from the beautiful singing voice of Prince Rhaegar, and how she poured her drink on her brother for making fun of her. It was funny then, beacuse it was such a childishly little girl reaction.

It wasn't funny now looking back on it.

Beacuse she was a child. Howland was close in age to the Prince, so it made what followed after all the more horrifying. A pretty, feirce, rebellious maiden did not come to his rescue. Lyanna was just a hot tempered but caring and loyal child. Only a child.

But, he met one more Stark that day. Eddard Stark was the second eldest brother, not quite as well liked and charmingly handsome as Brandon, but more quiet and serious. Howland liked him right away. He liked all four of them he met that day, but he and Ned remained friends with a true ease from that moment onward. A friendship, that all these years later, still felt difficult to accept the end of.

They hadn't known each other for a lifetime, but it was Howland Reed that was trusted with the one thing which would remain only between them for the rest of their lives. And Howland never once wavered in how seriously he took that secret to heart. He could see that secret as clear as he could see that day he met the family of wolves.

It was warm that day. So warm in Dorne that Howland hated it. The sun bore down on them as they travelled, the seven of them, and not a clue what they were walking in on. Not really. The Prince's Pass was their destination, a circular tower standing high in the sky against the backdrop of the Red Mountains. There was hardly anything around it. It was chosen on purpose of course.

One could get to it from Harrenhal without much difficulty and yet it was isolated. Where if they ran from it, where would one go were these sands not their home? It felt like an insult towards Elia Martell to keep a teenage girl in the tower she gifted to her husband, but it also felt like a way to force the girl into relying on who she was trapped with. Even if she escaped, where would she go on her own?

There were seven of them though, and he saw all clear as day. Eddard Stark was at his limit of what he could put up with. Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar at the Trident, The Mad King was dead and yet all who died gruesomely were still gone. Everyone knew what happened no matter what Tywin Lannister later claimed. He had ordered his knights Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch to find and kill Elia Martell and her children.

The mountain had ripped the still infant Aegon from his mothers breast and smashed his face against the wall so hard that only blood and bone remained to him. Then dripping in his blood, he had raped Elia before splitting her in half with his greatsword. In the same royal apartments, hiding under her fathers bed, little Rhaenys had been dragged from under it by Lorch and brutally stabbed over fifty times.

And all Robert could say were that they were “dragonspawn” and cared not for dead, innocent children soley because they were Rhaegar's. Ned had argued with him at how disgusting his lack of care was and left Kings Landing alone. Meaning thankfully, Robert was no where near the Tower of Joy that day.

Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, Mark Ryswell, Willam Dustin and of course, Eddard Stark and Howland Reed. Seven good men, skilled men who were as serious as any Northerners and as determined as the brother who was there for the sister still kept away from him.

There were three in the distance. Their white cloaks blowing in the wind, they had not the threat of being out numbered and all knew why. They were there on orders and not once in the war left, it was insulting. Their vows as knights not more important then the thing they were there for, to keep a girl hostage. But, they were Kingsguard, and dangerous ones too.

On one side, Ser Oswell Whent was knelt down on one knee, sharpening his blade with a wetstone. On the other was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who stood with his greatsword, Dawn, hung over his right shoulder, a sad smile sat on his face.

Between them was Ser Gerold Hightower, The White Bull and commander of the Kingsguard who stood tall and stern between them. The men all stood at attention as Ned Stark stepped forward first, trying to find any peace when all knew there would be none. Were there going to be peace, they wouldn't be here in the first place.

Ned stood as tall as could be, and as calm as he managed. “I looked for you on the Trident.”

Ser Gerold was the one to respond, taking proper command of the situation for as long as it was leading to the inevitable. “We were not there.”

Beside him with all the confidence that felt both true yet unearned, Ser Oswell spat out “Be the end of the usurper if we had been.” Howland recalled thinking if they considered Robert a usurper, then perhaps they should have done their duty and worked to prevent such a thing from happening, but they either did not have such clarity or were blinded by their own hubris.

His face squinting harshly in the bright sun that was a mixture with the anger and impatience building within him, Ned continued past the offence. “When Kings Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your King. Your Prince lays dead now at the Trident, and I could only wonder then where you were.”

But Ser Gerold defended their failures of duty as if it was an excuse which mattered to any here. “If we had been there, Aerys would still sit on the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in all seven hells.”

It was only after that day, did Howland recall that and he wondered to himself on the journey North, perhaps the Kingsguard were not noble knights to be remembered as brave and valiant, if the final legacy they left behind was this.

Ned had only one plea and all knew it wouldn't work, but he would give them that option no matter what. “The Lords and Knights of the Seven Kingdoms have bent the knee in their defeat. There is none left for your orders to follow.”

Ser Arthur had moved to take his helmet into his hand, a firm but sad look of a man sure of who he was and what he was doing. “Our knees do not bend easily.”

Beside him Ser Gerold only added to their fates. “Nor do we flee our duty. We are Kingsuard. We swore a vow.”

But all men there, the three standing in the way of the tower and the seven against them all knew what vow it was they were still defending. As each remaining six of them came to Ned's side, weapons in hand, Ser Arthur donned his helm finally, and spoke what was to be his last. “And now it begins.”

Eddard Stark however, spoke the truth for more then one of them that day. “No, now it ends.”

Just as the metal of their swords clashed, from the tower was heard Lyanna Stark desperately screaming, “Eddard-” as the fight ensued to get to her.

Three men against seven and all but two remained. Ned Stark and Howland Reed were the only ones who lived to see the end of that fight and it was a bloody horrid sight. But once they were dead, Ned spared not a single second as he ran up the steps of the tower to get to his sister.

Howland stayed behind for a moment, exhausted and nerves shot he looked to the men at his side fallen now and hoped and begged that they did not die in vain. It took him a moment to do so, but with heavy footsteps did he begin the climb of the tower himself.

It was dark inside, not many had been in here for a long time that could tend to much of anything. But it was what was in the air, that made Howland feel a lurch of sickness. The air was thick with the scent of blood and roses.

As he approached the door, he could hear the strained voice of Lyanna Stark in a quiet desperation, filled with a heavy love that radiated too with fear. He heard the faint pleas of her voice which was the last any would, though the door the words, “Promise me, Ned.”

Only even as Howland Reed stood outside of it, Lyanna and Eddard Stark were not alone in that room.

Winterfell was as sturdy as it had been in years. Work still being done to rebuild what was burned down and yet it was still impressive. But Howland Reed was here when he never came before. He didn't come for Robb Stark, and tried to ignore the raven from Castle Black from their once dead Queen.

He didn't answer that call of aid until he had received the news that Eddard Stark's final remaining child, his bastard son, had been crowned King in the North. Howland showed up then, and the very second he saw his face? He felt sick. As if he had never considered the truth of this secret until then and there.

Ned had watched him grow up every day of his life, but Howland had never met him until he walked quietly and unnoticed, into the meeting hall of Winterfell. Hidden amongst the other Lords. Finally understanding that he too, had not truly lived passed that day at the Tower of Joy.

But, upon the truth that Aegon Targaryean was not only living, but had landed in Westeros and had battle first on the island of Dragonstone? There was no words in Howland's mind to describe how it felt, realizing who his opponent in battle had been. Perhaps that was why he rode to Winterfell so quick.

If he had not been too cowardly to come face to face with the memory of a ghost, Howland Reed might have been there to prevent those two men from ever meeting in the first place.

From a tryst against the wall as you and Jon were making your way to the main hall of Winterfell to see to a meeting with the Northern Lords, you had not the concept in your mind of what your life days later would have become. But you also, couldn't have known how much it would make you spiral. How much it twisted your mind into something panicked that you did not recognize.

You suddenly felt without purpose that specific night, and left to go find another in case you lost all hope to keep going before finding it.

Attempts had been made for you to look as nondescript as you could manage, as the pair of you walked into the loud and bustling noise of the tavern. Evening had fallen upon the sky and those nearby in the city took refuge in some of the only entertainment they would get in these early months of winter. Men drinking, laughing and joking as they made jesting passes as the barmaid's serving them more as their nights went on.

The raven scroll had only been able to describe the building as having a wooden sign handing over the entrance of what looked like a horse reaching in the air. If what was said was accurate, they would be here if not tonight then at some point. Your hair was messy in it's looks as you had made sure not to let yourself appear as being used to much effort. The cloak around your shoulders was dark, shabby and only enough to have a hood and cover the equally as unimpressive dress as you fit mostly in with all the others.

Not a single weapon but one hidden dagger. A normal lowborn woman wouldn't be armed as such.

More than once you had to remind Olly not to call you by your title, or even name. Sat on the back of the horse he had asked you, “What am I supposed to call you then?” Thinking about it, your creativity was not quite as good as others and you told him to make one up. A few second passed as he then came up with, “Mya?” So you nodded, saying then Mya it was.

Barrowton was coming into the distance as you and Olly went over once more the covering. “I don't want any to realize who I am, we are here to be discreet. Understood?”

The sun shined low in the sky with a gold as evening fell upon you. Walking into the tavern, you both stood there looking no more out of place then any other. “What's the name of who we're here for?”

Looking around, it wasn't obvious right away if they were here. “For our purposes? They're going by the name Satin.” Olly asking you how would he know if they were here or not, you glanced over at him. “Do you know what I look like?”

Taken back, Olly's face twisted in a confusion. “Yes..”

Turning away, you nodded once. “Good. They look like that.” You knew the boy was struggling to tell if he were annoyed or amused by your dryness over the vague details you were barley offering up. But Olly had known something deeply was wrong from the moment this little journey begun.

He had come across you in a unusually uncomposed state, asking why were you looking as if you were ready to leave, despite the lateness of the hour. “Would you keep it a secret if I told you?” You had asked, and when he assured you yes, you narrowed your eyes.

“I won't tell the King this time I promise.” It wasn't his fault, but he could see a tear in your throat scratching down into your heart that left your eyes hazy as you shook yourself out of it in seconds. Clearing your throat you instructed him that he was not to tell anyone you were leaving for the next day at the least. Not knowing what to say when Olly had asked “Won't the King worry where you went?” You simply sent the boy on his way. Beacuse you didn't know how to tell him that he wouldn't just not worry.

Jon would be grateful you finally were gone.

What was it he wanted? What had he said to you? For you to leave and stop being a burden to him. Leave him alone as he wanted, even if he wanted it for good.

Sitting down, you had ordered water, bread and stew for Olly. Giving him a stern glance to the side as he almost went to speak out to attend to you in that same manner. He wasn't here as your steward, he was here because he hadn't wanted to be left behind and you didn't have the heart to say no to him.

You were leaving in the middle of the night in secret, and Olly had to promise he wouldn't say a word if he wanted to come. You didn't know when you would be returning, how long this would take, but after helping a grieving boy burn the remains of his mother and father, the least you could do was not leave him behind again.

Theon was going to be furious with you for this one.

What you didn't expect, was the sad whine in Ghost when you had finally taken off. Having been out hunting in the wolfswood, he had caught you in sight as he stood perched on a nearby cliff side looking down at you. Wishing he weren't so smart, you knew he could sense what you were doing out here and when you gently tried to call up to him, telling him to go back, that it was alright? Ghost whined, whined more when you gave him a sorrowful look, and you heard him still when you rode off.

Maybe when he got back to Jon, Ghost would pick up what happened and hate you too finally. You had done what was advised against, told Jon the truth and it seems like that truth came at the cost of whatever love was left in his heart for you. He deserved to know, not telling him was cruel, but telling him came at a great cost it felt.

You couldn't even recall the extent of how not normal your mind felt that night. The only thing screaming at you in a very specific voice that Jon didn't want you, and for whatever reason, that might have hurt you into a panic more then anything else. In Castle Black you had been scared you would ruin his life by being in it again, but now it finally came to fruition. You did ruin his life.

As you sat in the tavern, looking around for the one person left to you, you wondered if you should do Jon the courtesy, find a way to free him from his new vows, and leave him to find a better wife you always worried he would want instead. You were tired of being the one to bring him problems.

Only days ago, you had not the inkling of what a disaster one man's appearance in Winterfell would spin into. Days ago, you still thought what Jon felt for you would stay real. You still thought you made him happy, and you now felt that toxifying poison of self loathing at how wrong you were. You told Jon the truth, and your only conclusion, was that the truth made him hate you.

But as the barmaid passed your table, clucking a plate onto it it pulled you right out of the memory. Olly's eyes narrow and concerned on you, but you just grabbed whatever bread was closest on it, and pushed the plate more towards him.

Mumbling through your chewing with a lecturing look, “You're the one still growing. Eat.” But as you chewed, washing it down a bit your eyes found a figure in the distance, and it was exactly the strange reaction you wondered if it would feel. But you looked at them, as they saw you. Jon Arryn was still not wrong.

“The seed is strong.”

One drop of Baratheon blood and the two of you looked just the same here. You could only wonder as you both looked wide eyed at one another, how alone did they truly feel to have reached out to you of all people? It had been many years since that day on the Street of Steel, and you never had a good or safe reason to think you'd see them again. Pylos said they were all dead, all of Roberts bastards. And yet, this one wasn't. The one which lived, you shockingly already knew.

Gendry had travelled all the way North, to try and find you himself.

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

I’ve had this little oneshot in my drafts for ages, and I’ve been going back and forth about posting it, thinking “Oh, I’m not sure if this is complete enough for AO3 but maybe I could post it just to tumblr...” Anyway, now seems like a pretty good time to post a tumblr-only fic, so here you go: 

(CW: references to suicidal ideation)

Nights at the safehouse were the hardest. During the day, Jon and Martin had settled into an unspoken routine of simply not talking about it. They kept their conversations light,  traded jokes and kisses and good-natured arguments over whose turn it was to do the washing up, acted for all the world like a normal couple. But in the dark and silence of the safehouse’s sole bedroom, the facade of easy, uncomplicated domestic bliss fell away, and they were reminded of all that had brought them there.

That is to say, Jon had gotten used to their late-night conversations tending toward the weighty. Still, he wasn’t prepared for Martin to break a silence so long that Jon had half assumed he’d fallen asleep with,

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

Jon laughed and curled closer to Martin. “Thanks, I think.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s kind of a given, I just - I realized I never got the chance to tell you. After you woke up.” That froze Jon in place, hand stilled halfway up Martin’s chest. He knew how much he’d needed to hear those words six months ago, and he tried to savor them, let them soothe that old ache, but it was like putting a band-aid on a wound that had already healed and left a scar. “You don’t know how much I wanted to see you, when I found out you were awake. It took all my restraint not to sprint down to the hospital as soon as I heard.”

“Why didn’t you?” Jon didn’t mean it to be accusatory, but he couldn’t help it. Waking up to find that six months had passed, his friend was dead, and not a single person seemed to care that he wasn’t… it had hurt. It still hurt. 

He also didn’t mean to let the slightest thread of compulsion into his words, but he felt it as they left his lips. When Martin answered, his voice was not fully his own.

“Peter was the one who told me, you know. He was obviously testing my loyalty, waiting to see what I would do, I knew that, but I didn’t care. I didn’t say a word to him, I just grabbed my coat and walked out. I was going to go to the hospital, and I was going to see you, and talk to you, and you were going to respond, because you were awake! Honestly, I think I was going to tell you that I loved you right then and there, because fuck it! I got halfway out the building before I started thinking about what Peter would do.

“When I made the deal with Peter, I didn’t care about his end of the bargain. I didn’t care about anything, really. Tim was dead, and my mother was dead, and I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up, and I just couldn’t care about anything left in my life. I wanted to keep the others safe, I did, but I think mostly I just wanted an escape from it all. I figured either the Lonely would take me, or Peter’s plan would get me killed, and either way, I wouldn’t have to deal with all of that grief.

“And then suddenly, you were awake, and I cared so much, and I needed you to be safe. Peter had already vanished two people, I didn’t want to know what he would do if you ruined his plans. And to be honest? I didn't think you’d care. I mean, I knew you cared about me, at least a little bit, but I also knew you didn’t feel the way I did - or I thought you didn’t, at any rate - and it’s not like being apart was going to be as hard on you as it was for me. And if keeping my distance kept you safe? Then I’d do it. I just didn’t expect you to keep tracking me down.”

Like a string being cut, the compulsion that had held them both in place snapped, and the two of them set to frantic, overlapping apologies.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown all that at it you, it’s not like it was your fault-”

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have- I shouldn’t have Asked, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it’s not like it was anything I was trying to hide, I just… I might not have gone into so much detail-”

“I’m glad you did,” Jon said, then corrected himself quickly, “No, I’m not glad I violated your privacy, I’m so sorry - And I’m sorry that you went through all that alone, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

Martin huffed a wet, quiet laugh. Jon reached out instinctively and cupped Martin’s cheek in his hand, finding it damp with a few stray tears. “You apologize too much,” Martin laughed.

“I- What? No, I don’t.”

