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notleclerc · 7 months

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I want to be appreciated

🖤Charles x Fem!reader

🖤summary: Charles reached his limit after his results at the Austin Grand Prix and needs his lover more than ever

🖤warnings: angst, fluff and a lil suggestive at the end ;) French sentences are translated

🖤a/n: this is my first fic so please have mercy on me. English is not my first language so i am happy for any feedback <3 ENJOY BABES

Charles was always a giver. His friends needed him to take them somewhere? Alright be ready in 5. His Team Principal called him last minute for a team meeting? Of course anything for Ferrari.

It never bothered Charles because that’s his way of showing care and appreciation to what he has. He loves seeing others being well and happy and him being the reason for that but what about his needs? Why is it so hard for people to appreciate him?

It hit him hard when he ended up in P6 and was later on disqualified at the US Austin Grand Prix. People rushed to him and tried to cheer him up but nothing worked and that’s when they realised, they‘ve got no clue on how to help the one that always WAS the helper himself. All Charles needed right now was the warmth of one person. You, (Y/n). His lovely girlfriend that somehow notices everything about him.

Charles enters his driver room and sees you already waiting for him with your arms wide open and a gentle smile on your face.

„Come here mon amour, laisse-toi aller, tu es en sécurité ici“ (my love, let it all out, you are safe here)

It‘s in that moment that Charles finally let‘s go and crashes in your arms with quiet sobs and a tight grip on your shirt. He keeps repeating „why me, why? what did i do?“ as he hides his face in your neck.

(Y/n) doesn‘t say anything and keeps softly caressing his back and scratching his head and let‘s him cry it all out. You remind him that he is safe here and that you‘ve got him. Charles slowly stopped and sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes.

„It‘s always like this ma cherrié, i just want to leave…peut-on retourner à l'hôtel s‘il tu plaît?“. (can we go back to the Hotel please?)

(Y/n) nods and grabs his bag that she already packed because she knew charles wouldn‘t want to be around anyone. (Y/n) messaged Joris and Andrea and let them know that they are leaving. You handed Charles his sunglasses and hat and grabbed his hand.

„Lets go Cha, just follow my lead okay baby?“

He only nodded and followed you like a lost puppy into his rented Ferrari. Fans, journalists and photographers tried to take pictures and ask questions but you shieled him and asked for distance and respect. Once at the car, you wanted to enter the passenger seat but got tugged back slightly by Charles.

„Can you please drive… i just… i just don‘t want to…“

With no hesitation, you let him sit and took the seat behind the steering wheel and drove the two of you back to the hotel. Once there, you helped Charles enter through the back door and you both immediatly made your way inside your room and let him lay down on the bed. Charles heard your footsteps and turned his face to look at you and saw you disappearing into the bathroom.

(Y/n) tied her hair up and started to run a warm bath for Charles with lavender scented bubbles, a scent to relax the mind. While the bathub was getting ready, (Y/n) went back to Charles and started to take off his shoes and his clothes.

„Let me take care of you my love okay? All you have to do is enjoy and relax and nothing else“

You kiss his forehead as he looked tiredly and hopeful at you. Charles nodded and let you guide him into the bathroom that is filled with the aroma of lavender which immediatly calms him down slowly. (Y/n) guides him into the bath and let’s him relax his tense muscles.

„Close your eyes mon amour and let me massage you and take care of you. Tell me if you need anything ma vie“ (my life)

You kiss his lips softly as he closes his eyes and sighs in content. You start to massage his head and move down towards his shoulders and arms. You make sure to massage the sore spots and gently start to also massage the rest of his body. Charles felt like he was on cloud nine as he could finally relax and only focus on you and your touch. Usually it’s a big havoc inside his brain when its a race weekend but with this? He never wants to go back.

After cleaning and massaging his whole body, (Y/n) also washed his hair and made him step out of the bathub once finished. He put the towel around himself and you gently took his hand and brought him back to the bedroom. You helped drying him and made sure to moisturize is body and face gently.

During the whole process you would give him soft kisses and tell him how proud you are of him and encourage him.

Charles watched you with nothing but loving eyes as he felt his whole body feel the warmth of your kind soul. Every touch and gaze from you made him feel loved, cared for and… and appreciated… finally…He almost teared up again at the thought of having you by his side and how blessed he was.

You lightly laugh at his teared up eyes and hold his face.

„I love you Charles, whatever goes inside of that incredible brain of yours just know that with me you will always be loved and appriciated.“

(Y/n) kisses him and Charles automatically wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him. You sit on his lap and keep admiring him with a soft smile.

„Merci mon amour, je t'aime du plus profond de mon cœur et de mon âme.“ (thank you my love, i love you from the deepest part of my heart and soul.)

You were about to stand up and grab some clothes for Charles but he held your wrist and gave you a pleading look.

„Mon amour… please…je veux que tu touches tout mon corps, qui brûle de désir pour toi.“ (I want your touch all over my body, its burning in desire for you)

You looked down and saw his bulge growing underneath the towel and Charles blushing red in need and want for you. His hold on your wrist gets tighter and his whines get into your head.

„Je serai un bon garçon pour toi, mon amour“ (I‘ll be a good boy for you my love)

There are definitely more ways of showing appreciation…

HOW YOU GUYS FEELING ABOUT THISSSSSS? This was hunting me all week long after seeing the results of the race :(

Reblogs, comments & feedback are very much appreciated!

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fandomficsnstuff · 2 months

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Wolves And Hounds - 4

(Warnings: Angst, angst, a bit of fluff and a bit of angst)

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Karliah was enjoying the evening sun from her balcony when there was a knock on the door, her eyes moving to it and she got up, approaching and opening the door, a smile gracing her lips when she saw who it was “Jory, a pleasurable surprise” she stated with joy, stepping aside to allow him inside but he shook his head “actually, My Lady, your brother sent for you” he stated, her smile dampening a little, turning into a forced one as she nodded “oh, right… did-... did he say what for?”

“No, My Lady, only that it was urgent” he admitted, taking in the disappointment in her eyes even though she smiled and nodded, walking out of her room and closing the door behind her “well, then you better lead me to him” she stated softly, Jory nodding, beginning to lead her towards her brother. “I’ll admit that I had hoped your visit would be for a more… personal reason” she admitted quietly, Jory had to restrain himself to not gaze at her “as did I” he admitted just as quietly, Karliah glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes and she looked around before stopping, grabbing Jory by his hand to stop him as well, his head nervously whipping around, scanning the corridors with worry.

“You have barely laid your eyes on me since I arrived, Jory” she stated with a small frown, Jory looking around with worry and Karliah sighed heavily, letting go of him to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration “what is different except the location? Hm? My brother is not the only one who needs you… I find myself wishing for your presence every day and I try to ignore it, Jory, I do. But then you call me ‘My Lady’ and I’ve never wanted to punch as hard as I do when you call me that” she whispered with anger, Jory sighing heavily, looking around once more and she scoffed, stepping away “if you are so worried being seen with me, then I’ll find my brother myself” she stated harshly, already about to leave when Jory reached for her “My Lady-” he was cut off by her palm colliding with his face, tears in her eyes as he stared at her in shock. “I gave you everything! I gave you parts of myself I should have saved for my husband, whoever he might be! Now, you might not have deflowered me but what man would want me should they know that I had been involved with a man out of marriage?! I may still have my purity but that won’t matter to people! I am a woman. I have no voice. No right. It doesn’t matter if I speak the truth and say that you and I never laid together, people will draw their own conclusions - men will draw their own conclusions! And now you want to ‘My Lady’ me? As though the last three years have been, what? Nothing? Worthless? I could have found a husband but I waited for you… I waited on you! To pick up your balls and ask for my hand yourself! But you didn’t and now you want to call me ‘My Lady’ when we are alone?” Karliah whispered harshly, shaking her head at Jory “no one will ever want me now” she muttered quietly with a heartbroken voice that she tried to hide before turning around, storming off to find her brother herself. Both of them were unaware of a Hound that had heard the hushed voices from around the corner and had come to investigate.

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“Kal?” Ned asked with worry when he saw her there and she forced a smile as she walked closer “Jory said you sent for me?”

“I did-... where is he?”

“I asked if I could walk alone.”

“I gave him explicit orders-”

“And I counter-acted those orders. Now, why did you want me here? Jory said it was urgent?”

“It is… close the door” he muttered, Karliah hesitating before doing as told, turning to watch him sit back down behind the desk, rubbing his forehead with worry. “Ned?”

“Catelyn has taken Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner” he revealed, Karliah slowly closing her eyes as she let out a heavy breath, opening them again and walking closer, sitting down on the chair across the desk, across from Ned. “Seven Hells…” she muttered, Ned sighing “Catelyn has taken the Imp as her prisoner, Robert wants to murder the Targaryen girl and her unborn babe across the sea and I fear my daughters are not safe here, and neither are you. I’ve resigned as Hand of the King…”

“I told you, brother… We wolves do not fare well in the south” she muttered, leaning back in the chair with a heavy sigh. “His rage is because he thought that Rhaegar raped Lyanna and killed her… but-”

“No, Karliah-”

“You don’t know what I was going to say! Do you really think I’d ever, ever let him know about him now that you tell me he wishes to murder a girl and her unborn babe halfway across the sea?!” she asked in a hushed whisper, a frown on her brows as she shook her head at him “I would die for him, Eddard. I would die for him, just to see him smile and breathe for yet another day and I despise him being at the Wall because of the danger but at least he’s out of Robert’s reach there… I would never, ever use him like that to save that Targaryen girl, and I’m appalled that that thought would even enter your mind! Gods, what is with you Stark men?! What is with you men?! You never think about us women, do you?!”

“What?-”

“Of course I won’t tell him! You think I’m a fool? I love Jon with my life! I was merely going to ask Robert to change his mind! Gods!” she snapped and got up, storming out of the office and Nerd groaned loudly, his head in his hands as he let out a heavy sigh. Gods be good, the women in his life were sucking the life out of him.

