#the samwell irregulars

[hotdwriter]

A prophecy- Chapter 1

Benjicot Blackwoodx ofc

A girl raised in the sept of dragonstone during the dance of the dragon is tortured by vivid dreams. Her ability is a great asset to the queen, to forsee the future. The house of Blackwood is somehow linked to her dreams, what could that possibly mean?

~4K words

(Can be used as a self insert, due to little to no description of the character)

A few men, with clothing representing their house sigils, were walking up to each other. She couldn´t make out their voices since her view wasn´t clear enough. Suddenly the men started fighting, and in the next second, she only saw dead bodies spread across the meadow and bloodied limbs in the river.

With the blink of an eye, the scenery was long gone, and instead, she now saw the sept in front of her. ´A vision´, she thought. Her breathing became irregular, and her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

An elderly woman dressed in a gray gown walked outside the sept and noticed the girl in front of her. "Vikenja!" The woman snapped her out of her dreamy trance. The girl met the septa and bowed slightly in acknowledgment. "Septa Margareth, I will be inside very soon."

The older woman looked at her with distrust in her eyes. "Always have a good grip on your necklace if you wish not to sin, Vikenja."

Septa Margareth continued to walk down the steps and left quickly afterward to teach the royal children. The girl turned her gaze to her own hands, which now held the pendant of the faith of the seven. A tear fell into her palm, wetting the charm. Since her early childhood, she has dreamed of visions that soon became true.

One would say she was insane; the septa called her stained due to sinful behavior. Vikenja, not being a believer in the faith of the seven, had often gotten into trouble for speaking her mind out loud, belittling the religion she practiced.

Septa Margareth was the only mother-like figure in her life since she was raised in the house of the seven. However, she never truly fit in due to her visions, which were treated as if they were the work of the devil.

Vikenja took a deep breath and stood up again, now entering the seventh. Her first task was to light the candles inside the dark hall. It was cold inside, and the hall looked the opposite of holy. As she began to light the different-sized candles, a new vision flashed before her eyes. It was the same as before, but the view was more clear now.

Vikenja was able to make out the different house sigils. She gasped as she realized the men in front were from House Blackwood, including Lord Samwell, one of the Queen's most loyal supporters. Their bloodied corpse was lying on the grass with an arrow sticking out of it.

In less than a second, the match fell out of her hand and onto the table, which, in return, was lit on fire. A surprised scream erupted in her throat as she quickly searched for a bucket to fill with water and extinguish the fire with it. While smearing the sweat off of her forehead and straightening her hood, she let out a deep breath.

´ I must let Her Grace know of this´, she gasped.

But would the queen even believe the girl? Vikenja hesitated; her gaze was glued to the puddle of water, with multiple drops falling to the marble floor. The Septa might have ignored her ´unholy´ dreams, but the queen could have a different view on this, a ´non-religious´ one.Vikenja quickly ran out of the house and went on her way to the castle.

Thanks to Dragonstone being a small island, the route didn´t take too long. As she arrived at the gates of the castle, a knight noticed the girl's attire and greeted her. "Please bring me to the queen; I have urgent news for Her Grace."

He bowed in return and opened the gates. His footsteps were heavy and fast, echoing through the entire hallway. Vikenja was quick on her heels to follow, and the knight soon stopped in front of a tall door and opened it, announcing Vikenja's presence.

The girl bowed in front of her queen and watched the knight close the door behind him. The queen was in her chambers, sitting in silence as she grieved the death of her son. The atmosphere was thick and overwhelming with sadness.

As the queen turned around to see the girl standing at the door, she quickly stood up and flattened out the folds on her dress.

"Septa Vikenja, might I ask what news you wish to announce?" The girl took a quick breath and corrected her. "I am not a septa yet, your grace. I am still in training," she began. Rhaenyra nodded in acknowledgment, though the confusion was still visible on her face. "Your Grace, it lies in Your judgment to decide what You wish to do with the information, but..."

Vikenja thought about how to tell Her Grace about her dream. "I am afraid that House Blackwood and House Bracken will soon have a battle at the Burning Mill where the men of House Blackwood will fall, including Lord Samwell. I saw it in a vision, Your Grace."

Vikenja's eyes were glossy and droopy. The queen hesitated, unsure how to answer. Her brows furrowed as she looked outside the window and watched the beach. "Do you often have such kinds of visions?"

"I was born with the torment of seeing the future, like some sort of warning, I suppose." Her voice quietened at the end of her sentence.

Rhaenyra looked at her with a certain amount of understanding held in her gaze and took a step forward. "May I?" she asked and proceeded to take off Vikenjas Hood. As the queen saw her silver hair, she raised her head. Her theory was correct; the girl was a true dragon dreamer, just like Rhaenyra's own father. "You´re a dragon seed; it is in your blood to see dreams as vivid as if they were reality."

Vikenja looked at her with a questioning gaze. "Dragonseed? I am afraid I am not able to follow, Your Grace." She wasn´t aware of her parentage, since she was raised in a house where last names did not exist.