“I’m pretty sure you just apologized for being in a coma.”

“Well.” Jon didn’t have a good answer to that, so he just snuggled closer, burying his face in Martin’s chest as though he could communicate everything he wanted to say through sheer proximity. “I am sorry,” he whispered against the fabric of Martin’s shirt.

Martin pulled away just enough to press a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “I’m sorry, too.” Martin pulled Jon back into the embrace, holding his head against his chest. They lay in silence for a while, the steady, soothing rush of Martin’s breathing the only sound in Jon’s ears.

“For what it’s worth,” Martin said eventually, “I forgive you for everything.”

“Everything?” Jon whispered, “That’s… that’s quite a long list.”

“I know,” Martin replied, and that was that.

In the morning, they would fall back into their routine. They would talk about cows, and chores, and the weather, and whether or not it was time to return their library books, and neither of them would bring up the previous night’s conversation. Instead, they let their forgiveness hang in the air, another thing left unspoken.

[saintbleeding]

For the guessing game: smile, rain, and/or scowled

oh this was funnnnnn

smile (this comes from to render again and receive, which is the soft lil somewhere else fic):

And if he remains alive, maybe the other world benefits from the weight of the guilt wracking him. They deserve what little vindication they can grapple back. And if it comes at the cost of his suffering… well, there’s something poetic to that.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.”

He tips his head back again. Upside down, the look on Martin’s face is technically in the shape of a smile.

“I’m alone unless I have an astral communication ability I’m unaware of.”

His frown deepens.

“I’m sorry. About earlier.”

“Yeah?”

Jon sighs. “I don’t have the capacity to explain myself properly.”

Martin moves to sit next to him, leaving a studied foot and a half between them. He’s still cross.

“You did die earlier today. To be fair.”

Jon feels his mouth smile. “Thank you for your understanding. I… I think maybe you did, too.”

He doesn’t even look surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, that would make sense.”

rain (appropriately human towards one another) (again):

Martin stalks misanthropically towards the kitchen, because frankly, he’s now rather miffed that the man he’d pined over for almost a year has the effrontery to return to his life only to present himself as a pencil-pushing wanker, by all appearances.

This is hardly the tearful declaration of devotion in the rain it should be, and he intends to register a complaint, or at least think very bitter thoughts directly at Jon as soon as he’s left.

and scowled--this was kind of a tricky find because i kind of only write in present-tense except for under extenuating circumstances, but i did successfully find scowl! this comes from a halting sonnet of his own pure brain, which is a tie-in oneshot to neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well, where basically we learn how martin meets tim and sasha and then later jon, and social humiliation ensues, because of course it does:

Tim chuckles as he turns to get his drink from the bar. Martin stares at the cider in front of him. Jon and Sasha are talking, but he’s not paying attention, because if it’s about him, he might just die right here, and that would leave a hell of a mess.

When Tim’s sitting opposite Martin, he lifts his glass with a grin.

“Well, lads, I propose we toast to the lucky recipient of this gorgeous poet’s affections.”

Martin scowls.

“God, I wish that were me,” Sasha agrees, giggling.

Jon doesn’t say anything, but lifts his glass.

Martin does too, begrudgingly.

He’s glaring at Tim over his glass as he drinks.

[fineosaur]

first line game 

thank you for the tags @littlerockerao3 and @salty-wench, i haven’t done one of these in a while and this one was super fun to compile (fair warning this IS quite long)

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line. then tag 10 of your favourite authors.

pieces of you stuck on me (but i’m careless and i’m wicked) -- a rickon x lyanna fwb multichap

He’d woken up alone, something he was often used to, but in the last months, he had grown more accustomed to waking up beside just one particular person. More or less a year if he was being honest with himself. But he wasn’t completely alone either, he was just alone in her bed.

we both coincide (when the world’s wasting time) -- a rickon x lyanna story that shows their relationship spanning over a few years

The moon is already out when he still finds himself at her side. She’s solid and warm in his embrace, swaying lazily with him to the strumming harp and the melodic voice that sing the words that seem to weave their way in his head, taking root as he tries to focus on just being there with her.

in the highlands of our dreams -- a single dad!rickon x lyanna fic that’s a lot on the softer side than my usual work

Most of his life had felt like there was an errant thumb on the fast forward button. At times he knew it had much to do with the way his thoughts often ran too fast, and even with long enough legs to chase them, they just kept their brisk pace. Other times, he wasn’t so much to blame. 

watch me wary -- a rickon x lyanna fic where rickon goes off the grid for a few years and has to come back to face his family (aka rickon’s apology tour)

“You’re late again, kid.”

He rolled his eyes despite the verity in the statement. Pulling off his helmet, he held a hand out to shake the shorter man’s hand. 

watch me wary (prequel) [title in progress] -- set in the stormlands 2 years after rickon leaves home and involves him falling in love with steffon seaworth

There was a feeling between relief and guilt that followed leaving home. Often times thought of as ‘running away’ or ‘disappearing’, at least ‘leaving home’ sounded so much more tempered. 

an empire for two -- a canon-divergent robb x theon & rickon x lyanna fic which involves established throbb and an arranged marriage for lyckon

It was warmer inside the castle. It always was; with the hot water from the springs running through its walls, the castle lived and breathed through each change of season, chilling winters and weeping summers, not buckling for any. 

where the stars do not take sides --��a oneshot set in a canon-divergent setting where rickon x lyanna spend a few last hours of peace together before they return to war

The snow falls around them rather gracefully. There’s often peace in the Godswood, and the distant howls of the wolves do nothing to deter from that. Though nightfall has come and its chill alike, they stand stiffly facing one another. 

be with you -- a rickon x steffon oneshot that shows their relationship as well as how they fell in love

The floor manages to feel warm despite the hour. If he thinks hard enough, he guesses that they’re one of the only two left there. 

His father’s office is littered in papers, stacks of words that blur into one with his boredom. Really what keeps him going is the way the man in front of him continues to push his mop of brown hair back, no matter how many times it falls back into his face as he leans over the glass desk. 

sight for sore eyes -- mixed pov which has tommen pining for rickon who is pining for lyanna — true heather style

There’s a moment of reprieve that comes once the moon has passed its apex. Its scattered light plays amongst the stars that pepper the sky and the hazy streetlights that guide them through the night. 

to feel like gold -- a lyanna x myrcella oneshot where myrcella chooses to indulge in a little rebellion with the girl that’s been on her mind for months

The room is almost too bright for her liking. It hardly fits her resentment. The brisk night air streaming through her windows suits her well enough, rippling over her arms in goosebumps as she feels the frown between her eyebrows deepen.

forest fires -- an arya x gendry oneshot set with a lunar eclipse and a brief moment of repose for the couple

The night’s brisk breeze doesn’t unsettle him like it used to.

It’s still cold though. The wind makes the hair on his arms stand up and he wonders why he hadn’t thought to wear a jumper over his thin cotton t-shirt.

help! -- a stark family -smutty crack fic- that involves ned and cat accidentally stumbling into each one of their kids in precarious situations with their partners

It almost felt like nothing had changed like her children were all still children.  Like they’d never flown the coup. But as she stood there, holding a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, she knew that a lot had changed, that every one of her kids had grown up, fallen in love and were seemingly happy. It flooded her with such relief to know so, though the still gentle tug at her heart was there, telling her that her babies would no longer run to her begging to be held after a nightmare.  

it’s all hope -- canon compliant robb x theon oneshot that involves a love confession before theon sets off to pyke

Much like the fire within the hearth that beckoned him with its flickering warmth, he felt disquiet within himself.

The air felt thick, far more humid than that of the North’s. He could easily make out the Red Fork by where he stood, pulling at the laces of his tunic. It unsettled him, the rushing water, so fresh, unlike the brine of his home.

take one last look back-- a jon x satin drabble where the couple has a little spat in the car

The wind becomes distracting. With the way it whistles through his ears, blowing at those perfect curls of his, it even makes it abundantly clear how much his eyes sting.

When he leans back in his seat, his eyes meet the rearview mirror, where he can see his grey eyes, dark and stormy, the perfect juxtaposition to the gleaming sun that threatens a headache.

second nature -- a rickon x lyanna drabble that has a drunk rickon confessing his affections for his best friend, lyanna

She’s sitting in her car with one leg crossed when she sees him take a minute to check each side of the road before crossing. It’s 4 am, her car is really the only one on the road.

Her car is flanked on the side of the road and it’s completely unsurprising that his first instinct is to lower himself to her opened window and flash his stupidly white grin at her.

a troubled mind -- a robb x theon oneshot, after his parents’ deaths, robb overloads himself with responsibility and on the verge of falling apart he seeks comfort in the one person who’s always been there for him

He’s never gotten the opportunity to let it all get to him. There’s never been time for it. Not when there’s always been at least one other person that needs the safety his arms provide.

It’s part of being the oldest son, he tells himself far too often.

calmest wave -- an arya x gendry drabble, a post-show canon fix it where the couple are parents in the stormlands

The shattering waves could still be heard, breaking onto the rocky coast of Shipbreaker’s Bay, even from where they walked, with withered leaves crumbling underfoot.

There was tranquillity within the godswood, interspersed by the humidity carried across the Summer Sea and yet he still felt a breeze pick up, cooling him down as he gently held the small hand in his palm.

you were just dancing on your own -- an arya x gendry drabble where arya seeks comfort with gendry after a bad night

It’s still dark when Arya wakes up in her car; windshield covered in a think layer sleet. Her teeth chatter as she pulls her jumper tighter around herself, yellow haze in her eyes from the streetlights.

She’s in the passenger seat of her car, seat pushed back the most it can go. Her heater doesn’t work, no matter how much she bruises her knuckles against the vents.

high, high love -- an arya x gendry oneshot - set in the pieces of you stuck on me universe. after a few years away, arya returns to the man who she’s always loved

She had been back in Winterfell barely two weeks, in a way, things fell into place, though it was in the most disjointed way possible.

Arya found her footing, day by day, acclimating to the changes she had missed, she had to anyway; this was her family, and no matter how much they had changed, how many things she had missed, they made her feel like home, and she  was  back home now, for good.

stubborn-hearted blue -- an arya x gendry oneshot where arya moves into the same building as a man she had a fwb arrangement during her college days

She was still adjusting to life in the new city.

Arya hadn’t been in the Riverlands since university, and at this point, it felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory, more like a dream. But now she had been back for almost a month and boxes still littered her living room, still waiting to be unpacked. between her new job and just trying not to pass out as soon as she was back home, there wasn’t much room for unpacking.

okay WOW i cant believe that managed to date back to over a year. this is pretty much a whole year of my writing summarised in opening lines. 

if it isnt obvious, about half of these have yet to be posted, but this was still fun to give a little teaser for those ones. 

i’ll be tagging @yanak324, @evax3, @selkiedams, @livhatesolives, @lightninginabottle0613, @watersandwolves, @estrangedandwayward, @jeynepoole, @sneetchstar, @treaddelicately, @bobafettsslut, @nalgenewhore

also, hi! enjoy! 

ps, i hope everyone is taking care of themselves and keeping safe x

[ipreferfiction]

Interview with a Fic Writer

i was tagged by Lee My Beloved (@revanchxst), this looks like a ton of fun!

1) how many works do you have on AO3?

19 total

2) what's your total AO3 word count?

277,051. It's not a ton, esp not compared to others, but it'll increase a lot over my next couple of series.

3) what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

in order: The Bond Between, oneshot, tcw, gen (ahsoka & obi-wan)

we'll hold each other soon (in the darkest of rooms), oneshot, kotor, cassus fett/mandalore the ultimate. important caveat - this fic got hit with that kudos bot right after it was posted, so though it's listed as my second highest fic, i have no way to gauge its real kudos count

Dragon's Rise, wip, asoiaf, jon snow/daenerys targaryen

Wasteland, oneshot, tcw/ot, gen (obi-wan & anakin)

How Far We've Come, oneshot, lockwood & co, gen - focused on quill kipps

4) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i try to, yes! i've fallen a little behind for general chaotic life reasons, but assuming the comment isn't an outright hate comment, i will try to respond as much as possible.

5) what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

i never actually got around to writing it, and i unpublished it a couple months ago because i knew i'd never finish it, but it was a lockwood & co. backstory fic for kipps. and it essentially ended with all of his friends and the girl he loved dying in various ways to ghosts; the final scene was him standing over the girl's grave.

6) what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

uhhhhh i don't actually tend to write fics with happy endings? at least the traditional flavor of them. ultimately, it'll end up being start a war, but that is still in its very early stages, and to get a happy ending, it's got a lot of trauma for everyone to get through first.

7) do you write crossovers?

i... used to, with my own ocs, and sometimes i still write them in my head because it's fun to make my horrible ocs from different works meet each other. but in terms of actual writing i'd post, no, though i do love fusions; my biggest project to date is a swtor/kotor/hp fusion, and i have a swtor/mass effect fusion floating around with @revanchxst

8) have you ever received hate on a fic?

yes. usually i laugh because it never manages to be coherently thought-out, but occasionally it's just... someone being rude. then i just tend to move on.

9) do you write smut? if so, what kind?

oh god. fuck. yes, and it is almost universally intensely Loyalty Kink. there is always a Dynamic there, and for a weird amount of them there's an incredibly strong dom/sub dynamic, for others it's a loyalty kink. in one case it is. weird loyalty, an intense amount of dissociation, horrible decisions, blood magic, a mental bond, ill-advised ritual knives, and more dissociation. also internalized homophobia and weird amounts of dysphoria, for a cis character. and active withdrawal from what is essentially a magic addiction. i don't know how it fits in one doc either.

10) have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope!

11) have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of, no

12) have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! several, actually, with @revanchxst, and we've got several in the works too.

13) what's your all time favorite ship?

oh god i can't pick one. frankly Scourge/Jedi Knight ends up being one of my absolute favorites for the angst potential, the loyalty, all of it. Exar Kun/Ulic Qel-Droma has given me terminal brainrot and they're never going to leave. Revalek is an old classic, they're so awful and i adore them. i am also immensely, immensely fond of Theon/Robb from asoiaf for incredibly horribly crunchy loyalty reasons. also the i should have been with him. where was i? i should have died with him kills me Every God Damned Time.

14) what's a WIP that you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?

anything from a fandom i'm no longer really part of tbh, which includes my lockwood & co stuff.

15) what are your writing strengths?

i like to think i'm good at putting a lot of emotion into darker stuff, and frankly i'm very fond of how i write Force/magic/whatever visions and powers. it's always been a favorite of mine.

16) what are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue. i hate dialogue so much. if it's not a big dramatic speech, it's awful. i hate having to write characters' reactions and movements in, and the whole thing always feels stiff and awful.

17) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

it depends! i think that if you're doing more than a phrase or something that's very significant for some. idk, ritual or ceremony or something then it's better to simply indicate via italics or something else that the dialogue isn't in english (or whatever language the fic is in, but i write in english). but i love seeing bits of other languages thrown in there, be they real or conlangs, and i think a lot of readers also like little things like that, as long as they have an easy way to translate it!

18) what was the first fandom you wrote for?

uhhhh honestly i think it was Sherlock? that was certainly the first real fic i posted that i remember. naturally, it was about my oc, Sherlock's secret younger sister. i was like... 12

19) what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet, but want to?

frankly, if i have any ideas, they get at least partially written immediately. so in my docs i basically have all the stuff i currently want to write for. however, i want to write more cassus/mandalore the ultimate and exar/ulic.

20) what's your favorite fic you've written?

start a war, without hesitation. i am in love with this fic and the characters, and the entire series is going to be incredibly fun to write. the hp au is a very, very close second, especially any parts with my favorite horrible rat bastard (not that many, but i love him).

and i will tag. hm. @sith-shenanigans when you have brain, @comradevo, @tarrevizsla, and anyone else who wants to do this

[avungerthatgotaway]

Baby it's the Sign of the Times

Eyoo guyzz! This is a new oneshot, I hope you like this❄ I'm currently rewriting my Hawkeye fic, so I'm not gonna post that one for a little. This one is a bit longer than my previous ones.

I totally recommend you to listen to this song while reading, even if you're not a fan of Harry's. It will really help the mood.

I don't own anything, even tho I'd like to have a few... choice words with Russo brothers about endgame...👍🏼🤔

Warnings: none

Summary: events when Peggy dies, mainly before Steve goes to London, and you comfort him. (I know it's stupid summary, but I don't want to spoil it, sorry)

Genre: angst

I don't mention civil war at all. No other avengers are at Peggy's funeral. There are no romantical pairings, and Sharon is not mentioned cuz she doesn't fit in the storylineeee.

----------------------------

She's gone.

In her sleep.

This words crushed Steve inside. He knew this was coming, but he'd never be ready for it, no matter what.

When he came from ice, he met her again. He knew they could never be together. No matter his actual age, Steve still had a full life in front of him. Unfortunately, same couldn't be told for Peggy.