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Karliah knocked gently on the door, waiting, and when she heard his voice, allowing her inside, she entered, spotting him by his table, a cup of wine in his hand and she sighed at the sight, walking closer after closing the door. “Karliah? To what do I-”

“I loved Lyanna, Robert… more than you could ever imagine… She was my sister, my mentor, my best friend. I looked up to her, I wanted to be her… she taught me to fight and shoot arrows and ride and-... we made such promises to each other… that we’d do so many things! That we’d see the Wall together, that we’d travel to Dorne or across the sea!...” Karliah remembered with a bright smile as she sat down across from Robert, studying him before reaching over, taking the wine glass from him and putting it down out of his reach, turning back to look at him. “You loved Lyanna in a way I can never… you loved her beauty, the way she looked in her dresses… the way she did her hair… her smile…”

“Karliah-”

“But that wasn’t just her” Karliah added, interrupting Robert with a frown on her face “Lyanna was wild. She was stubborn and feisty. She was strong in so many ways, stronger than anyone else I’ve ever known, even you, Robert… She liked to ride and fight and shoot arrows from horseback. She loved fighting and sparring… you knew Lyanna in her pretty dresses, I knew her caked in dirt, the biggest smile on her face that I’ve ever seen when I won over her the first time we sparred…” Karliah remembered with tears in her eyes, letting out a shaky breath “and her death-.... her death still pains me as though it was yesterday… but Rhaegar is dead. The Mad King is dead. The queen Rhaella is dead. They’re all dead except a spoiled brat and a girl, across the sea, so far away that it might as well be another world entirely! If you do this… if you go ahead with your plans-”

“Ned shouldn’t have told you-”

“He should’ve. And he did… if you go through with this, it will for certain bring war upon all of us. Imagine if the assassin you’ve sent out failed… if it had been Lyanna, carrying your child, and a brat and his sister in a far away country that you’ve never even considered tried to murder your wife and unborn child, the woman carrying your heir… would you not want revenge? Even if the assassin doesn’t fail, it still comes back to revenge! Leave them be, Robert… leave them to forget about Westeros. If you do this, you will certainly bring a war to Westeros but if you don’t-.... if you don’t do this… then it won’t draw their gaze to Westeros. I’m not saying that there isn’t a chance of war, but if you do this… it will certainly mean war, no matter what” Karliah finished, grabbing the wine goblet, drinking all of it before giving it to Robert, taking a jug and filling it for him before putting it down “and Ned is one of the best hands this realm has seen in a long, long time, Robert… and he’s your friend, your brother, you grew up together and you’re both fine men… but if you kill a girl and her unborn child… Lyanna would have your head herself. She was stubborn, Robert, just like you… and the two of you would have budded heads because of it, but she would never encourage what you plan to do now, even with the circumstances that led to her death, she could never accept such a thing” Karliah finished with a soft look in her eyes, it wasn’t a threat, it was a fact, and he knew it, tears showing in his eyes as he just looked at her and she bowed her head slightly “Your Grace” she greeted before leaving. She was on her way back to her chambers when Jory hurried past her with a very dirty Arya, Karliah frowning at the sight “Arya?”

“Aunt Karliah! You have to tell him! Tell him I’m not lying!”

“Tell who?”

“My father! Please! He’s about to leave with Littlefinger and-”

“It’s alright… it’s alright. Are you going to your room?” she asked, Arya nodding and Karliah nodded as well “alright, how about Jory deliver the message and I go to your room with you?” she offered, Arya nodding, already hugging her despite soiling Karliah’s dress but Karliah just smiled, lifting her head to look up at Jory with sad eyes. “You’ve gotten a red cheek, it seems, Jory” she muttered, Jory smiling a little as he nodded, looking down briefly “well earned, My Lady Karliah” he stated as he turned his eyes back up to look at her and Karliah felt her heart flutter, looking down at Arya “go on ahead, I’ll be right there” she spoke softly, Arya reluctantly doing as told and Karliah looked back up at Jory, a faint smile on her lips “sorry about the slap…”

“No worries, as I said; it was well earned… I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you… after this is all over and we return to Winterfell, everything will go back to normal again” he whispered, Karliah’s eyes saddening a little and she looked down with a frown “and what if I don’t want everything to go back to normal?... I just-... want more, I think… and I know that you’re not prepared for that… you’re not prepared to give me that because you don’t think it’s possible, so… This is goodbye, Jory. And please, take care of my brother” she whispered before walking away before he could respond, Jory watching her leave to catch up with her niece, a sad look in his eyes but he forced himself to leave to meet up with Lord Stark, as he was ordered.

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Karliah burst into the room, eyes wide with fear and worry and she sighed heavily when she saw him lying there, hurrying over as he was just waking up. She turned to the guard who had fetched her, anger in her eyes “why was I first told now?! What took you so long?! You didn’t think I needed to know that my brother-”

“Karliah, it’s alright” Ned mumbled and Karliah quickly turned to look at him, all traces of anger gone like smoke, and she leaned closer and sighed, using the sleeve of her dress to gently wipe away the sweat from his brow, not caring about being proper or soiling her dress “Gods, Ned… you look horrible. Have they given you any milk of the poppy? Someone fetch some more milk of the poppy! The man is in pain!”

“Karliah” he spoke again and she turned to look at him, sighing with worry “what happened? I heard that there was a fight in the street with Jaime Lannister? What in the name of all the Gods were you doing fighting him??”

“The girls..”

“They’re safe, it’s alright…”

“Do they-”

“No, not yet. I came the second I heard, found the first guard and demanded he take me to you…”

“That sounds like you” Ned muttered with a faint, weak smile, Karliah nodding her head with a sad smile “the girls are alright and in their rooms with their guards…”

“Go to them… they should hear of this from you and not some Lannister guard” he muttered bitterly and Karliah sighed softly, nodding “you rest, brother… sleep, promise me you’ll try?” she asked, Ned nodding, already about to fall asleep and Karliah smiled at the sight “it’s alright, Neddy…I’ll talk to the girls” she whispered softly before leaning closer, kissing his sweaty forehead before leaving the room after making sure he was safe and alright.

She entered the area that was connected to the girls’ quarters, her own, Ned’s and the Septa, finding her with Sansa, stitching. “Septa, a word?” she asked, the woman nodding, standing up and walking a distance away from Sansa. “Ned is wounded, I’m not sure if you’ve heard?”

“I have, I didn’t want to discuss it in front of the girls…” she admitted in a whisper, Karliah nodding, sighing softly as she glanced at Sansa before looking back at the Septa “well, it’s true, he’s wounded. His leg is-...” Karliah cut herself off with a small sigh, frowning “he’s resting right now, I will check on him later today but from now on I want a guard with you and the girls at all times. A Stark guard. Do you understand what I’m saying, and why?” she asked quietly, the Septa nodding “I do…”

“I’m trusting you with my nieces, Mordane, I love these girls more than life itself” Karliah whispered, the Septa smiling softly at her “I know, I do too. They’re good girls, although Arya is as stubborn as she is wild and unruly, and Sansa has taken to an attitude as of late, since the Kingsroad…” the Septa muttered slightly bitterly, Karliah sighing “I heard… I hadn’t brought it up, I didn’t want to remind the girls of it more than it already does by itself…” she admitted, sighing softly “go get Arya from her room, please” Karliah asked, the Septa nodding, leaving to fetch Arya as Karliah walked over to Sansa, sitting down next to her, leaning closer to see what she was stitching. “It’s beautiful work, Sansa, I could never stitch that well” Karliah admitted, Sansa smiling softly at her and Karliah studied her before smiling back at her, just as Arya and the Septa returned. “Arya, sit down, please” Karliah ordered and Arya frowned but did so, sitting next to Sansa, both of them facing her.

“Earlier this day there was an-... incident… your father was wounded - he is still alive! But he was wounded. He will be bedridden for-... I don’t know how long… Only time will tell. His leg was injured severely and he’s been given milk of the poppy. Your father is tired because of it, but he is alive and resting, as he should be” Karliah explained, the girls both seeming saddened and partly horrified, Karliah sighing softly “for the two of you, everything will go on as it has been. I will ask your father if you may visit him but I want both of you to understand that if he says no it is not because he doesn’t want to see you. He’s wounded, hurt and tired from milk of the poppy, he may not be at his best and he may not want you to see him this way, weakened and hurt. All the two of you need to do is go on as you have-”

“Then why tell us?”

“Because, Sansa, he is your father. He is your father and he loves the both of you more than his heart is capable of, and you don’t deserve to be kept in the dark” Karliah replied softly, studying the two girls with a soft smile “everything will be alright, I promise. I’ll look after your father while the two of you stop acting the way you do. You’re sisters, you are family whether you like it or not. What are our words?” she asked, the girls glancing at each other before replying at the same time; “Winter is coming.”

“And what does it mean?” Karliah asked, the two girls frowning a little and she smiled “when winter is coming, you prepare. You prepare for the worst, you hope for the best, you don’t know if it’ll be a kind winter or one that will leave you freezing in front of a big fire. ‘Winter is coming’ means to stand together, as one, to weather any storm that may be thrown our way. Your father is injured and weak, he cannot lord over the two of you as you squabble. You’re sisters, do you understand?” she asked softly, the two girls nodding, once again replying at the exact same time with the exact same words; “Yes, aunt Karliah.”

Karliah nodded and stood up, walking over to the two girls, leaning down to peck Sansa’s head and then Arya’s. “I love you both, dearly, as does your father. Listen to your Septa, I will let you know if anything changes with your father” she stated, kissing their heads once more before walking over to the Septa who smiled softly at her “where’s Jory? I need to speak to him, I want extra guards assigned to you and the girls-”

“You haven’t heard?” the Septa asked with a frown, watching Karliah frown as well, softly shaking her head “heard what?” she asked, the Septa sighing softly “Jory was killed at the altercation, when Lord Eddard was injured” she whispered, frowning even more at the way this seemed to shock the Lady Stark to her core, eyes widening a little, her breath a little shaky but she forced herself to nod “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good and loyal man” she muttered before leaving, at first slowly and calmly, as she would any other day, but the second she was out of sight, she picked up the pace, hurrying around a corridor, back against the wall as tears filled her eyes and she had to cup her mouth to not sob too loudly, her heart breaking over and over again every time she thought of him and their last words. As she tried to gather herself, removing her hands from her mouth and tried to breathe normally, she placed a hand on her chest, over her heart, closing her eyes and leaning her head back as she sobbed quietly, tears running down her cheeks as she tried to keep quiet. She was so caught up in trying to control her rapid breathing, already feeling lightheaded, that when someone touched her shoulder she flinched, looking up at the scarred face of the Hound, her eyes wide and she quickly turned away, trying to wipe away her tears, cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame as she tried to gain her breathing under control. And failed. “Breathe” he stated gruffly and she scoffed through her ragged breathing, the Hound studying her before sighing, looking around before turning her around to face him, hesitating before reluctantly wrapping a single, armored arm around her, pulling her against his armor in an awkward and stiff hug, a displeased look on his face but it seemed to work, Karliah’s breathing calming down, her heart stopped racing and she felt fatigued, eyes already closing, the cool metal of his armor soothing her, cooling down her burning cheeks as she relaxed.

After a while, she realized something. He hadn’t moved away. He hadn’t let go of her and she enjoyed his presence, she enjoyed the stiff and awkward hug and when she looked up at him, he looked like he was just about done with the world and it’s shit. And then he looked down at her as she peered up at him. Something in his eyes changed when he looked down at her, the tears stuck to her cheeks, her red and puffy eyes wide as she looked up at him. His entire body softened a little as he studied her, his arm around her no longer as stiff as before, though it wasn’t entirely relaxed like she was. “Thank you” she whispered, lowering her head and resting it against his armor once more, closing her eyes. She didn’t ever want this to end. Ever. But it seemed it wasn’t meant to be, Sandor lifting his arm, leaning back a little and she understood the message, quickly taking a large step back as she wiped her wet cheeks in an attempt to wipe away the tears. “Forgive me, I-...” she trailed off. She had no idea what to say. ‘Sorry for sobbing up against you?’. ‘Forgive me, I enjoyed your hug so much that it made me forget all the horrible things happening around me and to my house and family.’