"I suppose you do not know about your true parents; it does not matter now, but you are a descendant of House Targaryen. In our lineage, some have been born with the ability to foresee the future." The queen now held Vikenja by her shoulders in a comforting manner.

"It is a burden and a blessing at once."

Rhaenyra sat on the couch and motioned for Vikenja to do the same. The girl slowly made her way to the red furniture and let herself fall on the comforter. "I must thank you for trusting me with this personal information, though I must admit my confusion. A dragon's dream is mostly linked to one's future; it must mean that you are somehow linked to the battle of the burning mill."

Feeling the anxiety rise in her body, Vikenja began to pick at her short fingernails, and her lip began to quiver. Her being linked to such a grotesque event was troubling her mind. How could she possibly have anything to do with the murder of hundreds of men? "I do not understand, Your Grace."

Noticing the self-harm, Rhaenyra quickly took the girl's hand in her own and carefully caressed it. She then took a strand of Vikenja's hair and tucked it behind her ear, caressing her head in a motherly way. Rhaenyra knew the girl lacked a mother figure in her life, and she felt herself magically drawn to comfort the child; somehow she saw her son Lucery in the girl.

"I am afraid I cannot give you an explanation behind the meaning of it." Vikenja slowly leaned into the queen's touch, letting her own guard down. "Tell me, dear child, how old are you?"

"My fourteenth name day was three moons ago, Your Grace."

Rhaenyra looked down at their interwoven hands and sighed softly. "Tell me, Vikenja. Do you wish to live the rest of your life in September?" The unexpected question made Vikenja overthink her current situation. The religion that was forced upon her made her feel imprisoned, but she never thought about anything else.

It was always very clear to her that she´d become a Septa and practice the faith of the seven until she would grow too old to see another day in this world. "I suppose I didn´t give it much thought, but I don´t have much of a choice," she said, turning her head to the other side so that the queen wouldn´t see the tear falling down her face.

"You could live here in the castle, grow up, and learn more about your ancestry." Vikenja's eyes widened at the offer. Why would the queen do such a thing? "I have nothing to offer in return, Your Grace."

Rhaenyra averted her gaze down to her feet as she let go of Vikenja's hand. She then stood up and paced around the room, Vikenja's eyes watching her the entire time.

"We are currently at war. I need everyone's help, especially if they can foresee the future. Besides, you have the dragon's blood flowing through your veins, and there are untamed dragons on this island."

Rhaenyra truly felt bad; she knew her offer would give her a worse fate than living the rest of her life in a boring Sept. It was selfish of her to involve a girl in the war, but Rhaenyra was desperate.

The queen stopped in the middle of the room to await the girl's answer. "Are you sure, Your Grace?" Sincerity was written across the queen's face as she took Vikenja's hands again. She pulled the girl from the comforter and took her into an embrace. "Your presence would be appreciated greatly."

The girl nodded slowly as she pulled out of the embrace. A physical touch from the queen herself made her feel conflicted. It felt like a mother's embrace, which made Vikenja slightly uncomfortable.

"Do not fret; I will announce it myself to the Septa Margareth. You might go to your new chamber; Ser Lares will show it to you." Rhaenyra opened the door and whispered something to the knight standing behind the walls of the queen's chamber. He nodded in return and bowed in front of Vikenja, motioning for her to follow in his footsteps once again.

"Your Grace," she said, lowering her head and leaving the Queen Chambers. She walked through the castle's hallway at a quick pace. The walls were thick, the stone was of a dark color, and the surface of the floor was marbled, similar to the sept. Vikenja was able to see her reflection on the marble. She had a troubled expression, and her eyebags turned a light purple. Her new life would be dangerous from now on; it was even expected of her to bond with a beast, which even the bravest of men were afraid of.

The girl almost stumbled into the knight when he halted in front of a dark brown door. "Your chambers, Lady Vikenja."

Her brows furrowed at the newly given title. She bid him goodbye as she entered her new chamber. To the right was a tall window, showing the scenery of the cold sea. In the middle was a queen-sized bed with golden charms carved into the bedframe. She stood on a black carpet; she presumed it was from sheep.

Next to the bed was a nightstand, graced with candles, and a bathtub next to a closet. The room radiated a certain amount of warmth and comfort that she wasn´t familiar with. Everything looked so expensive and luxurious; she never would have thought she´d see the privilege of living with royalty. Vikenja walked up to the bed and caressed the soft material of the bedsheet.

She closed her eyes in delight at the newfound softness. A knock came from outside the door, and a maid entered with a gown that was black and red. The maid was a young girl herself, not older than seventeen.

"Lady Vikenja, the queen requested for me to give you a bath and dress you in the gown I´ve brought." She nodded and walked towards the maid, asking for her name. "Belise, my lady."

"I can take a bath alone; please leave the gown on the bed." The maid nodded and filled the bath with water before putting the dress on the bed and closing the doors behind her.

Vikenja exhaled deeply as she took off her gray gown, stepping into the warm water. She took off the religious pendant hanging around her neck, throwing it on the ground with enough force to see its break.

She then closed her eyes as she sat down. The candles in front of her flickered while she let her thoughts run freely. This would be her new life now, being washed in the freshest of water and clothed in the silkiest gowns in the entire realm. It all felt surreal for her, like it was all a dream she was having.