Oh Peggy... She was always his ray of sunshine. Even through darkest of days. It is a cliché, but she was.

Was.

She is gone now.

Why did she have to go? Why didn't he get to spend a life with her? Steve's biggest wish was, and always will be, to spend a happy life with her. He didn't want any of this famous captain shit. He wanted a house in a village and 2 kids with Peggy. And a little dog. Or they'd be of service, and fight next to each other. Nevermind, Steve wanted a life with Peggy. For them to watch each other go grey. Maybe he could've been there for her as a husband now, through her sickness. Or maybe he'd be the one to go first. But still, that'd be a life...

One tear slipped down his rosy cheek, the other one following. Soon he had tearstains on his cheeks, but he didn't care. It was a silent cry. Those carry the most pain.

"Eyo, capsicle! You good there?" Tony snapped him outta his thoughts. Steve forgot the whole team was in the room. Fortunately, he was turned, so they were facing his back. He just couldn't talk to anyone right now.

"Yea yea, I'm good. I gotta go." he quickly got up and exited the room. He climbed up the stairs 2 more floors, but his toughts started haunting him again.

He's going on a plane tomorrow morning to say goodbye for the last time. Oh God, even thinking of a last time kills Steve inside. It's pretty late, but he didn't know what to do until morning. Sleeping wasn't an option, he knew that much. He gave in to overthinking again.

Of Peggy. Of her life. Of what could've happened if he didn't freeze...

"Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times..."

"...welcome to the final show..."

"...I hope you're wearing your best clothes..."

Steve heard a silent piano in the background, and he heard an angelic voice. He still had tearstained cheeks, but he needed to hear what the voice had to say.

"...you can't bribe the door on your way to the sky..."

He was still clutching his cellphone in his hand, while following the voice. He came in front of Y/N's room. Y/N was a 16 year old avenger. She was very mature and wise for her age.

Her door was opened, and he just leaned against the doorframe, listening to her beautiful voice.

"...if we never learn, we been here before..."

"... why are we always stuck and running from the bullets..."

"...they told me that the end is near..."

Steve was crying a river at this point, and he didn't care. First shock was wearing out, and silent cries became little sobs. Yet, not loud enough for Y/N to hear.

"...just stop your crying, baby it'll be alright..."

"...we got to get away..."

She played final chords on piano, and then she turned around.

2nd person POV

You were singing "Sign of the times" and playing your piano. You loved this song. It was helping you relax, the melody was perfect. During the few last, silent piano chords, you tought you heard something. You softly finished and turned around. It was Steve.

But not the Steve you knew. This one had red puffy eyes, swollen from crying. He was sobbing quietly, trying to stop the sobs, but he couldn't.

You slowly came up to him, like to a wounded animal. He was just so hurt, you could see it in his eyes. You felt bad for him, but you wanted to know what happened. Who could hurt Stevie so badly.

"What happened, Big Guy?" you asked him. Steve just kept on sobbing even harder.

You moved him a little, so he was in your room, and you closed the door. You lead him to your bed, and sit on it, next to him. He was clutching his phone tightly in his hand, so you lifted his hand and gently tried to take it. He wouldn't let it go. You don't wanna pressure him, but whatever is on that phone is causing him this much distress.

"Stevie, cmon big babe" you cooed and rubbed the back of his hand with your thumbs. It may sound strange so someone, but Stevie really was like a big baby, so fluffy and vunerable inside.

He gave in and the phone just slipped from his hand in yours. You read the text and everyting was clear right away. You knew he went to visit Peggy in hospital, you didn't know she was this bad. I mean, Steve and you were close, but still that's too personal. You felt sooo sorry for him. He didn't deserve it. Not now. Not ever.

"Ohh, I'm so sorry Stevie..."

You immidiately hugged him close to you. He burried his head in your shoulder and neck, crying his eyes out, but at the same time trying not to cry. At least not to sob.

"Stevie, bear, it's okay to cry. Just let it all out."

That was all he needed. He started crying and sobbing uncontrollably, and your shirt was soaked in his tears. You didn't mind it tho, if it'll help him to feel better afterwards, he can cry as much as he needs.

After some time he lifted his head and looked into your eyes with his puffy baby blues.

"I'm sorry, Flower, I-I ju-ust can't believe s-s-she's go-one-e" he was still crying. You could see how much Peggy meant to him. You hugged him again, tugging at his hair softly to comfort him.

"Hey, hey no need to apologise Stevie. You cry yourself out, it'll help you. I'm here for you, Bear."

"T-tha-ank you. A-and and please... ca-can you-u not tell a-anyone about he-er ye-et..."

"Shhhh, Bear, I won't tell anyone about her. You wait until you're ready." you whispered.

You understood him. Not everyone in the team knew Peggy existed. And now telling them that she died, and what happened with them would be too much for Steve.

"T-thanks"

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay." you whispered. You whispered to soothe him, you didn't know what to do when someone's loved one dies. But you wanted to be there for Steve so badly. Little did you know that what you did was just perfect for Steve.

-

Steve at first felt ashamed, because he cried in front of Y/N. But she talked just enough, whispering soothingly. He didn't have streinght to act like a big guy anymore. He craved comfort so badly, and he got it from Y/N. It felt nice.

-

Back to 2nd person POV

Something was bothering you. Steve didn't want anyone to know about Peggy's death which meant he was probably going to funeral alone. You didn't want that for him. At least he needed someone to be with afterwards. You knew Steve and how sensitive he was. You didn't want to think of things going through his head while he's alone after funeral. But if it was in London, as you tought it was, you had a plan.

"Stevie?" you said quietly playing with his hair a little.

"Mhm?" he asked, face still in your shoulder.

"When is Peggy's funeral? Is anyone going with you?" you asked. He lifted his head a little.

"T-tomorrow. L-london. And no. It's too much-h t-trouble for anyone. And I know it is Y/N, do-don't try to o--object" he smiled through his tears. You smiled back at him, your own eyes glistening with tears a little, but you didn't want him to notice.

He burried his head in your shoulder and neck again, like it was his safeplace, and he just cried. You couldn't imagine where those tears come from.

You softly stroked his short blonde locks, and started singing.

"Just stop your crying, it's the sign of the times...

...welcome to the final show

...I hope you're wearing your best clothes..."

Half into the song, you felt more weight on your shoulder. You looked down, and realised Steve fell asleep. You pressed one kiss to his temple, and moved him, so he was lying in your bed.

"Good night, Stevie Bear." you whispered.

-

When you exited your room quietly, you immediately called your best friend, Jon.

It was 2am, but you and Jon were just the best friends, you could call him whenever, and other way around.

Him and his family were going to London, and he invited you to go with them. You declined the offer, because you had to study so. so. much. But this was way more important.

"Heey, Jonny. Is that London offer still on?

Great. When are you going?

Ohhh, in 2 hours?

Yea, I'll be there. Thanks

And by the way, I'll have somewhere to go to tomorrow, around 4pm, I hope you guys don't mind.

Ohh cool. Thank you bruhhhh. Byee"

Great news. They still had a plain ticked to spare, and they'll pick you up soon.

You quickly packed your stuff, careful not to wake up Stevie. Poor baby. With everything he's been through, and now his Peggy dies...

You tell JARVIS to tell Tony you're in your friends house, and to wake up Steve 'round 6am. His flight was in 7. You knew this, and which Church it was in at what time because you did a little research. Aka, asked JARVIS for help. AI already heard everything, so it wasn't news.

You left the tower and went to meet up with Jon and his family.

-

Steve woke up by alarm ringing at 6am. He immediately realised he's not in his room. He was in Y/N's. And then he remembered how you comforted him. He was so thankful for you. Even though, you weren't here, and it was confusing. You probably went to sleep on the couch, or in some other room, and Steve felt bad about it. He quickly got ready, and tried to find you, so he could get you back to your bed. Fortunately JARVIS easened his search.

"Mr. Rogers, ms. L/N went on a trip with her friend a few hours ago."

"Oh. Thanks JARVIS." Steve said, and left the building. You didn't mention any trips, but then again, you two didn't talk anything except Peggy tonight.

-

(timeskip to Peggy's funeral, cuz no one wants to listen about the trip now)

-

3rd person POV

It's so devastating to attend a funeral on your own.

Even more so if it's a funeral of your lost loved one.

Maybe Steve should've brought someone with him. For comfort. At least to feel the familiar presence. He carried Peggy's coffin, and it was enough to make him feel empty and sad. It was nearing to the end of funeral, and Steve didn't want to be alone. He wanted comfort. Like when Y/N comforted him last night.

After the ceremony ended, he stayed behind a little. He craved someone's presence. Anyone familiar. And then he felt a smal hand on his shoulder. He turned around, and it was Y/N. At first, he tought he was hallucinating. But her petite hand on his shoulder felt so real. He felt so grateful for this small human being at the moment, he just wanted to thank God over and over for having her with him.

"Y/N, Flower, what are you doing here?" he asked, still in shock.

"Hey Bear. I figured out you could use some company after the funeral. But if you wanna be alone, I understand, I'll go."

"No no, I mean, if you can stay, it would mean a world to me. You really know me better than I know myself sometimes Y/N. Thank you so much, Flower." he said, and immediately came for a hug. You hugged back, of course.

"I'll stay for as long as you want, Bear. I'm here for you, as long as you want me to stay."

"I want you to stay forever kiddo" he mumbed in your hair.

"Forever it is."

----------------------------

@afictionaladventure16 @rae-is-typing @elles-writing @avengersarchive @avengersuniverse

[random-imagines-blog]

Holy Rivers {Jon Snow x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3117 Summary: You really don’t like the attention that your lover, Jon, has been getting from the Dragon Queen. You intend to make sure he knows that he’s yours. TW: Pretty much all smut below honestly. NSFW.

You always loved the sea, and a part of that was because your father, Davos Seaworth, was very much a man of it. It was even in your surname! But this had to be the gloomiest voyage that you had ever been a part of. Many of the people on these ships were heading for death. Hope of survival was slim in these days in any war, but one against the incoming dead? You stood on the bow of the ship, looking out at all that was ahead, trying only to see the good side of things. You had your father here, and he was still a good fellow to have during a fight despite his disfigurement. And you had your lover, Jon. And circling above the ship in the grey skies were two dragons, which was some pretty good arsenal in your opinion. 

Yes - you were sailing with Daenerys, and the weight of all of her other titles. She surprisingly liked you, admired your lack of servitude towards men, that you didn’t put up with any sexism, that you were even tougher than some of the men in your own army. That you refused to slink back and act like a helpless woman when things got tough. When she wasn���t demanding people bend the knee or going on her ten minute rant of all of the names that she had, she wasn’t all that bad. But she had done something tonight which had pinched a nerve in you, and made you think of her as an entitled brat - not for the last time either.

During dinner, which she had invited you two to have in her cabin, she had been giving Jon some looks. Now, she could definitely not say that she did not know about the two of you since you were always together. Just because there was no wedding doesn’t mean that you two weren’t practically married already. Everyone knew that - even your father, though he didn’t fully appreciate that you two hadn’t had the ceremony yet. And yet, she had rested her hand upon Jon’s arm, and probably more under the table that you could not see.

You kept your calm during dinner, keeping your eyes on the plate to avoid shooting dirty looks at the ‘Queen’. You didn’t trust anyone with that title these days. Cersei was bad enough. Now you had this to contend with up close and personal. After the meal, once you and Jon were back in your own shared cabin, you were really able to let loose with your thoughts.

“Yes, I’m grateful that she had brought her dragons to fight our cause, and yes, I think it’s great that she has a whole army of people who are obviously devoted to her but my god, do I have to lose you to her in order for us to have a chance to live another a couple of years?” You asked, pacing the floor with your arms crossed in front of you. Jon was sitting on the bed, undoing his boots, saying nothing. He’d learned the value of silence when it came to your anger since arguing back had disastrous consequences. “And you just let her!”

“What do you think I should have done then?” He asked when there was a lull between your words.

“Not look at her like you were going to pick up your fork and feed her!” You said, opening up the window just to have something to do with your hands. You were feeling hot, your blood boiling. “I know we are not wed and your life is still your own but I never want to see another woman put her hand on you like that.”

“Some might say that you’re jealous,” He said, attempting to hide a little smile but you had caught sight of it. It just made you feel all the more passionate about the situation.

“Jealous?” You asked, turning on him, your whole body standing over him now. “You think that I am jealous of that white-haired woman? I would not trade places with her for any ship in the sea. Jealous - as if.”

“She was just trying to be friendly, and gain our trust.” Jon insisted, looking at you, completely undaunted.

“Well, she lost some of mine,” You scowled. “Are you trying to make me seem like the bad guy here? Because if that’s really what you want, I can become that.”

“I don’t know if you can,” He said. His words had flipped a switch in your mind. You were angry before, but now - now you were downright possessive. You had to make sure that he knew that it was you who would be there for him, you who would fight at his side, you who would love him until death. With the war coming, the two of you had not wasted much time. The relationship had developed quickly, and feeling that your time was coming near, you’d been making the most of it. There was not an inch in this cabin that had not been explored by the two of you during sex, nor were the kitchens or the deck truly clean. It would make your father disgusted to know that ships had been used this way by you. But you didn’t care if he knew - you were in love.

“You really think,” You asked, hopping yourself on his lap, wrapping your legs around his abdomen while he sat up straight. “-that you’re going to be able to distract me from that with sex?”

“I don’t have another choice,” He said, leaning forward to press a kiss on your chin. “I can’t have you killing her before we fight the war.”

“I guess that’s a fair point,” You sighed, tangling your fingers up in the curls of his hair. It was a sweet spot for him, causing his eyes to close and a mouth come out of his slightly parted lips. It was a beautiful sight. You wouldn’t trade him for any ship in the world either.

The playing with his hair went on for another moment before you yanked your hand away, causing him to groan rather than moan. His eyes shot open and he looked at you pleadingly to continue but you tutted and shook your head. “I’m the bad guy, Snow, you’re not always going to get exactly what you want.”

You hopped back to your feet and turned your back towards him, knowing that it would only tease him more. You lifted your tunic up from over your head and let it land on the floor near him. Your back was exposed to him, and you knew how much he loved it. Many a night he had fallen asleep while running his fingers up and down your spine. You turned your head over your shoulder and blew him a kiss, your hair falling over your shoulders to cover whatever might have been in view.

You abandoned wearing dresses whenever you were on a ship. Such a little thing as tripping on one’s long skirts could easily mean death when you could fall overboard and into the freezing water of the Narrow Sea. As well, you were rather proactive in the upkeep of the ship, even ascending the nets to get to the Crows Nest and take a turn looking out for land. That sort of climbing was not something that you could do in a dress. So now, in front of Jon, you were attired only in your trousers, your stockings to keep the cool air out, and your shoes.

A benefit of being a part of the ship was the muscle tone that you had, that you were proud of. You could arm-wrestle with the best of them, even beating Tormund once. The same arm that you used untied the laces of your shoes so you could kick them off - always the least sexy of the undressing processes. But then you were at your trousers, tied up with a corset-like front with a strong knot. Your fingers worked nimbly with it, undoing it slightly, pulling the thin piece of rope out so that Jon could tell what you were doing.

“You’re not being bad, you’re just being a tease,” Jon said, leaning backwards, balancing himself on his elbows. He was taking in the show, though. He would be crazy not to be enjoying it. He longed to kiss your shoulders, work his way down your back, down down down until he reached where your pants lingered -

But those soon disappeared, much like the top that you had thrown away. You had taken the stockings with you, stepping out of them with care. Now you were nude in front of him, but still with your back towards him. His eyes took in the most prevalent thing he could see - your ass, which was just the perfect size for him. He never cared much for looks - not caring about the whores the way that Theon did. But you - you were blessed with both looks and a personality that he had fallen for so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash.

You ran your fingers through your own hair now, cocking one hip up and then another in a dance that seemed very much like it was Dornish in origin. You hummed a song that you recalled from one of the ports you had stopped in many moons ago when you were helping your father with smuggling, and danced to it. “I don’t think you’re much of a good guy yourself, Jon. Letting her touch you like that in front of me. Putting me into this rage just to get a reaction out of me. I think you deserve to be teased.”

“Is that how it’s going to be?” He asked. You turned to the side, still rotating your hips, back to humming, and nodded. “The Queen is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

You avoided looking at him, knowing that he had a smug expression on his face. He enjoyed testing you, getting your mood up. Things always got rather heated that way. You slowed your dance down to a tantalizing pace, spinning around so that he could see your full front, a scene that always took his breath away. “Do you want to say that again?” You asked. He shook his head quickly, eyes transfixed on your chest.

“Didn’t think so,” You said. You leaned forward, moving in closer and closer to him, before tugging violently at his trousers. He lost his balance due to the force that you used and fell back upon the bed. Good - that was a good place to have him. You undid those trousers and pushed them down over his feet until they fell on the floor beside yours. This room was infamous for having discarded clothing all over the place.