She sniffled a little, clearing her throat as she tried to make herself presentable “I-... thank you, for your comfort… it was-... nice” she admitted, finally looking up at him and saw that he was already looking at her, making her cheeks burn again “I would-... prefer it… if you didn’t mention this to anyone… I’m not overly fond of the idea of people knowing I sobbed like a child in the corridors” she admitted with an awkward chuckle, looking down before looking up at him, finding him still staring at her as he nodded ever so slightly, making her smile “thank you, Ser” she stated softly, hesitating before looking away “I suppose I’ll see you around, then” she muttered, wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks as she left, Sandor watching her leave with a small frown.

#game of thrones #Wolves and Hounds #Sandor #Sandor Clegane #Sandor x OC #Karliah Stark #Sandor x Karliah #GoT #GoT fic #Game of Thrones fanfic

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

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How the GoT Characters React When You Flirt With Them

In this preference, you'll be flirting with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Eddison Tollett, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell

Ned Stark

For a while, he doesn’t notice what you’re doing. He assumes you’re being polite, making conversation, doing what ladies are told to do when there are guests. But the second time it happened, he noticed that sly smile, and the third time, your eyes were sparkling, and then … Well, he finally figured it out. He’s flattered, though unsure what to do with the attention. If he were married he'd politely ignore it, but if single he's got Benjen teasing him about it. There will be zero attempts to flirt back even if he's interested; Ned is awful at it.

Robb Stark

He's very into it, especially if you're a lovely noblewoman. Robb tries to hide his eagerness, but you'll probably get him to smile and maybe blush after several well-placed words (and perhaps some light touches). There's always the chance you don't mean any of it, that you're only flattering the heir to the North… but Robb can enjoy it for now, and he can be pretty damn charming.

Sansa Stark

She's all smiles once she figures out what you're doing. It's flattering, but Sansa won't return any flirting until she knows you well. She has to know someone well before even thinking about it, but by then, you both would probably already know each other's feelings… Well, her kind words are sweet, regardless. She has no patience for distasteful or overly familiar flirting.

Jon Snow

Well, he's not used to people being so nice to him - especially noble ladies - so he quickly figures out what you're doing and he's blushing. He frowns and insists he's not, but he is. This sort of attention is just so new to him. Jon doesn't dislike it, but it does make him nervous at first - perhaps you're making fun of him? He's more comfortable if you're just friendly.

Benjen Stark

He's amused by your attention, even flattered, though his response will go one of two ways. Either he'll flirt back just as much, wanting you to blush and eventually slip up, or he'll act oblivious so you'll act even more forward. Either way Benjen wants to tease you and get you flustered; he doesn't even care if the flirting is just for fun.

Jory Cassel

At first he thinks you're just being nice, then he becomes a bit flustered once he figures out you're serious. If you were a highborn lady, it'd even make Jory nervous - what business do you have with someone like him? Though, he'd do a good job of hiding these emotions. He'd simply smile, thank you for the flattery and hope you move on. If you weren't nobility he'd probably try to flirt back, though he's more sweet than suave.

Eddison Tollett

The flirting goes over his head initially, unless you're very forward… in which case, he's either confused or assumes you're trying a joke. Edd has zero confidence in anything involving romance, he has no idea why you'd ever flirt with him, so he might get uncomfortable if you keep at it. He'll just bluntly ask what the point is. It's a joke, right? Right?

Yara Greyjoy

She thinks it’s adorable. Are you trying to be subtle? Really? If you’re forward about it, Yara can give as much as she gets. But if you really try to be coy about it, she can’t help but tease and mess with you, switching between acting oblivious or challenging you to be even bolder. She doesn’t even mind if it goes nowhere; it’s fun to flirt with an attractive person, and she has quite a colorful vocabulary.

Daenerys Targaryen

It's a good thing she's interested in you as well, otherwise she'd have no patience for this. She's had all manner of unwanted suitors, and finally someone interesting is grabbing her attention. Daenerys will play aloof at first, wanting to keep up her queenly façade, but eventually it does slip… For one, you actually make her laugh. Once you start the jokes and anecdotes, she finds herself relaxing. Dany won't want anything more forward until she initiates it, but she's happy to spend time with someone so amusing and interesting.

Jorah Mormont

He notices what you're doing right away, and he's both flattered and embarrassed. He might try to act oblivious, but the slight red on his cheeks say otherwise. Jorah likely had a crush on you to begin with - because it's always obvious when he does - so he's very happy when you seem to return those feelings. Though if you aren't seriously interested and just wanted to tease him… why would you do that to the poor man?

Missandei

It’s a little flattering, but unnecessary. There’s no need to carry on like that with her, it won’t improve your chances in speaking to the khaleesi. Wait … you actually mean it? Missandei is a little embarrassed, then. Throughout her life, the romantic attention she’s received has been less than pleasant or wanted. She’s never had the freedom to speak out against it until now, so while Missandei won’t mind more sweet or harmless flirting, she’ll become annoyed with anything too forward.

Grey Worm

The poor soldier doesn’t realize what you’re doing for the longest time. He thinks you’re just being kind and friendly, which makes him glad, but he doesn’t realize you’re giving him special attention until Jorah mentions it. Then Grey Worm really begins to doubt - you mean your words, don’t you? How is he supposed to respond? It’s terribly confusing, and completely new territory to him. He’ll eventually ask Missandei for some insight, and if she finds out you’re just leading him on, she will have words.

Tywin Lannister

The fact you're trying already means a lot - you're either planning something or being utterly foolish. Either way, Tywin has no patience for it. He's a proud man and won't be swayed by any pretty eyes or clever words. And if somehow he was affected, he'd never show it. He won't be pursued. The best you can hope for is he takes it somewhat well but makes a mental note to be wary of your “true” intentions.

Tyrion Lannister

There's no end to the whores and nobles that flatter him even if they find him repulsive. He has his dear family to thank for that, and their riches. He assumed someone of your reputation and looks was just trying to get favor. But you kept staying at his side even as other lords clearly wanted to talk, and you were laughing - really laughing - at his japs, and adding your own. It was a surprisingly good way to spend an evening, and though Tyrion still felt the need to keep his guard up, he was curious when he'd see you again.

Jaime Lannister

He's surprised, but also not surprised. Kingslayer or no, Jaime knows he's attractive, a knight and a Lannister, least anyone forget. He figured your attraction was superficial. Maybe he'd humor you, but probably not. You turned out to be pretty clever, though, turning some of his sarcastic wit against him. It made Jaime more interested when you kept trying each day, and sometimes you'd get a laugh out of him. It'd be a good way to befriend him, though he has a lot of hang-ups to get through before he considers anything romantic.

Sandor Clegane

Sandor doesn’t take it well at first. He might think you’re mocking him, maybe you’re drunk. It takes him a while before he humors it, and he figures you want a quick fuck and that's all. He doesn't understand why you'd want more - don't you know who he is? Overall Sandor doesn't respond well to random flirtations, especially from highborn ladies. A common girl might have an easier time, but he’s skittish with this sort of attention, to put it mildly.

Bronn

No surprise, the sellsword dished it right back to you, adding his own colorful flair that definitely isn't for polite company. Bronn will immediately take any flirting into provocative territory, and if you keep giving it back just as good, well… He wouldn’t mind finding a secluded place where you two can talk properly. He’s absolutely shameless, too. He’ll gladly dirty talk with a fine lady if she’s the one who starts it and can keep up with his crass jokes.

Petyr Baelish

He pretends to be clueless at first, hoping for a chance to see that confused look on your face, or better, an increase in your flirting. Petyr hides how delighted he is that you're pursuing him - and yes, he'll see it as pursuing, not just harmless flirting. It makes his plans much easier if you're already fond of him. If you carry on, he'll do his best to hide a self-satisfied smirk… but he might slip up and give you what you want.

Stannis Baratheon

Stannis is utterly oblivious to what you’re trying to do. He wonders why you’re around him so much, and what you mean by all these charming smiles. What could you want? Likely Davos or Renly will clue him in on your intentions, and that just makes him uncomfortable. They must be mistaken. Even when you’re both married, he doesn’t always pick up on your desires. You’ll just have to be blunt about them.

Davos Seaworth

He's surprised, but ultimately flattered. He can tell you aren't joking and might be a little charming back. However, he won't seriously entertain your intentions if you're much younger and especially if you're highborn. He'll even dissuade you from the flirting if you carry on too much - surely you have better prospects than an old smuggler? Eventually Davos will try to dissuade your interest in him.

Margaery Tyrell

She plays coy at first, pretending you're just giving her friendly compliments and conversation. She's curious if you'll continue, and if you do, Margaery will flirt in her own subtle way. This is especially true if you're a lady; she'll give you touches and words that could be taken as friendly, but there's something in her eyes that say otherwise. She's not interested in very forward and improper ‘flirting’, especially when she's made her disinterest known. How vulgar.

Brynden Tully

Admittedly it takes Brynden a few minutes to understand what you're getting at, but then he has to contain a grin. He's very flattered you're interested, and might return a few sweet words if he's had something to drink. He doesn't take it too seriously; he's an old knight and you're a lovely lady. Surely you're just teasing him and aren't actually wanting him… right? Doesn’t a sweet girl like you have better prospects? Then again, if you’re willing ...

Edmure Tully

Edmure's already grinning before you get two sentences out. It's lucky enough for a pretty girl to talk to him, but actually flirting while batting those long eyelashes and smiling so sweetly? He's gone. Utterly hopeless. When he's sober he can at least flirt and joke back, but when he's drunk he just becomes even cheesier. He'll keep trailing after you at parties and galas if you keep it up.

Brienne of Tarth

She’s terribly flustered by your intentions and wonders what you mean by them - because of previous experiences, Brienne can’t help but think you’re trying to mock her. Someone like you couldn’t possibly be interested in her. Even after you’ve explained yourself and she realizes your feelings, it still makes Brienne uneasy sometimes. She has a hard time with someone truly admiring her, even simple compliments can give her queasy butterflies. The more often you do it, and the more honest you are, the more comfortable she’ll eventually become.

Ramsay Bolton

It's a bold (and questionable) decision to tempt Ramsay like this. The thing is, it's easy to pique his interest with well-placed words and a fearless stare. A clueless girl is fun enough, but a bold one that seems to see right through him? That's interesting. Depending on his mood, he'll pretend to play along or show a bit of his true colors, just to see what you'll do. If you're both betrothed, he'll have a fun time deciding if he should play nice… or give you a taste of what to expect.

Roose Bolton

First of all, he's enjoying the hell out of a lovely, established lady showing interest, especially a lady he's been keeping an eye on for some time. Though Roose will play at being aloof, assuring you he doesn't know what you mean… perhaps you'd like to clarify? He likes asking you pointed questions, gazing down at you with a knowing stare so you'll blush and demure. If you continue to meet his gaze and boldly flirt, well … That sort of daring should be rewarded, shouln’t it?

Oberyn Martell

He soaks this shit up. Oberyn alternates between flirting back shamelessly or playing oblivious, regardless of whose around to hear the two of you. He loves boldness as opposed to faux innocence, and he can play at word games and innuendos until the sun goes down. He doesn't even mind if you were stringing him along the whole time; he'll be thinking about your words and smiles for a long while afterward. As soon as he sees you at another gathering, he’ll head right for you, hoping it wasn’t just a one-time thing on your part.