Her dreams all held a warning, so she was told. Was this also one?

-----

Rhaenyra walked into the library, where she found the septa Margareth teaching embroidery to the princesses Rhaena and Baela. Both of the girls shared the same bored expression. It seemed like they did not care at all for such things, especially when they could be training outside instead.

"Septa Margareth, a word, please" the queen said, shifting her weight on one foot and playing with her golden ring. "Your Grace," the two girls mumbled before leaving the hall, leaving the two women alone. The Septa stood up from her stool and bowed in front of the queen. "Your Grace, is something troubling you?"

Rhaenyra cleared her throat before answering, "The Lady Vikenja will not continue her training." Instead, she will be staying here in the castle." She gave the Septa a short explanation, refusing to give her any more clues.

The Septa opened her mouth to reply, shocked to hear such a thing. Rhaenyra interrupted her, not giving her the chance to ask more questions. "I will not repeat myself Vikenja will stay here from now on. Tell the princesses their class is finished for today."

Rhaenyra didn´t wait for an answer and quickly spun on her heel to leave the library. She was aware of the weight of her actions. She may have caused the future death of a child, but she had to do it, didn´t she? Or was it Daemon entering her head and influencing her judgment?

Speaking of which, he still has not returned, and she has ceased to care for him. Rhaenyra selfishly projected her dead son onto the girl, easing her grief by mothering Vikenja.

--------

The feeling of comfort suddenly left Vikenja's body, as she was now aware of her newfound duty. Vikenja quickly washed her hair with the oils that had been put to the side and readied herself to meet the queen again.

As soon as she opened the doors, Ser Lares turned to her and stepped aside. "The queen has requested your presence in the grand hall." Vikenja gave him a quick nod and walked beside him.

The doors were opened by a different knight as Ser Lares led her inside. In the middle were multiple people gathered around a long table, which was a map of Westeros. The queen stood at the front, next to a boy a bit older than Vikenja, as she met the girl's gaze, her eyes lightening up at the dress the girl wore.

"Lady Vikenja Waters, please accompany me." She smiled softly, but her voice held a firm tone of authority. The Lords who stood beside her looked at her with curious eyes. As her eyes wandered through the different people, she noticed a man who looked familiar. His clothes were of the same color as her gown, though his sigil was the one of Blackwood. Vikenja met his gaze, and then she realized it was Lord Samwell.

The dead man in her vision Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked at the queen, who slightly nodded and took her hand in her own.

"Is the bastard a dragon seed?" Lord Staunton spoke freely without mincing his words. The girl felt under pressure as she felt her anxiety rise once again.

"As you can see, Lady Vikenja is of Targaryen descent; she bears the blood of the dragon." She lives here in the castle and will soon claim a dragon, so we will have more dragonriders on our side."The brunette next to Rhaenyra watched Vikenja with distrust in his eyes, similar to the Septa Margareth. He didn´t know Vikenja's true intentions.

Vikenja glanced at her silver hair while listening to the queen's words. She was never aware of the fact that her hair color held significance—not even the blood that ran through her veins. Lord Samwell glanced at the girl's face, and his gaze wandered down to her body. "How old is the lady?"

"Fourteen, my lord," she answered loudly enough for him to hear. He nodded quickly and seemed to be in thought afterward. The queen returned to the political discussion they held before Vikenja's arrival. While trying to pick up any of the information the conversation withheld, she understood little to nothing.

After the meeting was over and the Lords left, Rhaenyra shifted her attention to the girl next to her. "Do you wish to visit the dragonmont with me?" she asked, giving her a small smile.

Vikenja nodded, unsure whether to say something or to keep quiet. "You will learn everything about political arrangements when the time comes, dear child." She caressed the girl's shoulder as she led her to her own dragon.

The girl gasped as they got near it, never having seen a dragon up close. She wasn´t as scared as she thought she´d be, but instead was in awe.

"Her name is Syrax." Rhaenyra walked up to the dragon and petted its head. Vikenja giggled as she watched the dragon lean into its owner's touch. Rhaenyra guided Vikenjas Hand to pet the she-dragon. The scales under her palm were a weird sensation for the girl.

Rhaenyra felt a tear slip from her eye as she watched the girl caress the dragon. The girl's nervousness and naivety reminded her a lot of Lucery. It might have been the reason she offered housing to the strange girl.

"You will need to know commands before claiming your dragon. The words Dohaeris mean to obey, Lykiri means calm, Soves means to fly, and Dracarys means dragon fire. You will need to know how to calm the dragon beforehand, so it won´t be alarmed by your presence."

Vikenja nodded, processing the new information. "The dragons are somewhere up on the dragonmount. There are three of them in total, the gray ghost, the cannibal, and the sheepstealer. The cannibal is rumored to be a dragon with black scales, while the gray ghost shares the same color as its name, and the sheepstealer has a brown color to its scales."

Rhaenyra refrained from explaining the dragon's names to Vikenja, not wanting to fear the girl.

Rhaenyra proceeded to point up to the volcano in front of them. Next to it was the narrow sea. "Be careful."