His cock sprung out, freed from the fabric cage that they had been locked into all day. It was already as hard as a rock. You teased him further by licking the tip, making him grab onto your shoulders. His hastily trimmed nails dug into the skin, leaving little pink crescent marks. You would be sure to return the favor later. You kissed the tip, then licked up and down the sides in the same painfully slow pace you had taken with your dancing.

“Do you think that the Queen would do this?” You asked, sucking about half of his cock down your throat. Now, he wasn’t a giant in that department, but he was a nice size. Still, you were able to get all the way down if you wanted to, but right now he didn’t deserve that. He moaned at that, but didn’t give you an answer. Instead he just squeezed you once more, lightly attempting to push you down but you didn’t budge. Your tongue played against his split, then licked the underside of his cock before you released, the cold air bringing goosebumps to his pelvic region after being in your warm mouth.

“You’re thinking about her way more than I am,” Jon said, raising his head up to look at you. You shook your head, resenting the idea of that. Before you could make another move, Jon grabbed onto you and pulled you onto the bed. He was strong, and able to move you like you were a child’s doll made of fabric and sheep’s wool. His face was now buried in between your legs, and he started to lick at you as if your pussy was the fountain of youth.

“You’re so focused on thinking about her face that you can’t even remember her name?” You asked, biting down on your lower lip to keep from squealing. His beard always ended up tickling you, making you squirm. You didn’t grab at his shoulders like he did, but rather, grabbed onto the sheets for support. Your head was so close to knocking against the headboard but that was the least of your concerns at this moment. He was sucking on your clit, bringing you to a high far more quickly than you had anticipated. You struggled against him, then raised your feet under him to push him off. He looked up at you, lips moist and glistening, caught your eye then rolled his.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” He said, looking exasperated. He tried to grab at you again so that he could return to his feast but you kicked him off of the bed, making him land on the floor. You smirked as he got up onto his feet, but that didn’t stay for very long. He picked you right up off of the bed before you could protest, slamming you down onto the desk, which was covered in maps and letters from ravens.

“I just think you liked the attention, Jon. Do you like her more than me? Do you think she’s better than me?” As you were asking these questions, you were trying to get off the desk. There were little figures on the map to help with strategy and they were digging into your bare back. As you flailed, Jon took the opportunity to step between your open legs and thrust his hard cock right into you. It was so quick that it hurt, causing an immediate discomfort but it slowly eased into pleasure. That didn’t mean, though, that you were done being irritated.

Jon held onto the back of your neck, forcing your head up to look at him as he thrust in and out, keeping eye contact the entire time. “Does it seem like I think she’s better than you?” He asked in disbelief.

“Can’t tell with you sometimes,” You muttered, pushing his hand away from you and leaned your head back against the wall. He instead grabbed onto your ankle and your thigh, keeping your legs spread as you struggled to find a way to keep yourself from being shaken too much. “Are you thinking of her right now?”

“I’m trying not to, but you keep bringing her up!” He growled. “Are you done with your jealous fit?”

You thought for a moment, which was hard because you could nearly feel yourself reaching a climax. You didn’t want to - that would mean that Jon won the argument. But you had a plan. Finally getting your arms underneath you, you pushed yourself up off of the desk, quite a few of the little figures sticking into your back but you didn’t care, and wrapped your arms around Jon’s shoulders. He was in a standing position while you were holding onto him like a reverse piggy back. Using your strength, you raised yourself up so only his tip was inside of you, then clenched your inner muscles to tease him all the more. Milk him.

“Almost,” You told him, resisting when he tried to drop you down little by little. “Who is your Queen?”

Jon froze entirely at that question. “What?”

“Not the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not the Queen of Slave-Freeing, none of that. Your Queen. Whisper it if you are afraid of treason, but if you do not give me the answer that I want, I’m walking out that door.”

Jon didn’t hesitate after that. “You are,” He said softly, whispering it into your ear. “My Queen.”

You released your hold on him, sinking down onto him until he was fully inside you. He carried you back to the bed, where instead of throwing each other around, you made what you would call love. However, you still felt the need to be in control of him. To make sure that you were the only one that he was thinking about during these pleasurable moments.

You went on top, straddling him, bouncing yourself up and down in a quick pace. That didn’t however, mean that he could slack off. He thrust upward to meet with your bounces, and his hand went to your clit where he started to rub it slowly at first, then picking up speed. Since he only had experience with one other woman before you, you had to teach him some things. The value of pleasure in that little bundle of nerves was lesson number one and oh how he had learned. His other hand went to your breast, holding it in place rather than letting it go up and down with you, your nipple getting caught between his thumb and his index finger.

You looked down at him throughout, keeping up the eye contact. “I love you, Jon Snow. My true King.”

“I love you, y/n,” He said in return. The words seemed to have a physical effect because before he could even warn you, he cum up inside of you, thrusting hard against his own control.

You rode him out, only slightly disappointed that you weren’t able to finish at the same time. After his moment of pleasure had past, and the sensitivity began did you roll off of him and lay down on the bed, sweaty and tired. “I take that back,” You groaned. “A King would be a gentleman and let their Queen finish.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon breathed, rolling over on his side to kiss your shoulder. “I’ll just make you finish twice next time.”

��Keep this up and there won’t be a next time.”

[ethelphantom]

perhaps the worst of timings and ideas (but I’ll still do it ‘cause I’ll do it with you)

Uh yeah I know this is day late but it’s still the prompt fill for day 22, wedding because well. It was meant to be a drabble but then seemed to decide that no, it wanted to be an actual, almost 3k oneshot. Maybe you’ll survive. The first almost 1,5k are just some people making Jon and Adrien’s life insufferable.

Ao3

______

So, perhaps they should have thought it through before all… this.

Whether that meant Marinette and Damian or Adrien and Jon, well, no one was sure.

If it was Marinette and Damian, then this would be about how much they regretted agreeing to help with the wedding, that they both promised to be the Best Woman and the Best Man of their respective best friends. The stress the organisation caused was endless, and that on top of their hero work and university was a lot to handle.

But, as it is, talking about how stressed someone is is rather boring, so no. Maybe we should talk about why Jon and Adrien regretted ever asking their best friends to do any of this instead. They should have just asked them to attend the wedding and perhaps do a short speech.

Not that they didn’t do the speeches anyway. Marinette simply didn’t make a short one and Damian, well, Jon was wishing he had explicitly told his best friend to just keep his mouth shut. To make matters worse, the two of them were doing the speech together, because how else.

“Dear everyone here, it’s certainly lovely to see you all here celebrating these two dumbasses who only took three years to ask each other out after mutual pining and our suffering. It’s certainly a little surprising that after seven years of telling them they actually like each other and goddamnit Adrien yes Jon is genuinely in love with you alright, now can you please propose to him so we’ll be done with your worries, we’re finally here at their wedding reception,” Marinette had said at the very beginning of their speech, earning groans from the happy just married couple and laughs from most of the audience. That, and a “moan all you want about how unfair this is, Adrien, but she’s right, we did have to suffer for years!” from Chloé, along with affirmative nods from Kagami who sat next to her.

Yeah, the only ones invited there who were from Paris were Chloé, Kagami, Marinette, Luka and Félix. Everyone else had at last announced out loud they weren’t friends a few years back, and neither Marinette or Adrien had looked back. Alya was definitely going to call them once she heard Lois Lane was at the wedding as well, but neither cared. It wasn’t like they were going to even answer to her.  

“I’m honoured Jon made the mistake of letting me speak at his and Adrien’s wedding,” was how Damian had started. At that point, Jon had already looked like he was ready to run away from his own wedding, or perhaps it would work better if he just threw Damian out.

Not that either of those actually happened.

“As my lovely girlfriend already said, we indeed had to spend years watching these two dance around each other before they even asked one another out. It took us less time to start dating, and we actually met through them — which reminds me, perhaps I should thank you, Jon. If you hadn’t tried to break through my window and hurt yourself at the process when you wanted to moan about how he brought his ‘cute girlfriend’ with him to the States, I might not have ever met the love of my life you at the time thought was dating her very much platonic best friend.”

Dick started laughing (“so that’s why little D asked us to replace his windows with something unbreakable while muttering something about idiot best friends from under his breath”) and couldn’t stop before Kagami threatened to drag him out by his ear to calm down. It was clear the happy couple wanted the Earth to swallow them alive, preferably right that second.

Then the two ended up giving yet another set of shovel talks to their respective best friends’ husbands, and perhaps the only reason they hadn’t been dragged off the stage and away from the microphones one and half minutes into it was probably the fact neither Jon or Adrien were capable of standing up from their embarrassment and both the Paris Crew and the Batfamily and Conner, Clark and Lois were having too much fun listening to it.

Well. If that wasn’t all, once they got out of the main hall they were using as the dining room, the wedding reception started to look more like a chaos than anything. Nothing bad happened, really, but it was bemusing and a little frustrating, the least to say.

One of the main halls was filled with fake rats, as a very confused Clark tried to explain to his son and son-in-law, and by saying “filled”, he really did mean filled — even Mar’i could only barely fit into the room what with all the stuffed toys in there. Dick was absolutely baffled as he dragged his baby brother (“I’m not your baby brother, you dick”, Jason had yelled as he was being pulled by his collar towards the toom) to help him empty the room.

There were supposed to be filled water glasses in the cafeteria area of the mansion ready to just be taken and drunk. Instead, over half of them were upside down — yet filled with water — along with a computer written note “Have fun cleaning up! Or, try to turn them around without spilling any water. Love you!”

Needless to say, the mess that followed was enormous. Adrien wanted to fling himself off a cliff or maybe a window, but Jon stopped him just in time.

Then there was the area just in front of most of the toilets. Filled with plastic cups full of water, all of them.

Adrien buried his head in his hands, resigning to his fate.

Once they did get to the toilets, some of the soaps were coated in dried clear nail polish. The only reason they figured it out was because Chloé was there and she was able to recognise it without missing a beat.

One of the smaller dining rooms was covered with rather embarrassing pictures of Adrien and Jon. Chloé, Luka, Dick and Tim were all immediately able to find some that they had taken in the past years. It threw Bruce completely off because then who was the culprit?

By then Jon was ready to follow Adrien to jump down from the highest room in the mansion.

Alfred sat them both down, gave them two glasses, a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolate and tissues.

Conner found out some of the caramel apples were replaced by caramel onions.

Neither Adrien or Jon were ever told about it to save them from more chaos.

No one knew who to blame for all of this.

By the time they got back to the main dining hall, two of the biggest tables were covered in post-it notes — and it seemed that all the leftover post-it notes had been attached to the windows lazily once the culprit got bored. Cass took one look at it before she turned around and simply left to breathe some fresh air, dragging Stephanie with her.

Turns out, that was rather impossible since all their jackets were taped to the ceiling — which was rather high up there — and only Kagami and Cass could really get them since everyone else that was a superhero or a vigilante had to play normal nothing-to-see-here to the few non-superheroes in the entire celebration.

And finally, in the very back cold room they found a gorgeous wedding cake — more beautiful and definitely bigger than any of them had ever seen — waiting, which Tim approached with high alert. It was suspicious as it was not supposed to be there, but well. It was a cake. Then again, considering everything else that had happened, it was still far too dangerous to go without being careful. There was a note attached to the wall next to it.

Sorry. Maybe this compensates for all the other stuff. No pranks this time, I swear. Just a delicious cake baked by yours truly. Your favourite flavours. Sorry again. We just needed a getaway plan. Love you, and Adrien, do not try to find us or you’ll find your apartment in less than perfect condition once you visit it again~

You two must be baffled by now, but I have to say I do not find myself too apologetic right now. You’ve caused us enough suffering in the past few years, this is merely a simple payback of equal value, is it not? Have a lovely rest of the evening, Jon. You may want to keep your husband from trying to race to wherever we may be in approximately ten seconds, and it would be preferable if you didn’t try to do so as well.

A beat.

Then, a confused whisper full of suspicion echoed in the dark room, “…where are Marinette and Damian?” It was soon followed by two loud, irritated and frustrated screams of “Marinette! Damian! Get back here!” which could be heard throughout the mansion they rented and the forest surrounding them.

⬷۵⤐

“Thanks Kaalki, here are some sugar cubes for you as thanks,” Marinette said smiling tiredly and yawned. Then her eyes landed on the flowers she had taken with her and she laughed.“I wonder how long it will take them before they realise I stole Adrien’s bouquet before he can throw it over his shoulder.”

Marinette leaned against her boyfriend and let him pick her up to carry her to the bedroom. It had been a stressful and tiring few weeks, and considering it was past midnight in Paris already, she decided that it was completely reasonable for them to go sleep already. Even if they had just spent the past two weeks in Gotham and Metropolis and her internal clock should correspond to theirs instead of Paris’.

They had first gone to The Seine to calm down and to breathe for a while. Damian had searched up the exact coordinates of their wanted location before simply taking the Miraculous from Marinette and transforming himself. There was no way he could have let his far too exhausted girlfriend to handle this — there was a good chance they’d end up in The Seine instead of next to it.

After that, Damian had transformed once more to take them to Adrien’s apartment, and the only reason they ended up in front of the building instead of inside it was because Marinette had insisted she wanted to open the door with the keys Adrien had given her the previous summer. Both could have bet he was regretting doing that more than anything right now, but that was fine.

Damian set her gently to the bed before helping her change into her pajamas so that they could just go to sleep. He had plans for the day that his best friend had almost ruined for him by deciding he wanted to get married the day before, and now that Damian had a chance to go through with his plans anyway, there was no way he was going to let his Angel exhaust herself even more. He needed her awake for the morning.

Once he was sure Marinette had fallen asleep, he took both their phones and simply turned them off, knowing that soon enough they would be blown up with messages and he would rather not have his Father or Drake to hack their phones to turn up the volume again. After all, there was a real chance they would do just that. Harder to do it to a phone that’s just simply off.

⬷۵⤐

“Good morning, habibti. I hope you slept well. I made breakfast, please dress and get to the kitchen,” Damian said, waking her up from her peaceful slumber. He kissed her forehead gently before turning around and leaving to give her some space.

Marinette buried her face to her pillow before smelling the amazing scent that came from the kitchen. Damnit. Now she really couldn’t just continue sleeping. Damn her boyfriend for being a sneaky bastard and making sure she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

So, Marinette opened one of the luggage, not really caring which one of them owned it, and took the first sweater she could find and pulled it over her head. Then she stood up and walked to the kitchen, following the wonderful scent in favour of ignoring the need to brush her teeth.

“Good morning, mon tresor,” she said, leaning against the door frame and watched her dear boyfriend cook them something to eat. Once he turned around, he simply stopped in his tracks, staring at her. “What is it? Did I dress up in something dirty?”

Damian shook his head and smiled at her. “No, it’s not that. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes,” he replied, taking a few strides across the room to get to her. He swept her up into his arms and squeezed her. “You’re too adorable for your own good,” he told her as blush crept to her cheeks.

When Damian finally returned her back to her feet, she pulled him down by his collar and pressed a kiss on his nose, only then letting him return to whatever it was he had been doing. Marinette rubbed her still sleepy eyes, yawning before she slumped on the chair closest to her. Burying her head to her arms, ready to fall asleep at the table again, she sighed happily as Damian reached out to comb her hair a little. It was nice and comforting. Well, up until he found a tangled area and had to use a little more force to untangle it. Marinette winced and stiffed, only relaxing when Damian kissed her head.

“I apologise, love. I did not mean to cause you pain,” he said, his hands never leaving her hair.

“It’s alright. Just, please, be more careful.”

“I will.”

Damian continued for a short while more before declaring he was done and went to get her a plate full of food. She sighed happily at the delicious smell of it all. Without thinking, Marinette put a forkful of the scrambled eggs in her mouth, only to then realise it was still hot. Damian laughed at her as he went to fetch her a glass of cold water.

As they ate, they talked about the previous day. Marinette wondered why she hadn’t gotten any messages from them — they should have realised she was a part of the scheming, unless they hadn’t found the cake — but then Damian told her it was because he had turned both their phones off. But, perhaps there weren’t that many messages from everyone waiting for them. Hopefully, anyway.

“Isn’t this our third anniversary already?” Marinette suddenly asked. Damian nodded.

“Yes. Isn’t it strange how time flies?”

“Yep, definitely. Especially since it feels like we’ve been together forever. I honestly cannot get over how a few years back I wanted to learn your name and now I’m having breakfast with you in your sweater,” Marinette said chuckling and leaned against her palm. She watched how he stared at her before digging something from his pocket.

Damian walked around to her and cleared his throat. “I understand the sentiment,” he said, playing with a strand of her hair. “Personally, I can not believe how miraculous it is I got the first date and even the first year, let alone these wonderful three years I’ve now had with you.”