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flamingfalcon3 · 3 years

Text

Hello! I have finally finished the first chapter of my first Jori fanfic. I’m still trying to get a feel for the character interactions but I think I’m starting to get the hang of it! I’m gonna start posting to ao3 once i get that account set up (and figure out a title lol) but I might as well post the first chapter here! Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

Jade knew her girlfriend was hiding something.

Tori was not a hard person to read. Hell, the girl practically wore her heart on her sleeve. It was so easy to guess what she was feeling at all times that Tori had all but given up trying to conceal her emotions.

So, when Jade noticed that Tori was a bit more high-strung and stressed than usual, it wasn’t hard for her to conclude that there was something on her mind.

It also helped that Tori was an awful liar.

“What’s up with you?” Jade asked casually during lunch one afternoon.

“Nothing!” the singer squeaked suspiciously. She cleared her throat and attempted to regain composure. “Nothing is up. Everything is great!”

Jade frowned slightly, not at all convinced, but decided just to drop it for the time being as the rest of their friend group arrived at the table.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Sikowitz made them all tapdance while performing a scene to “demonstrate how important it is to stay in character no matter what the character may be doing” or whatever and then spent the rest of the class monologuing about how a squirrel got trapped in his bathroom.

Jade sighed a breath of relief as the final bell rang and cut Sikowitz off just as he was about to go into detail about the standoff he had with the rodent. The only one seemingly more anxious to get out of the classroom than Jade was her girlfriend, who was out the door before the bell even finished ringing. Their friends glanced at each other in confusion.

“Maybe she really hates squirrels?” Robbie suggested. The others considered it for a moment before shrugging and forgetting about it a second later, exiting the classroom.

Jade strode over to Tori, who was frantically throwing books into her backpack from her locker. Jade leaned back against the locker next to Tori’s while folding her arms across her chest.

“You’re in a hurry,” the goth commented while watching the girl struggle to cram a science textbook into her bag.

“Jade!” Tori jumped slightly, seemingly startled by Jade’s presence.

“That’s me,” she responded dryly. “Did you forget about our date after school today?”

The singer’s eyes widened in realization and her hand flew to her forehead as she let out a groan

“Jade, oh my god, I am so sorry! I completely forgot!” she confessed, clearly feeling guilty she had forgotten they’d planned to have sushi after school ended.

“It’s alright,” Jade replied coolly, quirking the corner of her mouth up slightly to convey to Tori she wasn’t upset with her. “What’s got you in such a rush anyway?”

Tori paused for a moment, staring down at her converse.

“Oh, umm… I promised my mom I would help her with… something,” she mumbled.

“Something…?” Jade probed, hoping to get a little more context on what had her girlfriend so worked up. Tori, however, would not offer her any.

“It’s not important. I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Tori slung her bag over her shoulder before stepping towards Jade and planting a short but sweet kiss to her lips. She then turned and began walking towards the exit.

“You better! I can’t have people think I got stood up!” Jade called out after her, earning a hearty laugh from her girlfriend as she left the building.

The goth rolled her eyes, amused by Tori’s refusal to admit what it was she was helping her mother with. It must be super embarrassing or something.

Jade was halfway through entering her locker combination when she remembered something that gave her pause.

Tori’s parents were out of town for the week. Trina had a showcase and they needed an excuse not to show up. Why would she need to help her mom with something if-?

Jade’s phone lit up with a message from Tori directed towards the group chat, asking if anyone could lend her $100 bucks. The goth furrowed her brows. Tori rarely asked for money, and never more than $10 dollars at a time.

Tori Vega, what the hell are you up to?

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All Jade could think about for the rest of the day was how strange her girlfriend was acting. She wasn’t responding to her text messages and apparently none of their friends had heard from her either. It wasn’t like Tori at all, and Jade’s curiosity was slowly turning into concern.

She knew it was silly to be worried. Tori was a big girl, after all. Still, why would she need $100 bucks on such short notice? And what was with her skittish and secretive attitude?

Maybe she was in trouble with someone. Maybe she needed to pay them money in order to keep them at bay.

The thought was so absurd that Jade almost burst out laughing as soon as it entered her mind. This is Tori she was talking about. Miss “I have never stayed out past curfew” Vega. Not exactly the type to get tangled up in criminal activity.

Still, Jade couldn’t help but feel uneasy about Tori’s radio silence. It wouldn’t hurt to pay her a visit, right?

15 minutes later she was climbing through her girlfriend’s bedroom window, which Tori for some reason always kept unlocked. Tori wasn’t there, but her backpack was on her bed and her phone was on her desk. Jade let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she sank down onto the bed. Not 10 seconds later she heard the sound of footsteps and the bedroom door creaked open. In walked Tori who jumped five feet in the air and shrieked upon seeing someone in her room.

“Jade?” Tori yelped. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” the goth deadpanned.

“So you broke into my house?”

“I didn’t break in. Your window was unlocked,”

“That’s still breaking in!”

“Is it really, though?”

“Yes!”

Jade was about to argue further when she noticed Tori was holding a grocery bag, and its contents looked quite heavy based on how far the bottom was sagging.

“Whatcha got there?” She asked, gesturing towards the bag. Tori glanced at it quickly before fixing her gaze back on Jade.

“Just some stuff for a science project,” she stated, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Tori,” Jade huffed. “We are in the same science class. We’re lab partners. We don’t have a science project.”

Tori stammered helplessly, trying and failing to come up with some explanation for what was in the bag. Jade groaned in annoyance, fed up with whatever game her girlfriend was playing.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what’s going on! You know it doesn’t matter what it is since my opinion of you can’t get any low-” Jade was interrupted by a strange noise coming from somewhere in the room. She immediately turned to locate the source of the sound.

Tori could only watch helplessly as the goth scoured every inch of her room before finally tearing open the doors to her closet. A tiny fuzzy creature emerged from the darkness. And then another. And then another. They kept emerging from the closet until there were seven tiny kittens of various colors and patterns wandering around the room.

Jade slowly looked back up at her girlfriend, confusion written all over her face.

“How-how did those get in there?” Tori stammered, trying her very best to feign ignorance as all the kittens ran towards her meowing hungrily.

Unfortunately her “very best” still wasn’t very good.

“Tori, why were there cats in your closet?” Jade asked, still absolutely bewildered by the scene that was unfolding.

The singer realized there was no way she could talk her way out of this one, and just gave her girlfriend a guilty look before opening her mouth.

“Remember last week when there was that sudden downpour in downtown Los Angeles?” Jade nodded. “Well, I was walking home from Nozu’s when I heard strange noises coming from an alleyway. I went to check to see what it was and-”

“Wait, you heard strange noises coming from an alleyway in downtown Los Angeles at night and you went to go check it out?” Jade asked incredulously. Jesus, Jade doesn’t know how her girlfriend has managed to survive for this long considering her self-preservation instincts were non-existent. Tori just rolled her eyes in response.”

“As I was saying, I went to go check out what the strange noises were and… well,” she turned to look at the kittens scampering around her bedroom.

Jade brought her hand up to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“So let me get this straight, you wandered into a back alley while it was raining and found kittens and decided the best thing to do would be to take them home?” Jade was still bewildered by her girlfriend.

“Well when you put it that way it sounds like a stupid idea,” Tori blushed while avoiding eye contact. Jade sighed but took a step closer to her.

“I mean, I always assumed you would be one of those lesbians who would have like ten cats but I thought that would start after you moved out of your parents’ house,” she smirked.

“Hey!” Tori let out a mock-offended gasp while swatting Jade’s arm playfully. “I mean, I probably will have to move out once they come home and discover I’ve been hiding kittens in my room despite my father being deathly allergic to them.”

Why was Jade attracted to such a moron?

“Can’t you just give them to a shelter or something?” she asked gently. Tori shook her head softly.

“I thought about it but the pounds are apparently really full this time of year so there’s a significant possibility that they'll get…” Tori paused, unable to even finish the thought. “It’s just… they’ve been through so much in the short few weeks they’ve been alive and I can’t just abandon them now!”

Stupid Tori and her stupid heart of gold. The goth groaned and tilted her head back.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll help you with you’re dumb kitten problem,” Jade’s heart fluttered a little as she watched Tori’s face lit up like a christmas tree.

“Really?” She gleamed. “How?”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who would be interested in adopting tiny kittens. Especially if you go into detail about their tragic backstory and stuff. People are suckers for that kind of stuff,” Jade stated. “You could like, advertise them on The Slap and try to get them adopted before your parents come back.”

Tori chewed at her bottom lip, contemplating Jade’s suggestion.

“That’s… not a bad idea. People advertise things on The Slap all the time,” she hesitated for a moment and her face fell. “Ugh, wait. Trina follows me. If she finds out I’m hiding kittens in my closet she’ll rat me out for sure.”

Jade closed her eyes and sighed deeply. God, she can’t believe she was about to say this.

“I guess… I could… post about the kittens on my page, or whatever,” she grimaced. Tori’s grin got so wide Jade was concerned her face was about to split in half.

“You would do that for me?” she exclaimed. “But, your reputatio-”

“My reputation died as soon as I changed my status to ‘in a relationship with Tori Vega’,” Jade snorted. “Kittens would be nowhere near as embarrassing as you.”

Tori was beaming at her girlfriend despite the insult, chuckling lightly as she wrapped her arms around Jade’s neck and peppering her face with soft kisses before finally connecting their lips. The goth let out a content sigh in the back of her throat and attempted to deepen the kiss while pushing Tori backwards to the bed. However, Tori hummed and broke the kiss leaving Jade more than a little confused.

“Sorry, I-” the singer stammered. “I would feel weird making out in front of…”

Jade quirked her eyebrows up in amusement.

“In front of… the cats?” she asked, barely suppressing a laugh. Tori nodded, cheeks red with embarrassment. Jade just chuckled and rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s.

“Jesus Christ, Tori.”

#jori #victorious #victorious fanfiction #jori fanfiction #jade x tori #jade west #tori vega

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mystery-salad · 3 years

Text

The Vuisce Plot

Just want to get down my basic thoughts on their overall plot, since they went way off the rails! Despite how much their story diverges from canon, major spoiler warnings under the cut still!

Vuisce started out as a simple Pact engineer who came in through the Durmand Priory during the normal story, an irrelevant person handled the basic story as Commander up through lws2. As such, plot went normally there. They simply followed orders, though they did continue to push their Priory research which focused on the eternal alchemy and how that magic flows through Tyria and its creatures.

Zhaitan’s death shook them in a way they hadn’t expected. The explosion was different, the shockwave that shouldn’t have come from a dragon dying unless...perhaps all that magic they consumed had a reason for it. After all the world kept spinning despite the dragons gorging on magic. And now a huge mass was suddenly back in the world.

They continued to research, and Scarlet’s ability to wake another dragon via a leyline magic path really confirmed how dangerous killing these giant beasts could be. They argued against the initial attack trying to talk anyone into an alternate path, but one priory engineer can do little against an entire three organizations aiming for the death of the dragons.

———————

But then the crash happened. And the Pact fell apart. And what else can you do than pick up the pieces and any survivors you can find, and take the chance to try and do things your way? Their team isn’t the canon one, after all they never directly worked with any of what would’ve ended up being the canonical team.