Vikenja nodded and bid her goodbye, walking towards the sea. The air was fresh and smelled salty, and the water was a beautiful light blue. By taking her shoes off, she could go into the cold sea, her dress getting drenched while bathing her feet.

As she looked up into the sky, she noticed a white figure pacing through the clouds that hid the sun. ´It must be the Grey Ghost´, she thought. His scales were pale gray-white, and his build was slender, which made it hard for her to see him. Vikenja slowly made her way out of the water, drying her feet with her gown before putting on her boots again. She hummed a soft melody in the hope of awakening the dragon's curiosity.

She then began to walk around the sea, still humming the melody that she was familiar with. It was the same melody that she always hummed to fall asleep due to her fear of sleeping alone. It always calmed her nerves when she was left alone.

Minutes, eventually an hour, had passed, and she was still humming the melody. Vikenja was going to stop, but then she saw the same figure in the clouds again. She quickly began to realize that the dragon was encircling her, flying to the music she was producing. Vikenja held out a hand as she hummed more loudly now.

The dragon landed on the volcano and screeched at her. "Lykiri, Grey Ghost," she said as she put a hand in his direction. She began to walk up towards the dragon, trying her best to be slow and calm. "Lykiri," she repeated, but now in a firm tone. The dragon lowered its head as it awaited Vikenja. She continued to hum the song while taking the last step towards the dragon, and then she waited for the dragon to lean its head into her palm while whispering Lykiri the entire time.

The shy dragon slowly leaned into her touch as he listened to her commands. "Dohaeris, Grey Ghost!" she exclaimed while walking to the dragon's body, climbing it slowly. As soon as she sat on top, she regretted her decision to not have a saddle.

But she knew this was her chance to bond with the dragon, so she commanded him to fly.

"Dohaeris, Soves, Grey Ghost!" she exclaimed, the anxiety raising in her voice. The dragon stood up and began to walk before quickly taking to the sky. Vikenja had to grip his horns so she wouldn´t fall. She screamed as the air whipped her face, closing her eyes.

When she noticed that the dragon's movements were more smooth, she opened her eyes again to see the scenery before her. She held one hand out to graze through the clouds. It was a calming experience, it was nothing like she expected it to be. Due to the bond between Vikenja and her dragon, she was able to feel his emotions the other way around. Their personalities were similar in a way, both have always been alone.

Vikenja smiled as she petted his back. Both of them continued to fly for a few more hours until it was time for supper. Her dragon landed on the beach, in front of her chambers. She quickly dismounted him and sent him back to fly away, before alarming the guards of her presence.

Four dragonkeepers were soon sent, carrying a saddle for the dragon. When Vikenja called her dragon, she had to calm him the entire time, so that the men could do their work. She felt her anxiety rise due to feeling the dragon's stress.

She softly hummed the same melody as before, until the dragon keepers were finished and Grey Ghost could fly back into the sky and away from the castle.

Vikenja felt proud of herself for the first time in her life. She felt as if she had accomplished something that would change her life forever. With a dragon on her side, she was now a force to be reckoned with.

The girl soon went into the castle to meet with the queen and tell her about her accomplishments. The queen welcomed her with an embrace, which Vikenja awkwardly accepted. Rhaenyra kissed the top of her head and told her how proud she was of her. The more time Rhaenyra spent in the girl's presence, the more she didn´t want to let go of her. She couldn´t make the same mistake twice, could she?

[mundoasoiaf]

"Sam não sabia quanto tempo passara desde que dormira pela última vez, mas restavam pouco mais de dois centímetros da gorda vela de sebo que acendera quando começara a ler o irregular monte de páginas soltas que encontrara atadas com guita. Estava brutalmente cansado, mas era difícil parar. Mais um livro, dizia a si mesmo, e depois paro. Mais uma folha, só mais uma. Mais uma página, e vou para cima descansar e comer qualquer coisa. Mas havia sempre outra página depois dessa, e outra a seguir, e outro livro à espera por baixo da pilha. Vou só dar uma espiada rápida para ver qual o assunto deste, pensava, e antes de se dar conta já tinha lido metade." - O Festim dos Corvos // Samwell I

🎨: Arden Beckwith

[multimuse-rp-archived]

@gcdgrey asked: “ i… sometimes, i guess i kinda wish you could see yourself through my eyes. ” - Gilly for Sam

“Honestly... so do I,” Sam admitted with a soft sigh. He wasn’t sure what Gilly saw in him; he’d always been told he was just a fat coward, a disgrace to his family. But Gilly said he was brave. She said he was strong. She loved him, and he couldn’t be more grateful. A gentle kiss was placed to the top of her head before Sam offered her a smile. “And I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You’re amazing, Gilly.” He still blushed around her like a fool.

[omgericzimmermann]

So I just started reading the Samwell Irregulars series, and it is so fun, I love it. But also please tell me Jack has some sort of pleasant reunion with Alicia? Because it is so heartbreaking to me that he doesn't remember anything at all, including his mom. But also, thanks for writing, it's been a great pick me up on a not great day!