Then he dropped on one knee and showed her what he had taken out of his pocket. A beautiful silver ring with a sapphire and a double halo. Marinette gasped and felt tears prickling in her eyes, all of the exhaustion gone from her. “So, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, habibti, my dearest angel, will you do me the honour and stay by my side until death do us part?”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” she breathed out and launched herself at her boyfriend — fiancé? —, tackling him to the ground as she embraced him.

Damian returned the embrace, squeezing her tight against his chest as she kissed his forehead, hair, eyes, nose, anything she could easily reach.

Her fiancé had a horrible sense of timing, but that was fine with her. So what if they ended up getting engaged the day after their best friends got married? They would live.

A few hours later, they finally turned their phones on to tell their families of their engagement. As they had guessed, they had hundreds of notifications, both worried and frustrated messages. And about three hundred missed calls each. Oops?

If they had hoped telling them of their engagement would have helped them calm down, they were horribly wrong.

The messages that followed that absolutely flooded their phones.

Maybe the akumas could wait a little until Adrien was less done with her, and the villains in the states could wait until Jon was ready to face Damian without wanting to launch him directly at the sun and his family was ready to not start a screaming match about him proposing to her somewhere they could not see it happen.

Perhaps they should stay away from all of them for the next few days… or weeks.

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

__________

@ladysblackcat​ @daminett4life​ @tinyterror333​ @annabellabrookes​ @7-sage-7​ @theyellowfeverexperience​ @thethirdwheelfriend​ @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @kris-pines04​ @daminette-december2019​ @bluerosette23​

[gxdsetmxnsters]

As quiet as a mouse...

Short Scriddler oneshot. Trying to get back into writing after several months of writer’s block. Apologies if any of this is OOC. It’s not set with any specific versions of the characters and isn’t apart of our AU either. It’s just a short standalone story.

Edward stiffened when he heard rustling from the plastic bag he’d set by the door hours earlier. Sitting up in bed, he rubbed his eyes and squinted before groping for his glasses. Putting them on didn’t do much for helping him see in the dark, at least not in night vision terms, but it did make a few objects in the room sharpen. The city lights from outside the window gave him just enough light to see the hazy outline of the door and dresser.

Frowning, Edward cocked his head and listened intently. No rustling, only the deep even breaths of the man still asleep beside him. Glancing down at Jonathan, Edward smiled. He was extremely lucky to be with someone like Jonathan even if they had their ups and downs, but then again, what couple didn’t? They made things work, and they were happy. That’s all that mattered.

Edward couldn’t believe how beautiful Jonathan was when he was asleep, though he’d never tell Jonathan. The man had a dislike of being called anything along the lines of “cute” or “beautiful” (calling him handsome was even pushing things some days). But in these quiet nights when Edward woke up in the middle of the night when Jonathan was still asleep... Well, he could call Jonathan anything he wanted then, at least to himself.

Taking his glasses off, Edward reaches over to put them on his nightstand, convinced that whatever sound had woken him up was just a figment of his imagination (or perhaps something he misheard) when it happened again. Pausing, he slowly replaced his glasses and slid out of bed, flinching slightly as his bare feet hit the cold wooden floor.

Shuffling over cautiously towards the noise, he froze when he saw something dart across the floor and under the dresser.

Oh hell no.

Edward silently prayed that whatever that’d been wasn’t what he thought it was. He’d lose it if a mouse had gotten into the apartment. There was no reason for one to be there. Edward made sure of that, always making sure the whole apartment was spotless from top to bottom (minus the basement since that was Jonathan’s lab and Edward was only allowed down there on very rare occasions).

Swallowing hard, he tiptoed over to the bag and swiftly picked it up. Peeking into it, he frowned before angling it closer to the window to get a better look. Upon seeing the contents of the bag easier, Edward made an indignant sound in the back of his throat.

The damn mouse had chewed a hole in the bottom of his to-go bag of curly fries.

The first insult was that there was a mouse in the apartment. The second one being it was eating his food. Granted, Edward probably shouldn’t have left food that should’ve gone in the refrigerator on the floor of the bedroom, but in his defense he’d gotten home late. He was exhausted and didn’t think much of it being a problem to leave the bag on the floor before flopping into bed and passing out.

Hesitantly, he reached into the bag and fished around for a fry, and cringed as he touched one. They were cold and stale now, and most certainly not safe to eat. A whole good bag of fries wasted all because of a mouse and his own exhausted laziness that caused them to get ruined in the first place.

Letting out a huff, Edward took a moment to glare at nothing in particular before he started to think about what he was going to do about this new rodent problem. They didn’t have any mouse traps in the apartment due to Edward’s now false assumption that they wouldn’t get mice, so that wasn’t an option. He could just leave things until the morning but the long he thought about a mouse hanging around the more nauseated he became. No, this had to be dealt with as soon as possible.

He considered the bag in his hands. The fries were ruined now, perhaps he could put them to use if the mouse was so intent on eating them.

Setting the bag back down on the floor, he situated it it rested on its side, ready to be hopefully reviving the mouse. He was going to catch this thing, even if it took the rest of the night. Edward glanced longingly at the bed, wishing he could allow himself to forget about the mouse and cuddle Jonathan under the warm blankets instead of sitting on the cold floor waiting for a mouse to fall into his makeshift trap. Alas, he was stuck on the floor until he caught the damn thing.

Sitting as still as he could, Edward waited patiently for the mouse to make another appearance. The minute stretched on and Edward once again found himself wondering if there even had been a mouse despite the evidence placed before him. He stiffened when he saw a small lump move across the floor.

There it was.

Holding his breath Edward watched the mouse scurry across the floor, growing ever closer to the open bag. Soon the rustling of the bag started up again and Edward lunged forward, intent of catching it. He cursed silently as he missed it, being too slow.

Relaxing again, Edward took up his position and waited for another chance. It took a several tries over the span of an hour before Edward caught the mouse, and when he had it successfully trapped in the bag, he celebrated silently. His back and ass hurt from sitting hunched over on the floor for so long, but now that the mouse was captured he could fall into the sweet comfort of the bed, and then sleep.

Standing up, he kept a tight grip on the bag before stretching. He felt the bag move and being curious, Edward opened it slightly, intending to get a peek at the nasty rodent that’d woken him up and tried to eat his food. That however proved to be a mistake.

Edward let out a shriek of surprise as the mouse launched itself towards the opening of the bag, and by proxy Edward’s face. Tripping backwards in surprise, Edward shrieked again as he felt the mouse run over his hand before it jumped to the ground and ran under the bed.

While Jonathan has slept though the rustling sounds, he most certainly woke up due to Edward’s shrieking. He bolted up and was half out of bed before he even processed himself doing so.

“What’reya yelling about?” Jonathan asked, his accent more pronounced than normal in his groggy state. “No point ‘n yelling to wake me up...”

“There’s a mouse!” Edward said shrilly, scrambling over to Jonathan, abandoning the bag of fries that’d spilled over the floor when he’d dropped it. “I woke up to hearing it and it was eating my food Jon, my food that I’d bought and paid for. It ate it!”

Jonathan rubbed his eyes and yawned before letting out a sigh. “So you screamed over a mouse? Honestly Edward, why didn’t you just leave it until the morning? Put the food away and left it at that, why was it on the floor to begin with?”

His voice regained its normalcy as he continued talking, being more awake now. He sat on the bed and turned on the lamp sitting on his bedside table that was stacked with books.

“Because!!” Edward said, blinking as the light assaulted his eyes. “It was a mouse Jon. A mouse! In the apartment! In our room and it was eating my food.”

“As you keep saying...” Jonathan reached over and picked his glasses up off the nightstand before putting them on. “Honestly Edward, it’s just a mouse. If anything it’s more afraid of you than you are of it, unless...” Hs quirked an eyebrow, leaving his comment open ended as he looked at Edward.

“It’s not just a mouse Jon!” Edward stared at Jonathan, why wasn’t he getting all worked up too?

“And I’m not afraid of it,” Edward hastily added. “It startled me, and I don’t want it in the apartment, that’s all. It’s a matter of cleanliness.”

Jonathan grunted and took his glasses off, setting them back on his nightstand before turning off the lamp and settling back down onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” Edward gawked at Jonathan.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Jonathan said, rolling over so he was facing away from Edward. “I suggest you do as well. There’s no point in losing sleep over it, and it’s probably not going to cause much more trouble tonight. We can decide what to do about it in the morning.”

“B-But... it’s a mouse...” Edward frowned.

“Come back to bed,” Jonathan said, “we’ll deal with the mouse in the morning, I promise.”

“But...”

“Edward,” Jonathan said sharply, causing Edward to flinch slightly before slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“Fine...” Edward pouted as he slunk back over to his side of the bed and laid down. In the morning, help kept telling himself. They’d deal with it in the morning.

[loekas]

Merry Christmas, @kittenharrington​! You asked for angst, smut, a happy ending, and to have it all seen through the eyes of a third party. Also asked for a bonded pair and a non-season 8 compliant au.  I present, a (long) oneshot that throws season 7 and 8 into the trash. It turned out more plot with a bit of smut than anything else, but I hope it still satisfies. Happy holidays!

A Dance of Ice and Fire

This place is fucking creepy. Trees aren’t supposed to listen and they should be watching even less. She’d even go as far to say they’re judging her. What gives these useless piles of kindle the right? The sea answers to no one. 

Yara scowls at the creepy face watching her with even creepier eyes. This isn’t her first time with a godswood, but damned if this isn’t the worst she’s ever been to. Just being here makes her skin crawl with the need to be back at sea.

How can her brother stand it? How can he enjoy it?

No, that’s unfair of her. Theon doesn’t enjoy being here. He did, once, but no longer. Now he fears the gods watching him. 

Now he comes here to pray. For forgiveness, for guidance, for scraps of peace. He prays and prays and prays. 

They’re Ironborn. The only god they should pray to is the Drowned. And they don’t pray to him as Theon prays to these trees. Theirs is not a god who grants peace.

The worst part is that his prayers are heard. The trees listen. They see. And they judge.

Coming here was a mistake. She thought being here without her little brother might help her understand what he sees in this place, but it’s only pissing her off.

Stupid magic trees.

She takes another drink of ale. When the sense of judgement grows, she glares at those bloody eyes. What, her drinking is a problem now? She wouldn’t even have come here without it. Only ale could have made this seem like a good idea.

Yara ignores the voice pointing out she’s mildly intoxicated at most. This is about the trees.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The sense of judgement remains the same. It pisses her off even more. The thing is mocking her by not caring about the insults she throws at it.

“You’re nothing but a useless pile of kindle and you will not be taking my brother. He’s Ironborn. He belongs to the sea. You’re just a pathetic replacement he clung to while on land. He’ll forget about you soon enough.”

Except he won’t. Her brother, who grew up on land. Who came home with all of their father’s weaknesses and none of his strength. Who spoke as a stranger. As a Northerner.

Yara used to believe the Starks treated her little brother worse than they treated cripple bitches. When Theon returned home, she amended that to the Starks treating him as a beloved pet. 

Now that she’s in Winterfell herself, now that she sees her brother’s tentative pride and growing confidence despite the anger and hatred thrown his way, now that she can see the love buried beneath the hurt…

Their father should have never allowed Theon to be taken here. Damn the consequences, Theon should have remained with his family. It would have saved him.

The Starks turned her brother into a wolf. A weak and foolish wolf, a wolf deformed before he ever fell into Bolton hands. But still a wolf.

Theon will never embrace the sea as he should.

He’ll never embrace the land either. Not as wolves should. Yara takes vicious pleasure in that. The Starks might have stolen her brother but they couldn’t erase the salt running through his veins. Despite their best efforts, Theon still feels the pull to the sea. Just not as strong as he should.

The Starks deserved the vengeance her brother wrecked upon them.

The sense of judgement grows.

“Go suck a festering cunt.”

With a final glare at those bloody eyes, Yara turns around and starts making her way back to the castle. She’s going to fuck off the first pair of willing tits she finds.

Before she can take more than twenty paces, the judgement disappears. Replaced by a sense of anticipation. Yara hesitates, wary at what could have caused this, but then she shakes it off. If the magic trees want to get their cunts wet, they can do so without her.

She’s about to resume her journey when she hears snow being disturbed. She’s taken refuge behind a tree before she even realises what she’s doing. When she does realise, she curses herself as viciously she’d do one of her men. Ironborn don’t hide and their queen least of all. If she weren’t surrounded by these damned trees, she never would have done so either. This place messes with her mind.

She’s about to step from behind the tree when the intruder comes into view. Jon Snow. He who warms their queen’s bed.

Well now. This changes things.

Yara leans against the tree and takes another drink as she observes the lucky bastard. She hasn’t seen much of him since arriving. King Snow is still recovering from his month long beauty sleep. And from having a close meeting with his own sword. When she first met him on Dragonstone, he moved like a damned ghost, eerily quiet wherever he went. Now, he’s all but limping through the snow. Announcing his presence for all to hear.

That isn’t the only unusual thing about him. Ignoring that he isn’t wearing his beloved cloak and armor, clothed for the indoors instead, the bastard king normally presents an image as determined as it is in control. 

There’s no trace of that control now. King Snow is wild eyed and moving as though he’s in the midst of battle. His swordhand is clenching and unclenching as though he longs to hold the blade hanging from his side. 

Yara wonders what caused the stoic bastard to act this way. He isn’t even examining his surroundings beyond a habitual glance, something she’s never witnessed from him before. Bastard is as paranoid as her brother is. Though unlike Theon, King Snow watches his surroundings with an air of danger, not one of terror. 

She supposes it’s a good thing the bastard isn’t alert as usual. This is a rare opportunity to see beyond the mask King Snow presents to the world. She isn’t about to waste that. 

She won’t hide from the bastard either. He’d see her, leaning against a tree and watching him without shame, if only he put in a little more effort.

He doesn’t put in the effort. Instead he halts in front of the heart of his gods, giving the fresh footsteps there no more than a brief glance before he lifts a gloved hand as though to touch the creepiest tree of them all.

He doesn’t touch it.

The sense of anticipation grows. The damned tree wants King Snow to touch it.

King Snow snatches his hand back as though burned. If he weren’t a Stark bastard she’d say he’s being sensible, but if there’s one thing her brother has taught her about wolves, it’s that tree magic runs through their veins. By all rights, King Snow should be ecstatic at the approval of his gods.

King Snow shivers violently instead. It isn’t from the cold. Then, the bastard king who refused to bow down to the Dragon Queen herself, bends the knee to his magic tree.

He prays.

Really, what does their queen see in him? The bastard has a pretty face, Yara will give him that, but that’s the only thing he has going for him.

Fine, it isn’t the only thing. King Snow appeared before the Dragon Queen with a plea for aid and nothing of value to offer in return. No supplies, no manpower. Not even fealty. One has to admire the sheer balls of that. At first, Yara assumed it to be bravery born from stupidity, but she was soon forced to admit that King Snow is no fool. 

She was forced to admit it because their queen kept him close whenever possible. Lady Daenerys refused to acknowledge the North as a free kingdom of course, but she was determined to win them over through love instead of fear. Which meant she often involved King Snow in discussions he had no business being present. King Snow rarely spoke up during those discussions unless prompted by their queen, but when he did speak, his insights were not those of a fool.

It revealed that his brazen request was a calculated risk. If Lady Daenerys were not as generous as she is, if she’d taken his head as she was well in the right to do, their queen would have turned the whole North against her. She’d be more than capable of conquering it of course, but it would cost the North a great deal. King Snow leveraged this fact, but he knew the argument would only have merit if their queen cared about the people she wished to rule. He knew he could have easily walked to his death. Knew he could have condemned his people to ruin.

He considered this to be an acceptable risk for what he stood to gain in turn. If the Dragon Queen ruled through terror, the North wouldn’t be able to stop her no matter what they did. But if the tales of her generosity were true, if she wished to be loved by her people instead of having them fear her, then the North’s plea might stand a chance at being heard.

King Snow didn’t swear fealty to their queen. But he all but stated that the North would gladly bend the knee to her should she save them. 

He all but stated he himself would swear fealty without hesitation if she were but to aid them. Not gain victory first, merely aid them. 

He was desperate. If it were up to him, a mere promise of aid would have been enough to make him swear fealty. The only reason he kept from doing so is because it would divide the North. Some would accept their king swearing allegiance to another. Others would not.

When their queen saw he was not a fool, it intrigued her further. Yara will admit to being jealous over the attention their queen grants this bastard. She and Lady Daenerys flirt on occasion, but it’s always been clear nothing will come of it. King Snow, on the other hand, managed to capture their queen’s attention as no one else has. Their queen didn’t allow her feelings to cloud her judgement, a fact Yara has nothing but respect for, but from the beginning it was clear that she wanted to fuck the lucky bastard.

And the bastard wanted to fuck her. He didn’t allow it to cloud his judgement either, not in a noticeable manner at least, but from the beginning, the tension between the two was hot enough to temper steel.