Vuisce zooms through HoT with a ragtag team to Mordremoth, Caithe handling most of the egg arc herself. Once there, Trahearne is not nearly as far gone as he is in the normal slower story progression. And he’s able to hear Vuisce out and try to help through his connection to Mordremoth.

Using some various *hand wavy* methods and a lot of experimental magic based on theoretical equations, the team manages to lure Mordremoth into a smaller body. One of her strongest Mordrem. And from there, they cut Mordremoth’s mind off from her own body. The forest goes dormant, the sylvari and mordrem are free from control, and Mordremoth can be handled alive without unleashing all her magic into the world.

Trahearne is saved, with Mordremoth cut off from his mind. Vuisce beelined so quickly to the dragon that everyone from the og dragon team (Eir, Zojja, etc...) didn’t die or suffer too horribly from prolonged time in the blighting pods. And once Mordremoth was trapped and incapacitated, the crew went to see Caithe and the egg since it called to Vuisce. Though the call was quieter, calmer without the sudden influx of magic from another dead dragon.

———————

Time passes, Mordremoth eventually calms down in her new body. She knows she can’t on her own reconnect to her old body and magic and...while she can’t control much here, she can think clearer without so much power buzzing through her mind. And perhaps life is better, with a team protecting you rather than a threat constantly facing your domain. She joins Vuisce’s group officially and aims to help keep the world stable. Perhaps if it’s stable enough she and her siblings may return to their bodies and slumber once more.

———————

Mordremoth senses the bloodstone and white mantle before the others can, leading the team to the disturbance to try and halt the explosion before it overflows. They can’t of course, bloodstone is innately parasitic and reasonless. And has so many bodies and so much magic to feed off of. The explosion still builds until it’s too late. But in the aftermath there is a worse threat. The pact can be left to handle the fallout here, they have better resources and Vuisce trusts they won’t kill the wrong things. But that Mursaat is not what he seems. The team must prepare to fight a god.

———————

Aurene is born in relative safety. The golden city is stronger for the magic still flowing through the dragon laying beneath, and Balthazar knows better than to pull his ruse in front of the elder dragons directly when he seeks to kill them. She’s smaller, more delicate as the only magic her egg has absorbed is that of Zhaitan and her own mother. She’s bonier and scrawnier, but tough and energetic as ever. And she learns fast. And grows faster under the tutelage of her elders.

———————

The team chases Balthazar through HoT but any ambush he may set is far outmatched. Vuisce never travels alone after all and how do you take down a team who’s faced and ready to challenge death already?

———————

Aurene grows more, having gained Balthazar’s magic. Joko follows soon after. There are some enemies you simply can not reason with after all, some are not drunk on the consumption of the magic of Tyria, but the power they think it could bring.

———————

Kralkatorrik is a more challenging target, flying high rather than bursting from the ground. And the Pact is closing in much to Vuisce’s chagrin, with a plan they hope their little team can move faster than. But they can’t, and Aurene is saved by luck of consuming Joko. Vuisce accepts how dangerous the Pact is to their plans on keeping the world stable, they won’t let it cut this close again. But in the mists with Aurene they finally catch up to Kralkatorrik, forcing their way into his mind with the help of his sister already on their side.

They trap another and lay low again, waiting for Kralkatorrik to calm down and listen in his new form.

———————

And then we hit icebrood saga which I’m still working out deets on

As for the standard team, none of them are involved in the plot. They saved the world with the commander once and have moved on to calmer lives they’ve each chosen, with the reputation of a victory under their belts.

Braham learned well from Eir over the years once she returned from the Jungle. It was a rocky road, figuring out what they each needed as a mother and son. But even more they found how they could be friends, as Eir taught Braham what she learned from her own great battles and victories, and Braham prepared properly to become a legend himself under guidance and support from the family he has left.

Taimi started up her own lab in Maguuma thanks to the uncovered Rata Novus hub, and runs a krew dedicated to discovering and learning from other old asuran cities. She hopes to dig all the way back to the years her people had spent subterraneously. There’s much to learn of how things had changed, knowledge lost from the displacement. It’s a flourishing prestigious krew that many look to join.

Jory and Kas open the detective agency back up. Jory’s know-how and Kas’ connections are an effective combination, there’s not been a case they couldn’t solve once brought to their attention!

Rox freed herself from Rytlock’s shadow, his denial of her success purely by trying to help her friends being the last straw. And it was still a success by many means, she draws her own group of admirers and an eventual warband. One that respects and admires her skills. She truly is enough. And when the Olmakhan reconnect through the threat on their own lands, she discovers the place she can truly call home.

Caithe runs the crystal bloom, ever the shining emissary of Aurene and the head of a group that’s much smaller but doing their part to remind the world that the dragons are necessities, not the enemies here. The world is wary at best of this team of dragons on the loose, surely they’d be better off of the pact got what it wanted and killed them instead? But perhaps not...Caithe hopes to push this point with her own faction as they try to aid the Pact in repairing damaged zones.

And Aurene herself grows, a slower growth but a magnificent one nonetheless. She’s shimmering, as one could expect from a child of Glint, and resplendently graceful. But darker as well, smoldering and shambling in her own way as magic from Balthazar and Zhaitan and Joko runs through her, less diluted by the plant and crystal magic of her elders. She’s a force to be reckoned with and no one can deny that.

Zhaitan is eventually revived in turn with the help of its siblings, able to pull back a fair amount of its magic into the body before being encased in a smaller avatar in turn. This is the turning point for many watching Vuisce’s team from afar. They’re surely a threat if they’re even reviving old kills. How long before this all backfires? They can’t possibly hope to control the dragons can they???

But of course, control was never the intention, just as defeat was never a possibility. And the world will keep turning, as Vuisce hopes it will.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #Vuisce

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

summertime sadness .5.

work day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (fingering)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: Loki adds to your workload.

Note: Right, here we go, here we go, here go again. Girls, what's my weakness? Men! Sorry, minor detour there but are we ready for the darkness? Y'all hold onto your panties. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, the scene flashed behind your eyelids. Loki standing over you, the image on his phone, his hand on your chin. And then you thought of Bucky. It was hard not to; your phone buzzed all night as you ignored his messages. Steve’s too. It had finally caught up to you and it felt worse than you could imagine. A man you admired thought you nothing more than a floozy. Well, maybe you were.

Saturday shone through your window and you rolled over. You were exhausted; mentally, emotionally. Your hours were spent reprimanding yourself. Going over all your mistakes; every single choice that had led to such disaster. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You moved slowly, your body cramped from the tension.

The grind of your coffee machine filled the apartment as you sat at your desk. A mark of your guilt. A gift from one illicit lover; another having defiled you a top it. A year ago, to think of all that had transpired, you would’ve been appalled. You were. You’d sold your integrity for fleeting pleasures. You felt cheated. By yourself more than any.

You filled a mug and grabbed your phone from beside your bed. You hadn’t looked at it since you laid down the night before. Missed calls, unanswered texts, unread emails. You answered Bucky first, a simple ‘I wasn’t feeling well. Sorry.’ Besides, he had plans with Tanya, or was busy dodging her.

You texted the same to Steve and his response was swift. Your phone vibrated as his ID flashed across the screen and you answered the call after several rings. You were weak, breathless.

“Hey,” You said quietly and sipped your coffee.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“Fine,” You lied poorly. “Work’s kept me busy and… I guess it’s gotten ahead of me.”

“Oh,” He uttered. “Any plans today?”

“Rest,” You shrugged and sat back in your chair. “After I sort through all my work emails and catch up.”

“Bucky?” He asked.

“I… I’m tired.” You grumbled. “I… need a break.”

“I’m sure work would understand if you took a day to yourself.” Steve said.

“No, no, I can’t do that,” You said suddenly. “I wasn’t talking about work.”

“What do you--”

“You shouldn’t be calling me. You should call Kylie. See how she’s doing.” You interrupted. “And Bucky should worry about his students. About marking and whatever. And I need to think about myself and my job.” You stood and paced around the small space of your apartment. “I’m sorry but… you said it yourself. It’s okay to be selfish, so I’m going to be selfish and think about my future because fucking old men isn’t going to get me anywhere.”

You hung up before he could respond. And then your heart sank. Why had you said that? It all had spilled from you so quickly. You cringed and your phone began to buzz again. It was Steve. You let out a shaky breath and dismissed the call. You set your phone to do not disturb’ and tossed it on your bed. Maybe your words were rash but it didn’t make them any less true.

💋

Monday. You walked into Adder Press with a pit in your stomach. You were jittery from more than your morning coffee. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly as you passed Stacey. Everything around you seemed distant, obscured by the haze that fell over you. You sat at your desk, numb, and began to set out your stuff as you always did. In a desperate attempt to make it all feel normal again.

As you waited for your computer to boot, you felt a subtly weight on the back of your chair. You looked up at Loki as he gripped the chair and smirked down at you. You blanched and your pen slipped from your hand. He bent to grab it before you could and as he rose, he dragged the lid against your leg. He held it out and you snatched it from him.

“Morning meeting in five,” He said as he stood before you. “Then I wanted to go over layout with you. A useful lesson if you ever hope to be anything more than a freelancer. You have to have a good eye… for detail.”

You gulped and nodded. “Yes, okay, yeah.” You set the pen down on your desk. “Five minutes.”

He winked and left you there to stew in your shame. You glanced around but no one else seemed to notice your tense interaction. They were all too concerned with their own schedules, their own presence at the meeting. Really, who cared much about the summer intern?

You were antsy as you walked into the conference room. You hid between Vanessa, a political pundit, and Jory, who covered local business stories. Loki sat near the head of the table as the marketing head went over the final prints of the Pride issue. You folded your hands before you but couldn’t concentrate.

Your eyes wandered from the powerpoint and you found the editor-in-chief peering over at you. Another sinister grin sent a chill through you. You looked back to the screen and prayed for the day to go quickly. Your heart felt as if it would explode.

When you broke out, you dragged your feet and were the last out of the room. You lingered at your desk as you grabbed your notebook and pen. Loki’s office beckoned to you ominously. He stood in the doorway watching you; waiting for you. You neared him as his lips curled.

He shut the door and you jumped at the click. He brushed past you before he rounded his desk. He pulled a chair with him and placed it beside his. He waved you over. You took a breath and crossed to him. As you sat, he pinched your ass and you pressed your lips together to keep from yelping.

His hand settled on your thigh as his other moved his mouse. He opened a page from last month’s issue and kept his eyes on the screen as he kneaded your leg. “We’ll go over composition. How to draw the reader’s eye and using layout to enhance your words.”

You nodded stiffly and shakily opened your notebook. He kept his hand on your thigh as you place the book on his desk and uncapped your pen. He circled the title with his cursor, entirely unfazed by your discomfort. His fingers slipped closer to your pelvis.

“Titles are easy but you’ll want to position them according to article type as well. Is it an editorial? Review? Reflective?” He continued. “Now, most editors would leave this to marketing and such but… I try to be hands on with every aspect of my business. My seal is on every page, ever word, that goes out.”

You scribbled down a jumble of words as his hand slid between your thighs and he squeezed. You flinched and he let out a soft chuckle under his breath. You kept your wide eyes on the monitor and he carried on his lesson. His hand never quite reaching its target. He was teasing you. Asserting the new power he held over you.