Okay so inasmuch as I’ve actually planned this series (I have various bits and pieces, major plot points, that sort of thing) the Zimmermann family definitely has its moment in the sun. Or, glowing purple cloud of irradiated alien rock, as it were. 

Also, in the SI universe, Jack and Alicia have a much more strained relationship than they seem to in canon, because after Bob died in SI, they both threw themselves into their work and didn’t talk about it, because Alicia’s work at the Samwell Institute reminded Jack of the reason Bob died, and Jack’s hockey playing reminded Alicia of Bob in general. 

I can’t say yet whether or not this will be addressed in the story since it’s narrated by Dex. 

But thank you so much for reading! 

[multimuse-rp-archived]

This was so awkward. Sam had always been told he was good for nothing; however, he was good for marriage, or so it seemed. He saw her, though, and she was beautiful. He was ugly, fat, a pig. She deserved to be happy, and she wouldn’t be happy with him, but there was nothing he could do.

“My lady.” Sam bowed his head respectfully, letting out a soft sigh and holding out his hand. “Samwell of House Tarly, and your husband-to-be.”

@multimuse-rp​ gets a surprise for any male game of thrones muse

Faye knew this day would come at some point. From a young age her mother had made it clear her only worth was getting married to a decent family, and then she wouldn’t have to be near her again. Which would be fine, depending on who her husband would be.

Her mother had refused to give her a clue. She hadn’t even told she would be meeting her future husband until servants woke her that morning. Standing in the hall alone, she fiddled with her sleeve nervously, waiting to see who would come through that door.

[hmslusitania]

god literally i go back and reread samwell irregulars pretty frequently lmao (i feel like you left it finished enough that it holds up well) if you ever genuinely did a 118 gets superpowers AU i need you to know that i would eat it up SO fast. i have tried to generate my own ideas for it multiple times but my brain just goes “mmm. samwell irregulars :)” and i get sidetracked lmao

That is so nice of you to say! Its definitely in my list of potential ideas, so it may very well happen sometime in the not wildly distant future!

[never-enough-muses]

I'm officially adding these four to my muse list! 

[labelleizzy]

Some adverts on FB today were so entirely Check, Please that I have to share my brand new shiny headcanons with y'all.

Shitty Knight as we all know is a fan of wordplay and horrible puns. I feel like he bought this (image: No Whisk, No Reward) for Mr. Eric Bittle as the first of many baking-pun related garments over the Samwell years.

Shitty buys this one (image: Majestically Awkward with a contorted pink flamingo)!for Nursey, to chirp him. Nursey wears it unironically, emphasis on the MAJESTICALLY. Dex and Chowder both shake their heads and smile whenever Nursey wears it.

Nursey gets Dex this one (image: Narwhals don't get mad, they get even, with a smiling narwhal saying "hi!", spearing a fisherman with a harpoon, through the chest), and actually? When Dex sees it in his drawer, he smiles a little and pets it with his fingertips, and can let go of some of his annoyance at whatever Nursey's bullshit is today.

Bitty buys this shirt for Jack after the first all-Haus Star Wars marathon. (Image: the Death Star with the cursive font caption, "ceci n'est pas une lune" and the translation below in the ad copy, This Is Not A Moon.

It's one of the very first time Bitty heard Jack ugly snortlaugh, and it's the first non Samwell men's hockey, non-athletic shirt to make it into regular rotation in Jack's wardrobe.

Lardo buys this shirt for Bitty (text: "who run the world? Squirrels" image: a black squirrel outline on a grey heather shirt with acorn accents) both for the Beyonce reference and for the surrealism, because everyone needs more surrealism, says Lardo. Bitty laughs and hugs the shirt AND Lardo.

This shirt is a gift from Shitty to Jack as a tribute says Shitty, with a huge eye roll, to Jack's impeccable dad-rock taste. (Image: a three-circle Venn diagram with "Don't stop" at center, and "Me Now", "Believin'", and "Thinking About Tomorrow" in the outside rings)

Shitty buys (image: Laura Fern from Jurassic Park flanked by velociraptors, text: "dinosaurs eat man, woman inherits the earth") and everyone in the Haus understands it to be a courting gift and acknowledgement of how badass Lardo is. Sometimes Shitty steals it, and it looks like a crop top on him, because he bought it just a little bit large.

Nursey buys Bitty this Synonym roll tee-shirt after n+1 breakfasts and giant pans of hangover breakfast pastries for the frogs. (Image: a laughing cinnamon roll with frosting, on a cocoa brown shirt, surrounded by the words Delicious! Yummy! Scrumptious! Delectable! And the words Synonym roll in all caps below)

Everyone in the Haus pitches in a couple of bucks to buy Shitty the colorful "my favorite color is no pants", because OBVIOUSLY, but it's Jack's lap he sits in to cuddle and say thanks to everyone. (editor's kibitz: evidence indicates that Shitty is a lot more bisexual than I see very often in fandom, COME ON PEOPLE, WRITE AND ART MORE BISEXUAL SHITTY KNIGHT, PLEASE! ahem.)