Nothing came out of it. Not at first. Queen Daenerys came here to reclaim the Iron Throne and she refused to let anything stand in the way of that. King Snow and the threat Beyond the Wall could wait until after she conquered King’s Landing.

It didn’t take long to conquer King’s Landing. Even ignoring their alliance with Dorne and the Reach, Queen Daenerys arrived with three dragons an army numbering in the tens of thousands. Not much can stand in the way of that. The only surprise was that Cersei was already dead by the time their queen took the Red Keep. Killed by her own brother. Even the Kingslayer couldn’t abide his sister’s plan to blow up the entire city with wildfire. Who would’ve thought the Lannister heir had a shred of decency left in him.

Who would’ve thought there was enough wildfire hidden throughout the city to even accomplish that madness. They knew there was some thanks to the Queen’s Hand, but even the dwarf hadn’t known the extent of it. 

Yara has never been more grateful for their queen’s regard for the common folk than she was after finding out that information. Hearing wildfire was hidden in the city, however little it might have been, made their queen decide to take the city without dragonfire. Her dragons still performed battle but they spewed no flames. Yara shudders when thinking of what would have happened had their queen decided otherwise.

After their queen took the Iron Throne, King Snow repeated his plea for aid. This time their queen didn’t refuse him out of hand. She agreed to go Beyond the Wall and assess the threat herself. And she’d go by dragon. None could worry over her safety then. 

She’d go after she finished stabilising her rule. And after she deposed of their cunt of an uncle. Euron had the luck of demons, somehow slipping away during the siege.

His luck didn’t last. Ships might be fast but dragons are faster. Wasn’t an easy hunt, the cunt took a great many down with him. But for all that the sea answers to no one, dragons can burn it as they do everything else.

She’ll never forget her coronation. The saltwater filling her lungs, the dark pulling her under. A pain so sweet no pleasure will ever compare to it.

What is dead may never die. Yara hadn’t understood just how true those words are until she died herself. Until she drowned. Until she became one with the sea instead of merely carrying part of it. 

What led her to these thoughts again? Right, King Snow. Still praying to his magic tree.

He prays as Theon does. With fervor born from desperation. With anguish. With a need to be heard.

The trees are listening with an intensity they’ve never shown for Theon. Further proof that these trees are the worst of cunts. How dare they prefer this bastard over a child of the sea.

Then again, perhaps it isn’t the wolf they prefer. Perhaps it’s the dragon in him. Yara will reluctantly admit that would be a valid reason for favoritism. Dragons are magnificent.

As though to emphasise this thought, the air is filled with the sound only dragons can make. It reminds her of sails being beaten by storm winds, but these sails aren’t being battered. They conquer the wind instead.

The gorgeous form of their queen’s green dragon appears, hovering in the air with wing beats that make storms sound feeble. Yara marvels at the wonder that is the fire made flesh. No matter how often she sees them, dragons remain breathtaking.

They remain terrifying. Every time she sees them, she’s reminded of how easy it would be for them to kill her. Those claws, those teeth. Those eyes alight with the fire they carry within. They could end her in a thousand different ways, each easier than the last. What is dead may never die, but dragons can burn even death itself.

She’s getting aroused. Dragons do that to her.

They don’t do the same to King Snow. He looks even more anguished than before. He doesn’t even lifts his head to watch the dragon. The dragon, who chose him as its rider. The disrespect is unbelievable. If she were in his place, she’d worship her dragon as it deserves to be worshipped.

Is that wrong of her? Ironborn don’t worship. They conquer, they take. They acknowledge strength, they respect the power their god holds. They even pray. But they don’t worship. Not like that.

They don’t ride dragons either. If that were to ever change, they can damn well change their way of worship as well. The Drowned God would understand. Or rather, he’d be able to do fuck all about it. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men.

The dragon lets out a hiss that makes her heart leap into her throat. Fuck, but that’s terrifying.

It’s glorious.

King Snow has the nerve to keep his eyes closed. Still not looking at the dragon who chose him. Yara sees his lips move but she fails to hear him over the thunder filling the air. 

The dragon lets out another thrilling hiss. Yara likes to imagine its telling King Snow to go piss himself. Then the glorious being takes its leave, flying up with breathtaking grace. It takes but a moment before those great wings carry it from view. Yara returns her gaze to King Snow and takes another drink.

She wonders what happened Beyond the Wall. She knows the general happenings of course, that tale spread in no time. After getting rid of Euron and estabilishing a firm enough hold on her realm, Queen Daenerys left King’s Landing with the King in the North and her three dragons.

She returned to King’s Landing without the bastard king and with her dragons numbering but two. One of who limping through the sky, its shoulder a ruin of broken scales and jagged flesh. Yara hadn’t seen the limping, the white dragon had recovered from that by the time she returned from the Iron Islands. But she saw the remnants of the wound. Saw where scales stronger than steel had been torn off.

King Snow’s tale of the dead stopped being humorous after that. It became even less so after Yara learned that the queen’s dragon gained its wound while in the sky. She saw those dragons during the siege of King’s Landing and the hunt on Euron both, saw how they dodged every projectile with ease. Saw how the white dragon was the most nimble of them all.

And it was torn from the sky. It would’ve been one thing if it had gotten injured while grounded, but to have an enemy capable of making dragons fall from the sky?

The lingering sweetness of her coronation was wiped away in an instant. King Snow was right, the dead are a threat to them all. He might have been smug about their sudden belief if he hadn’t been hovering on death’s door in Winterfell. Watched over by the third dragon, who claimed him as its rider at some point during that ill fated expedition. 

The dead made the Dragon Queen their enemy. Mention the dead in her presence and she’ll grow grim and determined. 

Mention the dead and her eyes blaze with the same fire as that of her dragons. Yara thought she knew how passionate their queen could be already, but the desire Lady Daenerys showed to reclaim her throne is nothing compared to the determination she shows now.

The dead will burn.

Yara won’t lie, their queen’s fire does all sorts of delicious things to her. It makes her believe, truly believe, they’ll turn the fuckers to ash. Quite the accomplishment on their queen’s part. An injured dragon isn’t good for morale. Her dragon might have recovered in full, but the memory remains.

The memory haunts their queen. She loves her dragons in a way she loves no other. Nearly losing one made her fear as she never has before. Or perhaps she did when her dragons were younger. When they were small and vulnerable.

They’re no longer vulnerable. They’re the most powerful beings in existence. Dragons can burn away death itself.

Death can snuff out their fire.

Lady Daenerys isn’t convinced they’ll be able to win. She puts up a good front, but there are times her doubt is visible. Never when it matters most, never when they need her to be strong. But the doubt is there.

Yara still believes they’ll turn the fuckers to ash. The doubt their queen shows doesn’t negate her determination. If anything, it makes it burn even brighter. 

Her attention is drawn back to King Snow when he lets out a harsh breath. He looks as though he’s readying for battle. A moment later, she hears snow being disturbed. King Snow addresses the person without turning around.

“Dany.”

Yara stiffens. She hurriedly moves further out of sight when her queen steps into view, remembering just in time to keep her movements quiet. 

Her queen’s stride is calm, her back is straight, and her hands are clasped in front of her. She’s confident as she is when preparing to parley with a new lord.

Yara needs to speak up. It’s one thing to spy on King Snow, something else entirely to do so on the queen she swore fealty to. 

No, she shouldn’t speak up. That would reveal she’s been spying on the queen’s lover in the first place. Lady Daenerys wouldn’t be pleased with that. So how to leave without drawing attention? The tree hides her well, but no other cover is near enough that she can leave without being seen.

While Yara considers the best course of action to take, King Snow gets to his feet and turns around to face their queen. He looks as though he’s about to go on the offensive. Not something she’s seen from him before. King Snow has always been aware of the difference in power between himself and the Mother of Dragons, and he acted accordingly from the start. Even when he first arrived with his brazen request, he was careful to treat her with the respect she deserves.

Lady Daenerys isn’t acting as she should either. She’s confident and composed, looking every part the Dragon Queen. No trace of the woman within is allowed to be seen. Even in public, she’s long since stopped treating King Snow this way. And the two believe themselves to be alone.

They’re having a quarrel. Yara is torn. Her curiosity is a living thing, demanding she remain and discover what this is about. But no, she can’t. Spying on a royal love spat won’t go by without punishment.

She’ll take her leave as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

“You’re hurting Rhaegal.”

Their queen delivers the words without a trace of disapproval. Revealing that whatever this argument is about, it’s coming from the bastard’s side, not hers. Their queen is protective of her dragons as she is of few others. Which says great deal.

King Snow confirms that the argument is coming from him.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

The words are harsh and biting. The wolf showing his teeth.

A wolf stands no chance against a dragon.

“You didn’t seem to mind before.”

There’s still no trace of anger or frustration, yet their queen’s voice contains a bite of her own. Warning the bastard that he’s on thin ice.

The bastard ignores the warning.

“My apologies for not fulfilling your every wish, Your Grace.”

That hits home as the previous jab didn’t, their queen’s composure broken by frustration.

“Stop pushing me away!”

Yara startles before she can help it. She’s never heard her queen raise her voice like this. Even when delivering judgement or grand speeches, even when faced with the worst of cunts, their queen remains in control of her temper. Yara knew this couldn’t be the case in private, but it’s one thing to know, another thing entirely to see.

Lady Daenerys is no longer clasping her hands together. They’re balled fists at her sides, before they’re a hard grip on a shapely hip and a frustrated hand being run through the most beautiful of hair. She’s as fearsome as she is stunning. Aside from her nose. Her nose is scrunched up in an adorable manner. 

She should not be thinking about her queen’s nose at a time like this. 

King Snow grimaces and turns his head to the side. For a moment Yara worries he’ll spot her, but the bastard remains oblivious. Too consumed by anger. Or perhaps by guilt? While the anger is most prominent, the guilt is not insignificant.

What could cause King Snow to push their queen away? The two have been all over each other ever since he woke up. The fealty issue has been resolved by a royal bethrothal. And yes, it’s true that all the Starks have been acting as prickly wolves for the past days, but Yara had assumed their queen wasn’t involved in whatever is going on. Or rather, she assumed that Lady Daenerys was involved as queen only, not as the bastard’s lover. Apparently she was wrong. 

Looking back, she should have realised that already. Ever since the trouble began, their queen hasn’t been seen taking walks with her lover. King Snow is still recovering from his injury, remaining out of sight much of the time, but those walks are a daily occurrence. Or they were.

“I need to work through this on my own, Dany.”

King Snow’s voice is kept steady with great effort. The closest thing to a plea the bastard is currently capable of, Yara supposes. He still looks furious.

So does their queen.

“Because you’re handling this so well.”

The sarcasm is another thing Yara has only caught glimpses of before. Their queen understands the power words hold.

King Snow glares. Yara briefly tenses when he takes hold of his blade but he isn’t holding it with his swordhand. The gesture isn’t a warning or a threat. Just a way to steady himself. Their queen is aware of this as well, for she gives no reaction to her lover holding the pommel of his blade. Instead she meets King Snow’s glare with a burning one of her own.

When King Snow speaks, he’s all but snarling.

“This doesn’t involve you.”

“I beg to differ. He was my brother.”

Yara doesn’t get a chance to untangle that piece of information before King Snow snaps.

“I don’t care about that! I care about the lie, the one I’ve been told my entire life! Everything I knew, my father, my family, my damned name. All of it is a lie!”

Once again, Yara is offered no chance to work through the information. Because King Snow’s blade bursts into flames. Yara is moving forward before she realises what she’s doing and the bastard is cursing as he hurriedly lifts his blade, the sheath burned away by blue flames. Their queen is racing forward as well, hurriedly patting the bastard’s leg. His leggings have caught on fire.

Neither of them are in pain. Yara stops moving, her heart still racing like mad. Then she realises she’s no longer hidden and she quickly returns to her previous position. She remembers that she was to take her leave as soon as she could.

This would be the perfect time to leave. Lady Daenerys and her lover are both so distracted by the flames they didn’t even see her. She should leave.

She doesn’t. She should, she really should, but King Snow’s blade is alight with blue fire. And neither he nor their queen are hurt by it.

The Ironborn carry the sea with them. Magic runs through their veins.

Their magic is nothing compared to the magic of dragons.

Lady Daenerys puts out the last of the blue licking over King Snow’s leggings. Her gloves have been burned away but her skin shows no sign of that. Neither does the bastard’s leg, visible through the ruined cloth. Their queen’s magic comes as no surprise, she’s called the Unburnt for a reason. But the bastard should have burned.

He didn’t.

Lady Daenerys lifts her head and meets King Snow’s gaze.

She laughs, a bright sound that will never cease to be surprising. The Dragon Queen is power incarnate. She’s so beautiful it’s sometimes hard to gaze upon her. Yet when she laughs, she sounds like a girl. Like a mortal woman instead of the dragon she is.

King Snow watches their queen as though he finds her laughter to be just as mesmerising. Gone is his anger, replaced by a helpless smile. By a look as warm as the fire still dancing over his blade.

Except that fire isn’t warm. Even at this distance Yara can feel the cold bite into her, far stronger than what it was before. Radiating from those vivid blue flames. 

When their queen’s laughter fades, King Snow looks at his still burning blade. Freezing blade?

“So that’s how you do it.”

He sounds awed. 

“Does it always feels so…”

“So freeing.”

Their queen follows the statement by grasping the pommel as well, her hand covering the bastard’s own. 

Bright red joins the blue, dancing together in a breathtaking display. The cold is joined by searing heat. The sight of the more familiar colors allows Yara to understand just she’s seeing.

She’s seeing dragonfire.

“Is it so wrong to be a dragon?”

It’s the uncertainty, the near fear, that draws her attention back to their queen.

Lady Daenerys looks vulnerable as she never has.

“No.”

King Snow lowers the flaming blade so the tip is resting on the ground, snow around it burned away. His other hand gently strokes their queen’s cheek. Their queen leans into his touch as though she’s been hungering for it for an age and more.

“It isn’t wrong at all. I still love you and Rhaegal. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

A question Yara would like answered as well. The more she hears, the greater her confusion. This argument seems to be about the bastard’s Targaryen heritage, yet King Snow has been awake for over a month now. He’s known about his heritage for just as long. Being chosen by a dragon left no doubt over the blood he carries. He didn’t seem to have a problem with his mother’s lineage before.

What changed?

King Snow looks conflicted. When he speaks, the words are near inaudible.

“I’ve been a bastard my entire life.”

He sounds broken.

He sounds like Theon.

“He treated me like that. My entire life he treated me like that. And he wasn’t even my father.”

The pieces fall into place. Oh. Oh, that pus eating son of a bitch. 

Yara doesn’t know whether she’s impressed or offended. Her entire life she’s heard tales of the honorable Ned Stark. Heard how his honor made him act like a fool, how his inability to lie would one day lead to his downfall.

Turns out he was the greatest liar of them all.

“He hurt you.”

Their queen’s voice is soft. Her expression is even softer. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me he did it to protect me?”

It’s a plea, yet the bastard looks as though he fears having it answered. 

Lady Daenerys shakes her head, her expression even softer than before.

“That doesn’t matter. He hurt you.”

She lifts both her hands, her dragonfire disappearing as she lets go of the blade. She cups her lover’s cheeks.

“You have a right to be angry with him, Jon.”

King Snow’s breaks. He throws his blade aside, blue flames gone as fast as they appeared, but the bastard doesn’t care about that.

What he cares about is kissing their queen as though he’s a drowning man who’s just found salvation.

Their queen kisses him back just as fiercely. The bastard was the one to close the distance between them, but she’s the one pulling him even closer. Holding him as though she never intends to let go of him.

Yara would give anything to be in the bastard’s place. Even more so when their queen lifts a shapely leg and hooks it around his to pull the lucky bastard even closer.

The lucky bastard lets out a pained sound. Their queen immediately lowers her leg and takes a step back, worried eyes locked onto her lover’s chest.

“Are you all right?”

The demand is filled with worry. 

The bastard grins as she’s never seen from him before. Gone is the anger and despair. Instead he looks what she can only call boyish.

“I believe I require a closer examination before I can answer that.”

Their queen laughs. It inspires sharp envy. Yara wishes she could make their queen laugh like that.

“I fear I’m a little overdressed for that.”

The quip is as mischievous as their queen’s smile. Yara has witnessed that sense of humor before, but never like this.

She’s never seen her queen look so carefree.

Lady Daenerys takes another step back and spreads her arms with invitation.

“Will you help me put on a more appropriate outfit?”

“Putting on clothes is not what I had in mind.”

The words are teasing but the look the bastard is wearing is anything but. He looks at their queen as a wolf looks at its next prey. Yet when he closes the distance and starts unbuttoning their queen’s coat, his touch is gentle and revenant. 

The fur coat slips off startlingly delicate shoulders. Yara is abruptly hit by what she’s about to witness.