When he finished his spiel, he drew away and turned his chair to face you. His legs were far apart and you tried not to look at the obvious bulge in his pants. You kept your head down as you slipped your notebook down onto your lap.

“I’ve got an important lunch date tomorrow,” He said. “I should like you to accompany me, darling.”

You peeked up at him. “Okay.”

“Sceptre Press is looking to expand its mediums. The director of Celestial has agreed to discuss a partnership.” He said coolly.

“Oh?” You breathed. “They… do podcasts?”

“Mostly,” He confirmed. “But, my dear, do wear something nice. A skirt.”

You crossed your legs. Your straight-cut pants felt thin enough. “Alright.”

“No panties.” He licked his lips. “Our little secret… well, another one, yeah?”

“Okay.” You said. You bit down and your pen rolled out of your grasp once more.

His eyes followed the pen and flicked back to you. “Well, go on,” He mused. “Very… clumsy today.”

You bent to retrieve your pen and he caught the back of your head. He held you there and rolled his chair closer so that his lap was only inches from your face. He snickered as you tried to pull away but quickly gave up. His other hand stretched over his crotch and he grasped his erection through the thin fabric of his trousers.

“I could make you do it right now,” He slithered. “Hmm?”

“Yes,” You uttered.

“I’m tempted,” He rubbed himself and shifted his hand as he pushed you closer. “Kiss it.” You closed your eyes and kissed his bulge. He shivered and let you go. You sat up, dizzy, and he grinned at you. “Not yet.” He preened. “But I do have to take care of this…” He ran his hand across his lap again. “So if you would excuse me. I am certain you have work to catch up on.”

You stood and back away slowly. “Yes, sir.” You turned as you rounded the desk.

“Sir? I like that,” He called from behind you as you neared the door. “Oh, darling, one more thing.”

You spun back to him and shielded your chest with your notebook. “Yes?”

“I’ll need some inspiration so before you sit down, go to the lav and take a nice photo for me.” He made a show of unzipping his pants behind his desk. “I bet you’re wearing a sweet little white bra, aren’t you? Maybe a precious pink number?”

Your throat tightened as you stared back at him. “Okay.” You forced out. “Is that all?”

“For now,” He shooed you away with a wave of his fingers. “As you will.”

💋

You had few skirts to choose from. You settled on a lavender one that ended just above your knees. With it, you wore a blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a grey blazer with three-quarter length sleeves. It wasn’t as enticing as any other outfit you owned; which was not at all. Perhaps that would work in your favour.

When you arrived at the bistro, Loki waved you ahead of him as you followed the hostess to your booth. You slid across the bench first and he was close behind. He took out his phone and checked it before he set it face down on the table. He asked for water and nothing else.

Your leg shook under the table nervously. He grabbed your thigh to still you. The waitress returned and he thanked her, his hand still on your leg. When she departed, his fingers slowly gathered your skirt. You reached to pull it back and he tssked.

“Our associate has informed me she’s running late.” He grinned. “About twenty minutes or so.” You squirmed as his hand slipped beneath your hem. “I think we can fill our time accordingly.”

“L--Mr. Laufeyson,” You gasped. “Someone might see.”

“They’d have to be watching us very closely,” He leaned against you as his fingers crawled along the top of your thigh. “Now,” He shoved his hand between your legs roughly. “Let’s have some fun, darling.”

You parted your legs reluctantly and he tickled along your cunt. You grabbed the edge of the table and your eyes searched frantically. The other diners were occupied with their own meals, their own company. You felt as invisible as you had back at the office. He rubbed you slowly. He lifted his glass with his other hand as he continued.

“After our meeting, I think we’ll head back to the office and call a conference. We’ll need ideas for prospective podcasts,” He swirled his fingertips and you let out a long breath between your teeth. “Of course, if this all goes to plan.”

You whimpered as you felt yourself getting wet. His fingers glided easily along your folds as he spread your arousal. You planted your elbow on the table and held your chin as you bit your lip. Mortified, you tried to hide your face.

“Uh uh,” He grabbed your wrist and shoved it down as his fingers dipped inside you. “Look at me.”

You leaned back against the booth as you looked over at him. He smirked as he moved his fingers steadily in and out of you. He pressed his palm to your clit and the sensation made your legs shake again.

“Is this what you like? Sneaking around?” He taunted. “Is this what he does, hmm? Or maybe he bends you over his desk?”

“Mr. Lauf--” You swallowed down a moan and clapped your hand over your mouth.

“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it,” He sped up and your thighs squeezed his hand. “Are you going to cum? Here in front of everyone? In the middle of this restaurant?”

Your eyes rounded and you grabbed his shoulder pleadingly. You couldn’t speak, afraid you would cry out instead.

“You like being a naughty little girl, don’t you?” He curled his fingers and you heard a subtle squelch as your walls twitched around him.

You bared your teeth and latched onto his arm. You rocked your hips without thinking as you came. You let out a shuddery breath and he slid his fingers out of your cunt, sure to drag them along your folds. He untangled his arm from your grasp and you fell back against the seat and pushed down your skirt.

He raised his hand and ran his wet fingers over your lips. He pressed against your mouth until you opened it. He stared into your eyes as he made you suck your own cum off his knuckles. He withdrew them and used a napkin to wipe away your saliva.

“It is a pity, however, that this lunch should set you behind, darling,” He crossed his legs and drank from his water again. “You will have to stay late tonight… to catch up.”

“Yes, sir,” You ceded.

He smirked and looked around. A moment of silence before he perked up and stood. He buttoned his jacket so it hid his bulge and greeted the tall woman who approached you. He shook her hand with the same one he’d just had between your legs. You stood in kind. Your legs felt weak.

“Valerie,” He purred. “Thank you for fitting us in today.”

“Us?” She looked between you. “And sorry about the delay. Traffic was… traffic.”

“My intern,” He introduced you by name, “She’s shadowing me for the day. To get an idea of the business and all its little quirks.”

You shook her hand and you sat down as she did the same. The server was quick to appear and offer you menus. You eagerly took yours, hoping to hide behind it for the rest of the meal. Especially as that familiar and irresistible tingle nestled in your core.

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gaycharr · 4 years

Text

Very self indulgent questionably canon drabble of Commander Koriko and Marjory, take it as you will. Spoilers for lws5. I called it a drabble but its 2k words on the dot woops

To say it was cold was an understatement. Even with a burning core that she had to keep tight control over, Kori still felt the sharp bite of the frost around them. She knew the cold would be worse within the caves, surrounded by ice, and so she offered herself to venture out to check in with Marjory while Marina checked in with the others.

She paused, fur prickling as what could be wind whistling drifted through her ears. Except for the fact that everything else around her at the moment was still. “...commander…” Kori couldn’t focus, struggling to try and decipher what the whispers were saying instead.

“Commander!” She couldn’t help but jolt, blinking a few times as her pupils sharpened and focused in on Marjory standing at her shoulder. Kori hadn’t spent much time with the human, but she was a familiar face and a welcome presence. Marjory offered her a thin attempt at a smile as she got her attention.

“Sorry, go on.” Kori huffed, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to dispel the bitterfrost feeling creeping at her back. Marjory hesitated, looking at her with an open expression that Kori still was unable to decipher before it shuttered away.

“Ah, I was just saying that I’ve been following the trail of the vigil soldiers, and it leads to….” Here she didn’t falter, but she did trail off for a moment, “well, this.” Was what Jory settled on, turning as Kori followed close behind.

There were no words Kori knew to describe the way the air changed, grew heavy with malice and misery as they crested a small hill. They stopped to look over an undoubtedly dark ritual, fueled by what Marina would know instantly were magical anchors had she been tagging along. Marjory still knew though, well learned as she was.

She took a brave step forward, towards the ritual where the svanir in the middle was held in stasis by the necrotic magic pooling around him. Kori moved to follow, but froze as she watched Marjory stumble oddly, and then grow eerily still. “That’s…” But Jory’s voice dropped off before she could finish the sentence.

That nonexistent wind picked up again, and Kori grit her teeth in frustration, unable to make out the words. Was it whispering to her, or to Marjory?

She shook it off, taking that extra step forward and hesitating only briefly before laying a warm heavy paw against Marjory’s shoulder. The human jolted, drawing in a sharp breath as she straightened up. She cast a glance up at Kori. “Right...sorry, let’s do this.” Before quickly moving away to start bashing at the ritual anchors.

Kori raised her staff, destroying the anchors with little strain. She moved towards Marjory as she struck at the last one, standing by protectively, keeping an eye on the Svanir in the middle.

The moment the last anchor broke, the magic pooling along the ice was dispersed, like heavy smoke in a breeze. Impossibly the air grew colder, and Kori’s breath fanned out in front of her face. The Svanir Necromancer turned towards them, his face spread in a sickening grin.

Kori bared her fangs, feeling heat flare to her claws as she growled. Marjory though gasped as the magic washed over them, stumbling and bumping against Kori’s warm back before tripping to her knees.

She caught herself on her palms, and Kori winced as she watched her, but before she could hoist her up, the look on Marjory’s face froze her. She was staring sightlessly at the necromancer, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Marjory..?” Kori forced out, a hand hovering down towards the human as she kept an eye on the Necromancer watching them.

“My sister….the necromancer...he’s- He’s hurting her!” Marjory’s voice raised to a hysterical panic, her face twisting in such a horrible way that Kori felt as if her own heart was being squeezed as well.

With a snarl, Kori whirled around to face the still grinning Svanir, launching herself claws first with a rumbling snarl as flames spit around her claws. “Jory! It’s not your sister, it’s Jormag!” She yelled as she landed. The ice melted under her claws and she used the leverage to spin herself around, already grasping her staff to smash it out against the Necromancer.

A quick move and Kori felt her fangs rattle in her skull as the staff connected solidly with the Necromancer’s now raised arm. She bared her fangs harder, staring at the creature hatefully. She was sure this blow had broken bone, and in the face of the Svanir’s unflinching grin, she had no doubt this was not your average dragon worshipping norn.

She leapt back a bit, raising her staff to strike again, this time with the force of flame behind it. “No! Belinda! Please..I tried..I can save her this time! Let me save her!” Shockingly strong hands wrapped around Kori’s raised arm, and in the heat of the moment Kori turned her snarling face down at Marjory.

The look of pure anguish on the human’s face stilled her though. She’d been expecting righteous fury, but instead her heart broke at the suffering in Marjory’s still clouded eyes. “Marjory! It’s not real, it’s a trick!” This time the bit of warm magic in Kori’s voice must have sunk through the frost in Marjory’s mind, because something in her eyes cleared. Her hands shook as she let go of Kori and sank back to her knees.

Wasting no time, Kori quickly focused on properly destroying the Necromancer. A part of her felt unsatisfied at how easily it went down under her. Had it just been there to unnerve them, to shake apart her friend? Anger at the idea prickled under her fur. Dragons be damned.

In the aftermath of the fight the cave around them seemed to echo with the now heavy silence, broken only by Marjory’s still panicked pants. Kori could tell she was coming back to herself now that the Necromancer’s presence wasn’t bearing down on her.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…” Kori felt her insides twist as she padded slowly back over to her companion, hearing the words mumbled shakily under Marjory’s breath. Kori sunk down to a knee, this time there was no hesitation as she spread a paw across Marjory’s back. She’d always seemed so aloof and inflappable to Kori, but here now she trembled beneath Kori’s touch, and it made something fierce and protective snarl to life within Kori’s chest.