(T shirt Image: a pie with an irregular red line marking the underside, and the caption: nobody likes a soggy bottom) this shirt just shows up, neatly folded in Bitty's shirt drawer one day. Bitty makes it into an off the shoulder crop top and wears it when he's feeling better especially sassy. Jack blushes just a little bit every time he sees Bitty wear it.

...to be continued...

[polyamorousparson]

For @yoursummerfrost , who wanted a fic that took Ransom’s anxiety as seriously as Jack’s, have some pre-relationship Jack/Ransom that picks up where this comic ends.  

Warnings for anxiety, mental illness, irregular eating because of anxiety, food, and panic attacks.  On AO3 here.

It’s the week before finals, and Ransom knows he hasn’t done enough to prepare.

To some extent, he knows there’s nothing he can really do.  He has hockey and a social life, which he wouldn’t sacrifice for anything.  He should have started on applications to work in labs over the summer a month ago.  He’s maxed out on credits this semester.  There are only so many hours in a day, and picking apart every week of the semester to try to figure out what he should’ve could’ve would’ve done better won’t do him any good at this point.

It doesn’t stop him from doing it.  But he knows, even as he’s internally chastising himself, that it doesn’t do anyone a bit of good.  It just makes his jaw and his back and his chest permanently tight, his outline of Orgo topics he still has to study looking distant and unfocused in front of him.

His back has been sore for two weeks now.  Holster keeps trying to talk to him about getting a massage, but Ransom doesn’t think it’ll help.  Even if his posture were less terrible, even if he didn’t spend half his time curled up on the floor with his textbook, his anxiety is a constant hum, his body pulling inward on itself like it’s forgotten what it feels like to relax.

Ransom hates this time of year.

“Bro, we’re heading over to the caf to grab some food.”  Holster’s voice cuts through the haze.  “You want us to sneak you anything?”

Ransom pauses for a second, assessing.  He doesn’t feel like he could eat if he tried, his stomach churning.  It’s late, though; he can feel it in the way his muscles are sore, his body held still in one spot for too long, time passing at uneven intervals.

“Get him a couple PB&J sandwiches and some ginger ale,” Jack says firmly before Ransom can get his thoughts together.  “I’ll catch up in a sec, save me a spot.”

Ransom only hears the team trudging out because the Samwell Hockey Team is incapable of doing anything quietly.  Along with the footsteps and the chatting, and the ensuing loud shushes, Ransom hears something quieter, though.  Something closer.  There’s a muted thump of weight on the rug next to him, and Ransom lifts his head.

Jack is staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set.  

“Um,” Ransom says, a little uncomfortable.  He hasn’t seen this kind of intensity directed his way from Jack outside of a hockey rink or locker room since Ransom was a frog, when Ransom made every excuse he could to spend time with Jack, when he hadn’t yet gotten over his initial hero worship and settled into something less embarrassing but just as jumbly.  “Hi?”

“I’m going to move your textbook,” Jack says calmly.  “I’m not going to take it from you.  I’ll give it back when we’re done talking.  Is that okay?”

Ransom takes a very, very deep breath.  “Yeah.  That’s fine,” he says.  He unfolds his body and shifts, slowly dragging himself up off the ground.  He’s watching from a sitting position, wincing through the pins and needles in his right leg, as Jack moves Ransom’s textbook to the table with Ransom’s bag.  Jack brings Ransom’s water bottle with him and hands it to Ransom.

The water is warm.  Ransom takes a sip anyway.  He didn’t realize how dry his mouth was.  He downs almost half the bottle, his shoulder aching from too much time spent trapped under his body.

“Take your time,” Jack says, in that same steady tone.  It would be maddening if it weren’t soothing, having someone talk in subdued tones.  Too much noise and too much contact sets Ransom’s nerves on edge when he’s this tightly wound, everything inspiring annoyance in a way he never experiences when he’s better rested and less stressed out.  “Do you need to do some stretches?”

“Probably,” Ransom says.  He sets his water bottle down next to him.  “I can handle that, though.  You can head off to dinner with the rest of them.  Make sure Holster gets the peanut butter ratio right.”

“I can,” Jack agrees.  “But I’m not going to.  Does this happen every semester?”

“Ch’yeah,” Ransom says, waving it off.  “You don’t have to do the captain shit, dude, I’m fine.  I just gotta get through my finals, and then it’ll pass.  Sophomore year, y’know?”

Jack’s brows furrow even more deeply.  Ransom’s pretty sure he could stick a nickle between them and have it stay.  “I don’t think most…” Jack pauses, rethinks his words as he stares at Ransom, then goes quiet again.  “Can I touch you?  You can say no.”

Ransom feels Jack’s gaze heavy on him.  He thinks if it were anyone but Jack or Holster, he’d say no.  But he nods his head and tells Jack yes.

He’s rewarded by one of Jack’s broad hands gently rubbing his back.  Ransom isn’t sure if the contact is to ground them both or whether Jack’s feeling for knots, but Ransom leans into the touch.  It’s warm and oddly reassuring and not too intrusive, and Ransom’s grateful.