She needs to leave. Now. She’s overheard things she never should have, things that could easily see her head placed on a spike. If she stays for this as well and Lady Daenerys finds out, she has no doubt that her queen will show her just why her words are Fire and Blood.

Her feet refuse to obey. She can’t move. Not when her queen’s is being undressed. Revealing pale skin she’s been dreaming of for so long. Lady Daenerys wore wonderfully revealing garments when they first met, but since coming to Westeros, she’s been covered from head to toe. In the North, she wears even thicker garments, lush furs hiding the beauty beneath.

That beauty is now being revealed. Smooth skin broken by faint blemishes. Yara wishes to trace those blemishes with her tongue. Her queen is so strong, yet when unclothed, she gives off the illusion of frailty.

How can such power be contained in a body so delicate?

When her queen’s breasts are bared, Yara hears herself gasp softly. Her preference has always gone to women with tits big enough to drown in, yet seeing those small globes makes her hands itch with the need to hold them. To caress them.

The bastard lowers his head and kisses those perfect breasts. The urge to bash in his head and take his place grows stronger. 

Lips she longs to feel on her own part in a silent gasp, her queen’s eyes alight with desire. She’s never looked more stunning.

The lucky bastard bends the knee. The meaning that holds briefly captures her attention but then he starts revealing her queen’s legs and everything else ceases to matter. Her queen is startlingly delicate in so many ways, but her legs are firm and strong. Revealing to all just why she’s able to ride her dragon so well.

Yara would give anything to have her queen ride her.

“Dany.”

Her queen’s name leaves the bastard’s lips like a prayer, but he looks at her as though he’s about to devour her. A moment later he does, his lips finding the place Yara longs to taste herself. 

Her queen cries out in a way that will haunt her forever, her hands tugging the bastard’s head even closer and her leg thrown over his shoulder to give him better access. The bastard’s arm holds her steady as she rides his tongue.

Yara realises her hand has slipped down her trousers. With the greatest of efforts, she stops touching herself, gripping the tree instead so the wrongness of it will make her hands stay put. Touching herself would be a step too far. It’s bad enough that she can’t bring herself to leave. She should, oh, she needs to leave.

She can’t. Not when her queen is lost to pleasure, when her body is moving in the most mesmerising of ways. When it’s impossible to think beyond the need to find out what she tastes like.

Without warning, her queen lets out a commanding sound and pulls the bastard’s head back.

The bastard looks drunk on desire, his chin glistening with her queen’s juices. Yara genuinely wants to murder him.

If he were gone, her queen’s bed would be open once more.

“I want to feel you inside me.”

A strangled sound escapes her. The only reason it isn’t overheard is because the bastard lets out a groan of his own. He gets to his feet and her queen wastes no time in undressing him. Yet despite her haste, her movements remain gentle. Treating the bastard as though he’s precious.

Would she do the same if it were her? Would her queen touch her with the same care and passion? Would she look upon her as though she’s achingly beautiful?

Would her queen love her this sweetly?

It’s only when her queen’s passion is dampened by concern that Yara looks over the bastard. 

Her queen is looking at the ruined flesh that forms her lover’s midriff. The place where she ran him through with his own sword. A delicate hand comes up and traces the still healing wound with aching tenderness.

The bastard takes hold of that hand and places a gentle kiss on her palm.

“You saved me, Dany.”

And Yara is wondering how in the seven hells her queen managed that. Seeing the sheer size of the wound makes clear that the bastard should have died. It spreads across his entire right side, it drowns out every other scar he has.

It turns the tale of what happened to him real as it wasn’t before. Beyond the Wall, King Snow was stabbed through by a spear infused with the magic of the dead. It should have killed him.

Lady Daenerys saved him by having her dragon heat up her lover’s Valyrian steel blade, before stabbing it through the wound and burning out the magic of the dead. 

Her lover nearly lost his life anyway.

“Your brother saved you.”

Yara grimaces. She does not need to be reminded of that damned tree whisperer. Kills the mood like nothing else.

“He is your brother, Jon.”

Yara realises the bastard is grimacing as well. He opens his mouth as though to argue but their queen continues speaking before he can.

“You were raised together. You share the same blood. You love each other. He’s your brother in all the ways that matter.”

For a moment, it seems as though King Snow will continue arguing. Then he lets out a sigh of defeat.

“Bran isn’t who I want to be talking about right now.”

“Then what do you wish to talk about?”

The question is teasing. Turning away from the returning tension in favor of more pleasurable matters. King Snow responds with another boyish grin.

“How to best make you sing with pleasure.”

Yara is offended by how good a line that is. 

The line is ruined by King Snow turning his head to the side so he can sneeze. Yara would take more satisfaction in that if their queen didn’t respond with a chuckle, her expression warm as she twines her arms around her lover’s neck.

“Here I thought wolves weren’t bothered by the cold.”

Unlike dragons. Their queen wears furs when in the North, but she does so to put the people at ease. The Dragon Queen is as untouched by cold as she is by heat.

King Snow gains a faint smile but he doesn’t speak. Instead he kisses their queen as though she’s the most precious thing in existence. As though he doesn’t understand why she chose him but will forever be grateful that she did.

He doesn’t deserve their queen’s love. Yara should be glad he understands that much at least, but the only thing she feels is resentment.

The only thing she feels is longing. Her queen is looking at the bastard as though he’s more dear to her than any other. She keeps looking at him like that as she finishes undressing him and guides him down the coat spread across the snow. Even when she takes him inside her, she keeps looking at him like that. Part of Yara is overcome by arousal once more. Those rolling hips, those parted lips. Those eyes alight with desire.

At the same time, there’s a discomfort that wasn’t there before. She isn’t witnessing a random fuck. This is something far more intimate. Something she shouldn’t be privy to.

Yara finally manages to take her leave. There are so many feelings running through her she fails to name them all.

She realises not all those feelings belong to her. The excitement, the satisfaction. Those belong to the trees. Unlike her, they don’t feel the need to mind their own business.

Stupid magic trees.

Yara hasn’t gotten far before she hears her queen cry out ever so sweetly, the sound carried far further than it should. It’s joined by the sound of the bastard finding his own release. A snide part of her points out she’d be able to pleasure their queen far longer than this pathetic display, but most of her feels a strange sort of grief.

Her queen loves Jon Snow. Yara still doesn’t understand why but she cannot deny the truth.

Lady Daenerys will never love her as she loves her wolf.

Yara ruthlessly smothers what she refuses to call hartbreak. It never would have worked out between them anyway. The sea is no place for a dragon. 

Drinking the last of her ale, she straightens her back and leaves the godswood.

She tenses when she spots the massive beast that is King Snow’s direwolf, guarding the entrance. It watches her with lazy attention.

King Snow will know she was spying on him. What the beast knows, the bastard knows. Which means Lady Daenerys will be informed of her presence as well.

This will lead to dangerous waters. The kind she’ll need to navigate with care if she wishes to keep her head. But that’s a worry for later. For now, she gives the beast a sharp smile. Their queen might love a wolf but Yara refuses to do the same. She’ll respect their strength but no more. And she’ll respect their strength only when on land.

Throw a wolf into the sea and it drowns.

Eyes as bloody as those of a heart tree grow more alert. Watching her with a consideration the beast was lacking before. Good.

Wolves should fear the sea.

Satisfied, she saunters towards the castle.

It’s time to fuck off the first pair of willing tits she finds.

[vydante]

Masterlist 💫

Peter Parker - Spiderman 💫

(Oneshot) Sleepover: You and Peter decide it’s time to have your own time together after being apart for so long, so what could go wrong with a simple sleepover?

(Oneshot) Better This Way (NSFW): You were a bad influence on Peter. No what ifs, no buts, it was just the simple truth and you both knew it. But there was something about you that always drew Peter back into your arms, and one day it was going to kill him.

(Imagine) Imagine Peter Sending You Straight To Voicemail

Tony Stark - Iron Man 💫

(Oneshot) Wasn’t Meant To Be (Endgame): The world may have moved on from the snap, but you haven’t. And you’re scared that you never will.

Steve Rogers - Captain America 💫

(Oneshot) 1-800-Call-Me: As a member of S.H.I.E.L.D., you knew you were going to run across at least one Avenger during your work. You just didn’t expect to meet one and get their number all in the same day.

(Short) I’ll Be Your Baby, On A Sunday: Steve pines while the object of his affections (you) remain ultimately clueless to it. Bucky unfortunately has to witness it all. 

(Short) I Pick My Poison (And It’s You): Steve pines 2.0. You are still clueless. 

Natasha Romanoff - Black Widow 💫

(Oneshot) Trust Me (Endgame): There was no way around it. It was either you or Natasha. She didn’t want you to go, and obviously, you didn’t want her to go either. You knew she was as hard-headed as you, so you came up with a plan to get the soul stone, even if you had to lie to Natasha about it.

(Oneshot) Tell Your Baby That I’m Your Baby: Sometimes, Natasha dreams of a man in the shadows. 

Thor Odinson - God Of Thunder 💫

(Oneshot) Love From The Past (Endgame):  Thor, for lack of a better word, hasn’t been handling the past few years well ever since the universe lost to Thanos, his brother Loki, a huge chunk of his Asgardian citizens... And you, his lover. But after 5 years of mourning, he finally gets the chance to see you, even if it was mildly unconventional.

James “Bucky” Barnes - Winter Soldier 💫

(Oneshot) On The Clock!: James is bothered by the fact that he doesn’t know why you’ve got a problem with him. He’s also bothered by the fact that he cares enough to want to know why.

Random💫

Avengers Random Prompts

Disco Dust

Series 💫

Restart Masterlist (Completed/ Discontinued): Dr. Strange said there was only one possibility of winning the battle against Thanos. But when (Name) is forced into the past and into his younger body, he’s suddenly given the chance to start over and prevent the future from happening again. So which route are you going to take? Are you going to risk the future and take preventative measures, or live life with the Avengers for the next 4 years, knowing what will soon come? 

DC Comics 💫

Random Prompts, including Bruce Wayne (Batman), Damien Wayne (Robin), Jon Kent (Superboy), Clark Kent (Superman), Dick Grayson (Nightwing), and Diana Prince (Wonder Woman).

Misc. 💫

Raw Quotes Prompts List

[ladyalice101]

Author Interview

thanks @orangeflavoryawp and @amymel86 <3 

Name: ladyalice101

Fandoms: GoT (specifically Jonsa) is my main one atm, but I’ve written for Timeless, the 100, Star Wars (the sequels), and on ff.net i wrote for percy jackson and suite life on deck (my first fandom 10 years ago lol) 

Where You Post: AO3, tumblr, and previously on ff.net. 

Most Popular One-Shot: ‘that last kiss, i'll cherish (until we meet again)’ by every conceivable measurement 

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: ‘victory is in my veins (oh ye of so little faith)’ also by every conceivable measurement 

Favorite Story You Wrote: um um um um, can i say every story? idk, i love every story, otherwise i wouldn’t spend so much time with them you know? 

but i loved the finished product of ‘your lips, my biggest weakness’ for Timeless. 

haha i just scrolled through my ao3, trying to pick one, and i was like “ooh that was good” “i love that one too” “oh man i loved THAT one too” 

Story You Were Nervous to Post: my first jonsa fic, ‘my love, you have found peace (i hope relief is yours)’. i’d already been posting fic for six or so years, and i’d been generally confident bc i was young and naive and writing fic was still fairly niche - or, at least, not so popular. but got was by far the biggest fandom i’d ever posted in, and at that point s7 had just aired or was still airing and so shipping was ... crazy. but nothing bad happened, and so i posted one more ... and the rest is history! 

How You Choose Your Titles: hahaha i have a notes doc on my phone that is literally just song lyrics that i hear and love and think would fit well with a fic, and so when i finished a fic i scroll the list and find one that i think fits with the theme of the fic (even if i end up being the only one who can see the tenuous relationship) 

Do You Outline: not for oneshots! well, usually. usually i see scenes that have only a vague connection to each other, which i write out and then have to figure out how to make into a solid story. so not really outlines, but kind of outlines, bc i don’t write in a linear way. 

and for multi-chaps i absolutely outline. i learnt that lesson when i was younger haha 

Complete: on ao3, 32. 

In Progress: on ao3, 2. in my wips folder on my desktop? like. 17 million haha 

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: ok ok, i hesitate to  tease anything bc who knows what inspiration will strike when BUT here a couple from a notes doc that i really want to write: 

- canon divergent where robb lives but is imprisoned by the frey’s, and no one knows he’s alive. the story picks up directly at the end of s6, after jon has become king, and edmure tully tells jon and sansa that robb is alive. i really want to write this, but it’s going to be a MASSIVE undertaking, bc it will go through all the end of the series but with robb alive so there is just so much to plan. 

- canon divergent where jon and sansa get married between s6 and s7 after the parentage reveal to keep the peace in the north. again, a massive undertaking, bc it goes through 7-8 with an arranged marriage, so heaps of burgeoning feelings between jonsa but also more long night, more conflict with d.ny and cersei. 

- i’ve started writing a dark and possessive jonsa set in 8x01 but where they’ve been fucking for ages and sansa’s hella mad bc he bedded d.ny 

- i have a summary written for this one (but not a single line of fic) which pretty much sums it up: in which death makes jon confuse the present with the future and he keeps seeing sansa naked under his touch in winterfell, even though they’re still campaigning through the north 

- summary for this too, but with no fic: sansa never imagined her wedding day quite like this. wearing the white wedding dress, sure, but certainly not wearing it while sitting on a man’s face. and certainly not sitting on the face of a man who is not the man she just married

- a cracky post-canon in which the northern lords propose sansa marry her cousin, meaning robin arryn, but she thinks they mean jon. 

- post canon sansa finds jon north of the wall and can’t bring herself to back to winterfell and so stays with him 

- a baby driver au (ish?) with reluctant criminal jon and his saviour sansa 

feel free to tell me which you want to see first? 

Do You Accept Prompts: yes! i actually haven’t really done any for jonsa, but anyone is more than welcome to at any time. 

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Honestly none? Like when inspiration strikes, it’s strikes, ya know

tagging: @zarahjoyce @asongforjonsa @sunbeamsandmoonrays @esther-dot @alienor-woods

[softeddiek]

Political Campaign au

after debating whether or not to finish it all and post it as a oneshot, or post it as four separate chapters, i finally decided to just put the first chapter up, lol

fic to go with this gendrya photoset

read on ao3

August

It’s nearing 3pm, the sun is beating down on her neck, and Arya is ready to finish for the day and head home.

When she had agreed to help out with Margaery’s campaign (or rather, when Sansa had hounded her into helping) she had hoped she wouldn’t have to spend every weekend canvassing, maybe spend some time hitting the phones instead. At least then when people were yelling obscenities at you and questioning how you got their phone number (public record people) it was done in the cool, albeit a bit stale, air conditioning of the office Margaery was renting out. She would admit though, the app that Margaery and her campaign team insisted on them using to keep track of houses they’d stopped at was a lot more efficient than the paper and clipboards they had used for Robb’s last campaign.

Normally she wouldn’t mind canvassing too much. Sure, people could be rude and, sometimes, downright hostile. But, despite all of her grumbling, Arya really believed in Margaery as a candidate and was always pleased to be met with a constituent eager to learn more about her and her platform. Still, Arya had had a long week at work and the last thing she wanted to do today was get up at 8am, drive over to the already hectic office, and be sent out to some neighborhood she wasn’t familiar with in order to convince people that they really ought to be thinking about the midterm election three months from now. Not when she could be home relaxing and catching up on chores around the house.

So, when she looks at her phone and sees she only has one house left on the map to hit before she can head back to where she parked her car, she sends a silent prayer of thanks to the Old Gods. Hoping it’ll be an easy one—older, same party affiliation as Margaery, frequent voter—she clicks on the voter profile.

Gendry Waters (I)

Male, 33 y/o

1712 NW Fleabottom Rd.

No voter history available

She finds herself letting out a sigh at the Independent mark by his name, and yet another one at seeing the man has never voted before.

Margaery’s primary had been a closed one, so only registered members of their party could vote in it. She had easily beaten Albar Royce and her team had immediately gone into overdrive so as to win the general election against that shithead, Joffrey Lannister. She now needed to shift some of her focus to constituents who were registered with the main opposing party, fringe parties, and Independents. Arya had nothing against Independents, per say, she just hated trying to convince them to vote for someone running under a major party. They were just as likely to swing to the other party as they were hers and, with no voter history to look at, this guy could easily be supporting Lannister already. It was never any fun trying to talk to someone, only to realize they were a Lannister supporter, none-to-eager to have you on their doorstep.

Seeing Mr. Waters’ house is only one house over from the one she had just stopped at and gotten no answer from (though she was positive she heard the sound of the tv coming from the inside of the house), she wipes the sweat off her brow, plasters on a smile, and makes her way toward it.