“Marjory, focus, it wasn’t real.” Slowly, her breaths slowed. She still stared unfocused at the ice beneath them as she replied though. “This will happen again, won’t it?” Her voice was so small, so fragile, Kori couldn’t bring herself to reply. Instead, her hand moved from Marjory’s back to cup her elbow, helping her stand.

( What would happen again? The whispers, the death of a loved one, the loss of control over your own mind? She wish she could say any of that wouldn’t happen again…)

Once righted, Marjory swayed slightly, and Kori could see her trying to put back on what she know realized was a mask to hide the turmoil within. “Are you okay?” It seemed like such a stupid question as it left her mouth, but she couldn’t help but ask it. She clenched her paws at her side to stop herself from reaching back out to steady Marjory.

Her eyes finally focused on Kori’s, clouded with so many emotions Kori wouldn’t know where to begin to read them. “No. But…” And here something heavy sat in the air, something that stuck a knife between Kori’s ribs and twisted. Marjory looked away. “...it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

Kori felt something in her yawn open with the sudden realization that Marjory needed support that she couldn’t ask for. For a moment a wave of anger rose up in her, directed at everything and anything over the fact that someone like Marjory could be hurting this badly and still want to hide it all. It struck a little too close to home for Kori’s tastes perhaps.

And so Kori decided to reach out again this time, grabbing Marjory’s arm. “I don’t know if I can find my way out of here after all that, could you help me?” They both knew it was a lie; there was no way Detective Marjory Delaqua didn’t see right through it. And for a moment Kori thought she would call her on it, could see Marjory squaring herself up mentally.

But then the wall building behind her eyes crumbled back down, her shoulders slumping so slightly that Kori was glad she spoke mainly through body language so as not to have missed it. Was it defeat, or relief? She hoped it was the latter. “Yeah, right this way.” And Kori followed her out.

As they made their way back through the frozen cave, Kori could still feel the breath of the whispers around them. It started slowly, until suddenly Kori realized that Marjory was standing still, shivering, and staring sightlessly at the ground once more.

“...you didn’t save her...it’s all your fault….”

Kori’s blood ran cold. It was the first time she’d actually made out what the whispers were saying to her.

“...you’ll never be able to save her…”

Except, no, this wasn’t meant for her. And that protective anger washed through her again, chasing the whispers from her own mind as she realized she was hearing what they were saying to Marjory, not her.

Marjory looked up, her eyes seeming dazed as she stared into Kori’s face. “Oh, Commander! I followed the trail of miss….” They both just blinked at each other, Kori watching as Marjory struggled through the fog in her mind. “...wait… I’ve said this before, haven’t I?”

Kori nodded, an arm across Marjory’s shoulder this time to help steer her. The pretence of Marjory leading Kori would have to be given up. “...do you remember what happens next?” Kori asked softly.

Marjory’s steps faltered, and Kori felt as if she could feel the grief rolling off the human in waves. “I...I remember it hurts.” Her voice cracked and Kori pretended not to notice.

“I’m sorry.” Rare words from Kori. Light was beginning to filter through the ice, the entrance must be up ahead. “We’re almost out. We’ll go back to the keep, warm up.” The light was also returning to Marjory’s eyes, faster and faster now as they left.

Just as they neared the last few steps out, Marjory faltered, and Kori had a feeling she knew what the human was thinking. Kori had said ‘we’ would go back to the keep. No ‘i can take you’, no, that would have made Marjory more likely to deny the support. And if Kori needed to go back to the Keep, she felt that her chances of Marjory sticking along would be better.

And Kori knew that Marjory knew this, clever, bright girl that she was. “I….” She could still refuse though, and Kori wouldn’t force the issue. She’d leave Marjory to continue staking out the cave, and she’d have ignore the sickening worry she’d carry with her until they crossed paths again.

“...Okay. Let’s go.” Kori resisted the urge to broadcast her relief through her body language, but she couldn’t stop her tail from sweeping up to curl around the human, tucking her against Kori’s side. She’d have to be stronger for her friends now, if she was to chase the whispers from them with her own warmth.

After a few moments of silent traveling, snow crunching under foot, Kori kindly pretended not to hear the loud exhale of relief as Marjory suddenly relaxed beside her. “...Thank you, Commander.”

Kori’s only response was what she aimed to be a dismissive snort...but she hoped Marjory knew the message behind her reaction. That there was nothing to thank her for. Not for support that should have been there from the start.

#gw2 #marjory delaqua #tyriaslibrary #gw2 fan submission #im only tagging this b/c i lvoe marjory so she deserves it ahdoeadha

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commanders-sole-braincell · 5 years

Text

The soldiers call them names under their breaths, stares at the shriveled limbs with something close to disgust. They don’t see the way The Commander smiles at them all, like everything they’ve gone through worth it for the cruel words the pact sends their way- because at least the pact is alive to say it. They don’t see the way The Commander’s eyes start to sparkle again, and the way they begin to fill out, losing the unnatural pallor that comes with having avoided death a second, third, fourth, time.

It’s their loss.

They wake up at night with a scream lodged in their throat and a ringing in their ears, but they swallow the cries back and bury their face in their pillow. It smells like dried flowers, and motor oil, tree bark and dragonfire and illusions. Mordemoth’s whispers have no place here, not in the face of everything they’ve set out to protect. They aren’t alone, anymore- perhaps they were never alone, even before.

The egg cracks under their fingertips, and a familiar emotion welling up in them, a connection they thought they had given up when they had looked into Trahearne’s eyes and allowed themself to be selfish.

Aurene’s scales are warm under their fingers, and they taste love, and longing, and devotion, crystalline sparks that come to life on their tongue. This is what reconciliation tastes like. They think, and they could get used to this: This is what victory tastes like, and it’s never tasted so sweet before.

Canach stares at the two recruits with something a bit like rage. He’s no firstborn, no Marshall and no Commander- he’s no leader, and some days he doesn’t even know if he’s a good person, when his first instinct more often than not is to flee rather than protect.

It doesn’t stop him from telling them exactly how much he would bet on The Commander- and he isn’t talking about gold, when he says that.

(If you can come back from the dead, I want to double my wager on you. He had said, once upon a time. It feels like an eternity past.)

Trahearne sits with his head in his hands and he feels cold, iced water collecting in his chest and threatening to leak through his skin. The healers have left, and the pact has gone. It’s only him and Caladbolgh, now, alone in a room with nothing but a bed and a figure that looks two sizes too small.

(Because The Commander had always been larger than life, a beacon in the dark. The Commander had loved and cared for them all, a steadfast affection that he couldn’t shame himself for leaning into, back when Orr had seemed an impossible dream where it laid protected under a dragon’s wings.)

Their words stays with him, and he- he remembers, somewhat. He remembers pain, and anguish, and being on the other side of a blade. He remembers too, a necromancer with a cruel laugh, and blood all over his hands. He wonders which life he died in. He wonders if it was both.

He squeezes The Commander’s limp hand, feels their pulse beat in the crook of his wrist. “When you wake up,” he starts, and stops.

They circle the border of the camp, staring at sleeping faces. Eir is there, and so is Braham, and there Canach is- Scruffy leaning against a tree, Kasmeer and Marjory curled next to each other.

They count the stars in the sky and the scars on their body, recites dates and names and faces under their breath. Every once in a while they put a hand on their chest, waits for their heart to beat and feels an irrational jolt of surprise whenever it does. They’re alive, now. They don’t know how long it will last.

A rustle, then warmth. They aren’t alone after all. “No one’s dead.” Rytlock says gruffly. He wraps one paw around their arm, and his grip is surprisingly gentle- he holds them like he’s afraid they will shatter under too much force. Maybe they would, shatter that is- but he doesn’t give them a chance to find out.

I would have enjoyed the company in the desert skies, Vlast had once admitted to them, like it was a secret. A shameful hope he would never see come to pass. As if it was a crime to be happy, their words dripping with unspoken wishes and regret The Commander could sometimes feel dogging their own steps.

They once thought that there was nothing they could do.

“Aurene,” they begin, and they’re laughing; they’re crying in a way that isn’t meant to be sad. They’ve made a lot of mistakes but this is one time they don’t mind being proven wrong. “Meet your big brother.”

The Pact soldiers fall, one after another, and they’re screaming- this cannot be happening. They stumble through the wreckage and can’t stop staring at their failures, at everything they’ve failed to protect.

They can fix this though, and already there’s a dagger in their hands, the edge cutting into the vulnerable skin of their neck. They can fix this. They can.

(They’ll go back, they know it. They’ve done so again and again and again.)

A hand, stopping them. “You can’t save everyone Commander.” Marjory says, and she won’t let go, why won’t she let go. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

They do though, they have to, even if they don’t expect her to understand. They rip the hilt out of Jory’s fingers and drive the blade into their chest.

They can’t stop staring at the scattered pieces that used to be Scruffy, Taimi a warm weight on their back. “I can fix this-“ They begin, but there’s a sharp pressure as five fingers dig into a point between their shoulder blades.

“No,” Taimi says fiercely through her tears. “Just because- Even if I lost Scruffy, that doesn’t mean I want to lose you too.”

But you won’t lose me, they think. Their fingers itch for their weapon. That’s the point.

They stay their hand though, for now- they need both of them to carry Taimi, after all.

10.

“What if this never ends?” They ask, and it’s too much to even consider; they can’t breathe. “What if- In a few years I die naturally, and I wake up standing in front of the Pact Fleet again?”

(They don’t want to do it again, don’t want to do it again and again and again- what if they lose themselves in their power? What if they go insane, and what if they turn bad- just for the joy of seeing something different happen in the loops.)

There’s a shattering noise as Kasmeer drops her glass, shards scattered across the floor. It sounds exactly like an illusion breaking.

11.

“Meet my Commander,” Joko says, and they rise from their coffin to horrified eyes, wide and wet and afraid. The Dragons Watch is there, and-

Trahearne, except he isn’t holding Caladbolgh. (Of course he isn’t, they made sure of that; the sword is probably in pieces at the base of the Pale Tree) He isn’t holding any weapon, actually, except for his old staff, but there’s a familiar sight strapped onto his back.

Oh, they think, that’s mine.

(Joko drags them back kicking and screaming, Joko chains them here without their consent, but- he doesn’t get all of them, he can’t get their everything when they aren’t whole in the first place. Back then, surrounded by a victory that they knew would soon grow bitter, they had forced their shaking hands to move, to press their signature weapon into Trahearne’s hands. It’s only fair, they thought, with what they were going to ask of him, that they leave a piece of their heart behind.)

Sorry Marshall, they say, and not say, because Joko has one hand caressing the bottom of their jaw and keeping it there- but there’s more than one way to speak to a necromancer. They smile apologetically, their borrowed heartbeat thudding in their chest, and hopes Trahearne can hear the words whispering through their soul. Looks like you’ll have to kill me twice.

12.

It’s a heavy burden you bear, Vlast rumbles. His eyes are terribly sad. You musn’t forget what you had been fighting for. You mustn’t lose yourself.