“I’m not your captain right now,” Jack says seriously.  “I’m your… your friend.  Your friend who has anxiety.  I know a panic attack when I see one.  They feel horrible, and they can have serious health effects.  I’m not… I won’t push you to do something about it.  It’s helped me, when I did it right.  I just want you to take a little time to breathe and stretch and eat.  I could use the break, too, and this always helps me.”

Ransom has a head full of arguments.  Jack’s being so careful not to make him bristle while dropping conversations about panic attacks and mental health and seeking help into this, and Ransom’s gut impulse is to tell him that he doesn’t need it.  He’s been dealing with this kind of pressure, the weight of his expectations and his parents’ expectations and his entire family’s expectations, really, all his life.  He can handle this.  He has a routine.  And, sure, it may look kinda weird from the outside, but this is coping as well as he knows how.  

He needs this time to study.  He doesn’t have time to be wasting staring down Jack’s earnest blue eyes, to be leaning down into the way Jack’s arm feels around him.  

He can already feel himself breathing easier, some of the tightness in his chest loosening, and it’s the only reason he finally folds.

“You could use the break, too?” Ransom asks.  Jack smiles gently, and Ransom’s heart skips a beat.

“Yeah,” Jack says.  “I could use a walk and some fresh air.  Just walking to the dining hall, if you want to join.  Get some protein in you.  Brain food.”

Without Ransom’s organic chemistry outline staring him in the face, it seems a lot more reasonable.  Ransom could use the break to recharge his brain.  He knows it’ll make him more effective.  And now that he’s actually focusing on it, he is a lot more hungry than he realized.

“Let me pack my stuff,” Ransom says.  His legs are a bit unsteady when he stands up, the blood rushing into his limbs, but Jack is there, hovering to make sure he’s okay.

Ransom doubts that this is the last serious conversation they’re going to have about this.  He would bet, knowing Jack, that they are going to have an awkward and stilted and very, very earnest conversation about it half the way to the dining hall.  Ransom can already picture Jack giving him one of his subdued, understated pep talks that Ransom has always found more compelling than the chest-thumping kind.  

Ransom can deal with that when they cross that bridge.

For now, though, Ransom packs his bag back up, carefully marking his place in his notes.

Some fresh air and some walking with Jack might do him some good.

[multimuse-rp-archived]

@musenssang​ (continued from here)

When Sam had spoken the words, he was looking at his feet on the ground. But when her hand rested on his cheek, he looked back at her, hope and sadness in his eyes at the same time. Her touch was so soft, so gentle, and he couldn’t get enough of it. But it was true - he wasn’t good enough for her. She deserved so much better than a cowardly pig like himself.

But when she opened her mouth to speak, and those beautiful words came out, Sam found himself believing them. She could choose who she wanted to love, and she had chosen him. He had no idea why, but he couldn’t be more grateful. He just hoped she knew what she was getting herself into. Sam knew he wasn’t the type of man that could be a warrior to protect his woman. He could try, yes, but whether or not he would succeed was a different story.

“I just...” He looked into her eyes. “If I have you, I want you to be mine. I don’t want any other man to have you.” He suddenly looked worried. “Is that too possessive of me? I’m so sorry, I... I’ve never really done this before.” He couldn’t help the faint blush on his cheeks.

[multimuse-rp-archived]

That was true. Sam wasn’t sure how he could ever trust her. First, she was a wildling. Second, she died and came back. That was... impossible. It conflicted with everything he’d ever read. “You died,” he said pointedly. “And now you are alive.” He suddenly stepped towards her, tilting his head. “Did you fake your death to spare yourself the pain of losing Jon?”

@multimuse-rp asked: “ how am i supposed to trust you now? ” (Samwell to Ygritte)

“What do you mean now? Y’haven’t ever trusted me, Southerner.” Ygritte tells him with a scoff. She knows why he wouldn’t trust her, suddenly back from the dead with no explanation. “Look I don’t know how this happened so I can’t explain it to you but I’m alive and here t’help Jon that’s all I can say.” She didn’t remember where she’d been all this time or how she got back but she just had.

[omgericzimmermann]

clandestinely posts the new installment of Samwell Irregulars and hopes people won’t notice because it’s terrible

[empiregalaxy]

I have this HC that in ep3 if it was Sansa (especially book!sansa) she would have blasted Dany for her ill-informed history speech and would be a lot better at convincing Dany of the others than Jon was? Since i believe you to have such a good grasp on Sansa's character, i would really appreciate your thoughts on this. Especially the white-washed history cuz that bothered me a lot. Thank you!

I’m flattered you think I’m a good voice for all thingsSansa related!

Oh yeah, Sansa definitely would have given Daenerys a historylesson. A huge part of Sansa’s character is that she’s a keen student- sheknows banners, house histories, who is who and much more. This was establishedin the first book.

Sansa finally foundher words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace,"she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her.

"Well spoken,child," said the old man in white. "As befits the daughter of EddardStark. I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. Iam Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard." He bowed.

Sansa knew the name,and now the courtesies that Septa Mordane had taught her over the years cameback to her. "The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," she said,"and councillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him. Thehonor is mine, good knight. Even in the far north, the singers praise the deedsof Barristan the Bold."