The house is buttery yellow in color, the shutters a sun-bleached red, and the grass is what her mom would describe as ‘a few days past in need of a mowing.’ It’s a cute house really, if looking a little bit like the owner doesn’t have time for the upkeep. Arya isn’t really one to talk though; her job at the local state park keeps her busy and she often finds herself putting off household chores. There’s an old Chevy parked in the driveway so it’s safe to say the owner is home. Whether he’ll actually open the door to her or not is a whole other story. She doesn’t see any Lannister signs in the yard, so at least he doesn’t seem to be a fervent supporter of the opposition.

She’s got the thought of sitting in her car with the AC on high on her mind as she reaches forward and raps twice on the door, taking one step back so as not to crowd the guy. She’s counting the seconds in her head, debating on whether talking to him is worth another knock (Margaery has three months before the election, someone is bound to have to visit this house again if she marks it as a ‘Not Home’) when she hears a muffled voice call out.

“Hang on a second.”

Holding in her groan, she begins rehearsing the script in her head and rifling through the pamphlets she has left to hand out. She’s propping the stack up on one knee, trying to root out the one with Margaery’s amendment recommendations on it, when the door jerks open and startles her, causing her to nearly send the stack to the ground.

Standing in the doorway is a man who very well could be Gendry Waters. He’s tall and broad, with thick black hair and piercing blue eyes. The stubble on his jaw and slight wrinkles around those blue eyes certainly make him look like he could be in his 30s. Arya tends to be too engrossed in her spiel on Margaery to truly take in what the people she’s talking to look like but, frankly, this guy is hot.

And also frowning down at her.

She clears her throat, already worried from the look on his face that this is going to go badly. “Good afternoon sir! My name is Arya and I’m a volunteer for—”

“Look, whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.” He’s moving to shut the door in her face when her sneaker-clad foot darts out, wedging itself between the door and its frame. She cringes internally, knowing her mother would be having a conniption about how unsafe that move just was if she could see her.

Engaging a constituent like this is not a good idea, but she can’t help herself from blurting out, louder than necessary, “I’m not selling anything. Look, are you Gendry Waters or what?”

He eyes her warily. “Who’s asking?”

“If you’d have let me finish,” she grumbles out. His eyebrow raises, an unimpressed look adorning his face. “I’m a volunteer for the Margaery Tyrell campaign. Are you Gendry Waters?”

He looks reluctant to answer. “Yeah. And before you start asking for donations or something, you should know I don’t—”

“Vote. Yeah, I know.”

His forehead scrunches up in confusion. Knowing he’s about to ask how she knows that (they always do) she decides to speak before he can.

Rattling off parts of the script she’s been using the past few weeks, she says, “Margaery Tyrell is running for State Senate this election against Republican incumbent Joffrey Lannister. A former social worker, Margaery feels strongly about the housing crisis plaguing our district. Should she be elected, she looks forward to being sent to our state’s capital to immediately begin working with fellow legislators on ways to provide affordable housing to lower income families in our district and around the state. Margaery is also a staunch advocate for the environment, and supports recently introduced S.B. 4120, the Kingswood Wildlife Preservation Act. Do these seem like qualities in a candidate that interest you?”

The man—Gendry Waters’ forehead is still furrowed, only now there’s a scowl around his mouth. “Tyrell? As in the family that owns that big agricultural company out in the Reach?”

She hesitates. He’s that type of independent then. Arya herself was never too keen on the Tyrell family business, but in all her years as Sansa’s friend, Margaery had proven herself to be down-to-earth and, recently, willing to take on the big corporations by closing legal loopholes that allow them to wreak havoc on the environment. “Margaery’s father and grandmother own shares in Tyrell Farm Corp., yes.” Seeing he’s about to retort back she adds on, “Margaery has, however, asked that her family have little involvement in her campaign, and only make personal donations totaling no more than $100.”

He scoffs. “Right, I’m sure she has.”

If Arya couldn’t feel sweat pooling on the back of her neck and the rumble of hunger that came from only eating an apple on the drive to the office this morning, she might have stayed. She might have set the record straight about Margaery and the donations she was accepting for her campaign. She might have done all in her power to sway this man into voting for Margaery. But honestly, after the attitude he was giving her and all of these other factors, she couldn’t be assed to try. Besides, if he has a problem with Margaery’s background, at least she now knows he won’t be voting for Joffrey. The Lannister family is a terror.

“Okay, I can see I’m not going to be getting anywhere here. Can I just leave some pamphlets with you?”

“Yeah, fine,” he grumbles out. She hands some of the glossy fliers to him, ready for the inevitable slamming of the door.

He’s staring at her pointedly, clearing his throat when all she does is stare at him confused. “Your foot…”

Embarrassed, she pulls her foot back from the doorway it was still sticking out in, turning around to walk the few blocks back to her car. “Have a good day sir,” she calls out behind her sarcastically. She rolls her eyes at the sound of the door slamming.

It takes a lot of restraint to not add “a bit of an asshole” to the notes on his voter profile.

--

Arya’s just washing up the last of the dishes she’d let pile up over the week in her sink when her drier buzzes, signaling the load she’d put in was done. Putting the last plate in the drying rack, she wipes her hands off on a dish towel and heads toward her laundry room.

As soon as she’d gotten home from canvassing, she’d taken a shower, thrown on some comfortable clothes, and started making headway in her list of chores. She’s hoping to get through the last few things by tomorrow morning, so she might have time to get some gardening done. Jon always makes fun of her choosing to spend her Sundays gardening, especially when she spends all of her week outdoors at work, but she’s pretty sure he’s just upset that he can’t keep a plant alive for shit.

She’s just finished putting her clothes away when she enters the living room to see her phone light up with a text. Checking it, she sees it’s from her friend Shireen.

Queen Shireen: Drinks tonight? On me.

Arya: You had me at free drinks, lmao

Queen Shireen: Haha, I thought I would. The Crossroads?

Arya: Ew, no, that gross bartender might be working

Queen Shireen: Tru, tru.

Arya: How about Hot Pie’s place

Queen Shireen: Is he working tonight?

Arya: Idk, maybe

Arya: If he is, we can probably get some free fries from him

Queen Shireen: I’m down.

Arya: 9:30?

Queen Shireen: Lmao bitch, you thought.

Queen Shireen: I have to be up early tomorrow to catch the ferry to Dragonstone. I’m going to visit my father and stepmom.

Arya: Ooh, the wicked witch of Dragonstone herself

Queen Shireen: She wishes.

Queen Shireen: …literally. She wishes she were a witch.

Arya: Don’t we all

Queen Shireen: Lol.

Queen Shireen: 7:30?

Arya: Sounds good! I’ll see you there

--

The bar Hot Pie works at had been an inn before it had been a bar. He’d been the cook there and when it had been bought out by some congressman named Dondarrion from the Marches, they’d kept Hot Pie on. At his insistence, they’d kept much of the inn’s menu when it became the bar, though most people settled for ordering fries and nachos, much to Hot Pie’s chagrin. The outside was just as dingy as it had been when it was an inn—apparently the new owner couldn’t be fucked to clean it up a bit—and the sign on the front was in such disrepair, that nobody knew the actual name of the place. She’d heard some of the bartenders refer to themselves as a brotherhood, but she figured that was just some weird southern thing.

When Arya arrives, she has to muscle her way past a few people before reaching the corner booth Shireen has managed to snag, her purse, coat, and drink spread across the seat and table, an intimidating look on her face. Well, intimidating for Shireen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, just lost track of time a bit.” She slides some of Shireen’s stuff over and plops down on the sticky vinyl seat.

Shireen rolls her eyes. “’s fine, I got started without ya.”

She sends her friend a grin. “I can tell. So, what’s wrong then, why are you already tipsy at…,” she checks her phone, “8:04?”

Shireen lets out a prolonged sigh, propping her right arm onto the table and resting her face against her hand. “Just not lookin’ forward to going home tomorrow.”

Arya shrugs. “So don’t.”

“That’s the thing. Think I really need to.” She begins twirling around her empty glass, the ice clinking softly. “My dad’s been really moody since he lost his reelection.”

She lets out a scoff. “Stannis hates Dragonstone and the people that live there. He lost that election two years ago. We both know how this works Shireen, he could’ve up and relocated and ran somewhere more conservative. Or, he could’ve run for something at the local level.”

“As if the mighty Stannis Baratheon would deign to go from Senator to…to…to mayor or something. And the way that Red Witch is in his ear all of the time, tellin’ him how he oughta run for President, how he could be more successful than his brother…Yeah, I definitely need to go home for a bit. Just don’t really wanna.” She takes another pull of her drink, frowning when she gets nothing but melted ice. Arya sends a soft look her friend’s way, concerned.

“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to go get one drink for me and a water for you, close out the tab, then we’ll head to your place and watch some trashy tv. You’ll go to sleep, I’ll crash on your couch, and I’ll drive you to catch the ferry tomorrow if, and only if, you still feel up to going, okay?”

“Fine, fine. But you should know, Hot Pie isn’t working tonight so we can’t get free fries,” she pouts.

She chuckles at her friend’s disgruntled expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy us some fries.”

After a few minutes she’s managed to flag down a bartender. She’s leaning against the bar, hoping whoever is in the back tonight makes them as crispy as Hot Pie does, when she sees a familiar face under a mop of black hair a few stools down, nursing a beer. It’s the guy from earlier, Gendry. He’s in conversation with someone, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. If he looked good before, frowning at her, he looks even better now; friendlier, more open. Too bad his personality didn’t seem to match. When his eyes drift past the guy he’s talking to, meeting her own, she quickly glances back to behind the bar.

Once she gets her drinks and fries, she maneuvers her way through the thickening crowd back to Shireen, steadfastly ignoring Gendry Waters. She places the fries down in front of Shireen, trying to drag her attention away from the bar.

“What are you looking at?”

Shireen’s forehead is scrunched up in thought. “Why were you glaring at my Uncle Renly?”

“Who?”

“The guy with the black hair and the beer. That’s my uncle.” Maybe Shireen had had more to drink than she originally thought.

“No,” she drags out, “that’s some guy I met canvassing today. His name’s Gendry.”

“Weird. He looks just like my uncle.” She picks up a handful of fries, shoving them in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Hot Pie’s fries are crispier.”

--

It’s around 9 am when she gets home from taking Shireen to catch the ferry. She hadn’t slept very well on Shireen’s couch, so she’s ready to lay down in her own soft bed to catch a few more hours of sleep, maybe make some pancakes after, then head outside to tend to her garden. She’s just finished changing from her grimy bar clothes into some pajamas when her phone lights up from her nightstand.

Sansa: Emergency

Sansa: We’re phonebanking from 12-4 today and two volunteers said they can’t come in

Sansa: Marge and I really need the extra help and you’re great with the phones

Sansa: Please

Arya: Ok

Arya: You owe me pancakes next weekend

Sansa: Deal! Thanks so much, see you soon

She lets out a sigh, setting an alarm for 11 before settling into bed.

[barbarahoward]

author interview

tagged by the lovely miss @anniebibananie​, who legitimately tagged me way back in october but i’m only just now getting around to this. guys, i truly am a certified disaster ho, i’m so sorry annie, but i truly thank you for tagging me

name: bhargavi 

fandoms: i’m pretty active in game of thrones, always writing fic for that, just got into writing fic for atla, even though i’ve loved the show forever, and am always looking for write more fic for marvel. my idea inbox has a million more fandoms, but these ones are easily the one’s i’m actually active in. 

where you post: ao3 and ffn y’all, although not so much on ffn anymore. (username for both is magnetichearts, ignore my shameless plug) 

most popular oneshot: right now it’s with a sickened heart and sickened bones, a sickened way of wanting home | jonsa oneshot set pre-canon, with jon and sansa aged up

most popular multi-chapter story: well, considering i only have one multi-chapter story, it’s gotta be this, but i think it does pretty well for itself: i’m counting your heartbeats, they’re all i have left | a season 6, 7 & 8 rewrite of the show, because of course 

favorite story you wrote: ahhhh honestly i don’t have one?? i tend to like all my fics for about two weeks after they’ve been posted and then hate them eternally after lol. but currently, it’s 

it’s late and i think it’s about time for you and me to get closer | season 3 rewrite of atla that focuses on zuko and katara learning how to become friends 

story you were nervous to post: very very nervous to post it’s late and i think it’s about time for you and me to get closer | i was absolutely terrified as it was my first time stepping into the fandom and i desperately wanted to make sure the characters weren’t ooc. 

also

everything i wanna say about you is more than enough to write a novel | a relationship study that follows tony & peter through significant moments in their relationship, it was my first time playing around with a non-linear narrative style, and my first time posting marvel fic, even though i had written it before, so nerve-wracking, it say the least

how you choose your titles: song lyrics. i make sure to cite all the songs i use in the summary of the fic, but i choose long lyrics, so i tend to have longer titles 

do you outline: only for very long, multi-chap fics that need to be outlined

complete: on ao3 it’s 16!

in progress: 3 (i think)

zutara spy au

irondad big bang holiday submission

jonsa firefighters au

there’s a million ideas sitting in my drive right now, however, waiting to be written. these are just the ones that have words on paper

coming soon/not yet started: a reddie pining fic where one of them confesses their feelings at the other’s wedding, and the braime sequel to my jonsa rewrite of seasons 6, 7, & 8

do you accept prompts: yup! i’d love to get some!

upcoming story you are most excited to write: ooooh i’m really excited to work on this snowed in au for atla, and possibly another reddie fic that’s slowly making it’s way to the surface

tagging: @daredeviil, @marthaskane, @fictionart24, and @elsasclack! only if you want to, of course!

[yszarin]

Fanfic Author Asks

I was tagged by @flammenkobold! thank you <3

Author Name:

Arazsya

Fandoms You Write For:

Mostly The Magnus Archives and Rusty Quill Gaming at the moment, but I’m sure I’ll get back to that Whitechapel WIP eventually.

Where You Post:

AO3, mainly. lots of the Edward/Tjelvar stuff ends up linked in a gdoc in a Discord server, and very very occasionally tumblr.

Most Popular Oneshot:

Last Post - TMA, Jon/Martin. Jon is put into Archivist Storage in the Lonely. Apparently, “RUDE”.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:

House of Red Dreaming - Whitechapel, gen, S4 continuation. The team are sent to a remote team building exercise in Wales, because, you know, they did so well with that last one last one. 

Favourite Story You Wrote:

At the moment, probably In Sunlight - RQG, Edward/Tjelvar. After the remnants of the LOLOMG leave for Japan, Edward embarks on his own quest - for Tjelvar. I finished it, there were some absolutely lovely comments, it has Lho’s gorgeous art in there. Tjelvar gets to pet a cat.

Maybe also Autumn - TMA, Jon/Martin. Jon dwells on an absence. Not to base my opinions of my fics on the ones that people have been nicest about, but someone once told me it made them cry at work and I ascended.

Story You Were Nervous to Post:

... all? but probably more so with exchanges, at least if I’m just yeeting stuff out into the void no one’s going to feel obliged to read it. I do remember being particularly worried for Last Post, but right now, almost certainly the one for the exchange where the reveals are this coming weekend and I still have editing to do.

How Do You Pick Your Titles:

badly. they’re usually usually chosen twenty minutes before the exchange reveals, from whichever song I was listening to at the time. occasionally they occur during the fic but not as often as would be convenient. 

Do You Outline:

yes. down to the scene. which probably sounds very organised but a lot of the bullet points will end up being [something something romance???].

How Many of Your Stories are complete:

Of the ones on AO3? 56/61. in general? so few one day my gdrive will stop taunting me.

In-Progress:

Exchange fics, zine fics, the rest of my TMA big bang fic, last year’s TMA big bang fic I swear.

Coming Soon:

NaNoWriMo! currently have four projects on my list of potential ones to work on, including one where Edward is transformed into a golden retriever, and every time Tjelvar tries to get help from one of the churches he’s faced with “have you tried true love’s kiss :/” (which is going to lead to probably hours lost to d20pfsrd trying to work out what would be internally consistent with a pathfinder-based universe). Also two more Edward/Tjelvar fics and a very vague Stellar Firma idea. 

Do You Accept Prompts:

I accept them but they may not be written a) well b) quickly c) at all. Preferred fandoms are RQG and TMA, preferred ships are Edward/Tjelvar and Tim/Martin (also any platonic RQG or TMA, or Jon/Martin, Jon/Martin/Tim, Martin/Mike or Melanie with any female character).

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For:

... probably the dog!Edward fic described above. I have basically no plot yet but I know he’s a very good boy and the postman is EVIL! There’s also an Ed/Tjelvar series in the works but I’m really going to need the world fixed, so if the party would be so kind...

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions

@through-a-sea-glass, @an-anonymous-friend and @ineverhadadoubt. No pressure to do it, and if anyone else would like to, please do!