Here we have Sansa- quite proudly (who can blame her)displaying her knowledge. She also shows sharp communication skills, withpleasantries and politeness. This was in her first ever chapter, and since thenSansa has grown a lot as a student. She’s also quite proud of her Starkidentity, and as she grew up in Winterfell would have heard stories about heraunt Lyanna, Robert’s Rebellion way back to the Long Night (thanks, Old Nan!).So I have no problem in believing that Sansa would challenge Daenerys’ conceptthat the Seven Kingdoms were under ‘peace’. Daenerys is wrong- there are the BlackfyreRebellion / s, Targaryens who were just awful or incompetent and even if itwere to be ‘peace’, it’s still under the threat of being burnt alive.

Sansa has also a unique experience that she could bring tothe table: she’s gone through tyranny (Tywin & Joffrey) for it to be passedoff as ‘peace.’ From Post-Red Wedding to when she finally escaped King’sLanding, she endured propaganda that the ‘war is over, and the rightful winneris Joffrey.’ I’m mentioning this because I think that experience would makesomeone a bit more perspective. So Sansa having knowledge and perspective? I donot doubt that for a second.

Now for convincing Daenerys. Sansa has never seen theWhitewalkers, even though she may have debating and diplomatic skills. I cansee why this could be seen as a downside. What I think Book! Sansa would havedone is contact the Night’s Watch for written proof, and bring it to Daenerys.Maybe even Edd could come as a representative. Or even contact Samwell Tarlyfor knowledge that dragonglass can kill Whitewalkers. The Night’s Watch can’tenter wars, they have to defend humanity. I think this would be seen as not ‘politics’but being the ‘watchers on the wall.’ So ideally, Sansa would come with a groupof Northerners and Night’s Watch men to make their case.

Another tactic would be (and what Jon eventually did) wastry to convince Tyrion. This is sound, but Daenerys needs to come to theconclusion herself. It’s tempting to write Daenerys off as a cynic, yet I dobelieve a case could be made well.

Anyway, I hope this answers your question! I wish thewriters would make Jon a more active, responsive character than someone whojust broods in the shadows. I loved Sansa in the last episode because she wasresponsible and direct. That’s Sansa. She’d take none of Daenerys’ white washedhistory shit. I think she’d focus on Lyanna Stark, and what happened to her.She’d also talk about her uncle and grandfather. In conclusion, Sansa wouldn’ttake Daenerys’ shit (even though this is Sansa, who’d be polite even when itsnot deserved)  

[hmslusitania]

i had this thought before i put together that the author is Also You, but literally i can’t stop imagining like… the samwell irregulars series to the tune of firehouse 118 gets caught up in some crazy fire in a science lab and oh no the particle accelerator exploded…….. oh no we’re all experiencing weird side effects……. oh no buck is dead/missing :(((((( but is he??????

I want you to know I burst into delighted laughter at this ask. Oh Samwell Irregulars my most beloved and most abandoned.

And not gonna lie, I have DEFINITELY had the thought to do something like this for the 118 but I don’t think I’d keep the same plot of one of them disappearing. I have Other Thoughts about what would happen to make it dynamically interesting.

Although I don’t know if by “missing and presumed dead” you meant Jack or Nursey’s storyline but either way, I don’t think I’d fully recycle. I’d branch out, be creative 😊

[multimuse-rp-archived]

Sam was sleeping soundly, dreaming of summer days and happy times. He was smiling in his slumber. When he awoke, he opened his eyes and saw Gilly holding Jon. He grinned at the adorable sight.

“Good morning,” he greeted them, getting up from his bed. He stepped up to Gilly and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “And good morning to you, too, Jon.” He smiled and gently rubbed his son’s head.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, looking back up at Gilly.

Forever||Gilly and Samwell

@multimuse-rp

Gilly woke up around dawn, she cautiously looked around the room, relaxing as she felt Jon’s little hands gripping her, she glanced up at her son Sam, and her love and a smile crept to her lips. Most times, it was hard for her to believe that her life truly had settled enough for her to enjoy a morning. She slowly sat up, trying her hardest not to wake anyone. She knew if she woke one of them, she would wake all of them, and Sam had no urgent matters to tend to this morning, so she thought she should let him sleep. 

She got up, and as soon as her feet hit the floor, so did Jon. She sighed softly, gently taking the baby into her arms and trying to quiet his attempts at speech before he woke his father. 

[lensaarahmyad]

IRREGULAR/RANDOM Hidup memang fluktuatik, kerana kalau statik, hidup tak menarik. Namun sejak dua menjak, terlalu banyak perkara rawak, sampai jadi lawak. So.. nah ambik ni, tengok gambar ubat herba tradisional yang aku beli dekat Langkawi. . Random tak? Irregular tak? . "Yes, well, I suppose, life is irregular." - Samwell Tarly . #ytjt #august #2019 #quotes #random #irregular #rawak #life #langkawi #herbs #arrasyideen . . P/s: August 2019. You did it again. (at ZZ Sup Tulang) https://www.instagram.com/p/B1bs1hVnLhD/?igshid=159y04j0m475f