They swallow, and they look behind them. To the Dragon’s Watch, in the distance, and if they aim their eyes on the horizon, they can almost pretend they can see home- when everything used to be so simple, when all they cared about was doing the right thing.

It’s harder now, but- they meet Vlast’s eyes and think of Taimi making more and more convoluted wheelchairs to aid in their recovery, of Canach’s quiet protectiveness, of the way Kasmeer held their hands in hers and asked almost shyly Can I pray for you? Of Caithe slipping them food across the table with worried eyes, and waking up to a blanket draped over them with no knowledge of how it got there.

“I know.” they admit, softly. It’s hard, saying that. Admitting that they might have a problem in the first place. But it’s a step forward, and they find it easier not to lie as they watch Marshall step forward and nervously put a hand on Vlast’s snout.

13.

I will know what you’re hiding in that mind of yours, Mordremoth taunts them, and they aren’t screaming, but bitter acid bubbles up from their throat. Everything is green and dusty brown and slow rot. I will look through your memories, every single one, and none of your allies will be able to save you then.

The Commander won’t let that happen. The decision is easy to make, and the Dragon too slow to realize, too busy reveling in their supposed victory. They tip their head back and they think they understand now, why their mentor did what they did.

A sharp movement to the left, and a vine cuts too close: Everything is red.

(Their life for Trahearne’s, and Eir’s, and so many others: Worth it, they think as they fall under, the dragon’s angry roaring the last thing they hear.)

14.

They wake up.

“Commander?” Someone asks, but they can’t breathe through the smell of blood and rust.

(This wasn’t supposed to happen.)

15.

Why me? They think, watching their friends but not-yet-friends walk by.

Why does it have to be me?

16.

“He would have been so proud of you.” The Pale Tree says, as they let the shattered pieces of what used to be Caladbolgh slip through their numb fingers like tears. “You were his closest companion.”

The words are a bitter comfort, but it’s the only comfort they have.

17.

“Commander,” Eir says, laughing. She’s bigger than they remember as she sweeps them into a hug, tight enough to be crushing. Everything is red, but the red of her hair. “So good to see you again!”

Braham takes them aside, later, when all the celebrations are done. “Thank you.” He says sincerely. They can’t help but notice that he doesn’t say sorry.

18.

The temple is large, and candles lit on every surface, just as they remember. There is a distinct lack of refugees around however, and it makes something loosen in their throat.

Priest Hakim is there, and his eyes are warm. “Welcome, Outlander.” He says, but he says it like a secret, like a prayer answered. There’s laughter and smiles in the air. “Welcome to the Temple of Kormir.”

(He takes them aside later, and bows. Every night, he tells them, candles flickering behind him as he clasps his hands together, Every night, we send prayers to Kormir for your safety in battle and your safe returns. You’ve done so much for us- our blessings are the least we can give.)

They are sent home with a pack full of medical supplies and food and water, because the oasis is flourishing and they have more than enough to go around.

19.

“Do you think,” They asked, pausing from where they’ve picked up their weapon for a friendly spar. “That friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

It’s a beautiful day. Everyone is here, and safe, and happy- It’s perfect. Sometimes, they look at this and feel like they want to cry.

(The itching feeling is there still, some days- an earthquake in Caledon, a raid in a human village, an explosion over at shiverpeaks, and they feel it: the urge to go back, fix everything except better this time.)

(Rytlock had stopped them, last time. Rytlock, with Sohothin strapped to his belt- Sohothin, who they’ve never seen aflame since they’ve flinched what felt like 6 loops back.)

Trahearne looks up from where he’s reading, leaning against Vlast’s massive flank. Aurene is on his back, her elder brother snorting amusedly at her antics. Canach is gloating over the gold he’s won from a wager, Rytlock muttering something that sounds a lot like dumb luck. Kas and Jory sit together, whispering secrets under their breaths. Braham and Rox seem to be arm wrestling, with one side clearly having the upper hand. Logan is cheering Rox on, alongside Caithe: Meanwhile, Eir and Zojja cheer for the opposing side.

“Well,” Trahearne pauses to think it over. He doesn’t take very long, and he’s smiling when he looks at them again. “I don’t see why not.”

20.

“Nice to meet you, Friend.” He tells them, holding his hand out to shake. His smile is familiar, and warm.

I know you, they think, and they wonder: I’ve met you before.

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

HOLY COTTON BALLS ANON

Your writing has made me speechless once again!!

I love the fact you can see DW and DE stepping into try and protect the Commander, to stop them from hurting themselves (and that bit with Joko OMG!!!) And just the way everyone reacts and they still won’t stop, they can’t stop there’s people to save and 19! OMG 19! MY LITTLE HEART LOVES 19!! The softness and the recovering!!! Anon you’ve hit every possible mark you absolute genius!

#Awakened Anon #Time Warp AU #Time Loop AU #suicide tw #self harm tw #Awakened!Commander #Marry me Awakened Anon #we could rule the world #submission

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fangirlfanwritings · 5 years

Text

Jamie Lannister x Stark!reader

Hello again! Can I request a Jaime Lannister one-shot, where he falls in love with the eldest of the Stark children and Robb's older twin sister? Robert felt the need to unite the Great Houses even more, so he decided to strip Jaime of his 'Sir' title and betrothe him and the Reader (much to her family's dismay and Robb's anger).Robb is her closest and best friend, and when the war between the kings starts, R flees from King's Landing back to her brother's side, much to Jaime's shock and hurt.

AN: Hella long, sorry!

You were changing for the night’s feast when Jory knocked on your door and told you that your Father requested you meet him in his study before the feast. The King and his family were there so you were sure it was about behaving properly. When you got to his office you were surprised to see your mother, father, and younger twin brother, Robb, there. “Father, you asked for me?”

“I did. Sit down, both of you,” he told you and your brother.

“What did you do,” you whispered to Robb? “Nothing, what did you do?”

“Neither of you did anything,” your Father cut you off. “I wanted to tell you both this before you heard anything at the feast. The King asked me to join our houses through marriage of Sansa and Prince Joffery.”

“Let us hope Prince Joffery grows to be a man then, not the spoiled Prince he is now,” you said.

“Watch your tongue,” Catelyn hissed.

“There’s more. He’s also making arrangements to bridge our houses further. Y/N, King Robert is having you wed to Sir Jamie. For the sake of the future of House Lannister, Robert is stripping Jamie’s knighthood so he can marry you and take over Casterly Rock when his father dies.”

You were speechless and Robb stood up quickly. “Marry Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer. Are you mad? You can’t really be considering this, Father!” He looked to your mother. “Mother, surely you won’t allow her to marry him. Seven hells, he’s fifteen years her senior!”

“We cannot refuse the King, Robb,” she said. “Not only is he our King but he is your Father’s oldest friend.”

“When the King leaves I will be going with him to act as his hand and to look out for you. You and your sisters will be coming with me when we leave for Kings Landing.”

“Father,” Robb went to start another tyrant before your Father cut him off.

“We are finished here, Robb. My word is final. Now head for the feast. Our guests will be expecting us.” You stood up still not able to feel anything but shock. Robb took your arm and lead you through the halls.

“I’m not letting this happen, Y/N. I won’t have you married off to the Kingslayer. I won’t have you forced into a marriage for gaining allies, that’s what I’m suppose to do. Not you.”

“Robb,” you stopped him. “What the King says is final, you know that. This is my duty. Let me do this for our family.”

“Y/N, no-”

“Brother, I will be ok. Don’t fret over me. Come, let’s enjoy the feast.”

******

The caravan stopped for a break to feed the horses and let everyone relieve themselves. You left the carriage and walked towards your horse, your grey direwolf Shadow following right behind you. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“I can not sit in there any longer, Father. Cersei does nothing but stare daggers into me. Sansa won’t stop needle pointing and talking. It’s too much. I need to ride for a while.” He nodded and when the caravan started back up you hopped upon your grey and white horse.

“What’s a Lady doing riding in the King’s caravan?” You turned and saw Jamie taking your side on his horse. “It’s not safe out in the open like this.”

“The Lady needed air and space,” you told him. “I can also take care of myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” You were silent and could feel him staring at you. “I guess we can take this time to get to know each other. You know? Since we’re to be married now.”

“I suppose we should.”

“I’m sure I’m not the husband you thought you’d have, but I assure you that I will do everything in my power to take care of you.” For some odd reason, maybe the look in his eyes, or the tone of his voice, you knew he meant it. The two of you spent the remainder of the journey getting to know each other and you soon found yourself actually liking Jamie.

Your marriage took place in the Great Sept surrounded by only a portion of your family and hundreds of people you didn’t know, something that you never envisioned. As the celebration feast continued to go on you felt Jamie’s hand slip into your hand. “Y/N, I believe now is the perfect time for us to slip away.” Nervousness rushed into you. “If we wait any longer and the King gets any drunker, he’ll be yelling for the bedding ceremony to take place. That is something neither want of us want, trust me.” You nodded and let him take your hand and lead you away.

******

Your relationship and marriage with Jamie continued to grow inside the Red Keep. Which is why when you heard your husband had injured and arrest your Father you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. When he entered the room he looked ready for a fight. Your calm demeanor as you stayed seated surprised him. “My Love, say something. Anything.”

“What do you want me to say, Jamie?” You finally looked at him. “That I’m angry? That I hate you? That my Father deserved this? I don’t know what to say except that I’m hurt. He is my family, which means he is your family.”

“I did this to protect my family. You have to believe me!”

“I believe that you did what you thought you had to do. But I don’t believe that what you did was right.” You stood up and walked passed him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve had my things moved to a room near my sister’s.”

Your third night there, you looked into the fire aimlessly as your sisters slept in your bed. With everything going on you wanted them near you. A soft knock came from your door and you answered it to see one of the Northern men. “My Lady, I have something for you.” You let him just inside the room. “Lord Stark gave me this the day before he was taken to the cell. I know not what it says, only that he instructed me in secret that, should anything happen to him.”

“Thank you.” You escorted him to the door and looked at your sleeping sisters before going back to the fire to read your Father’s words to you. Blood raced as you read the words and you quickly threw the note into the fire. You collected yourself and commanded Shadow to stay. With urgency you walked back to the room you had shared with your husband and let yourself into the room.

Jamie sat up in bed quickly. “Y/N?”

“There’s another way you can protect your family, Jamie.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The princes and princess are your children.” He looked shocked and scared all at once. “My Father learned of this and threatened to tell the King, who died. But he still knows and his honor goes above everything...except his own family.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“You want this problem to disappear and I want my Father alive. Let me talk to him and get him to keep this secret a secret. You talk to your sister and convince her to leave with the children to Casterly Rock. Blame her grief, she couldn’t bare to stay in King’s Landing after losing her husband. Stannis will come and act as King until Joffery is old enough. But when that time comes he will forgo the throne and take over as Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“Cersei will never go for that.”

“She will if you make her. You don’t have three children with someone unless you love them. She loves you and will listen to you. You can both go back and we can have our marriage annulled.”

“Annulled? What do you mean,” he asked frantically?

“You love her and I don’t want to stand in the way of that. I won’t be the other woman.”

“Y/N,” he grabbed your arms. “Look at me. I loved Cersei, once. And I will always love her as my sister and as the mother of my children, but I love you. You are the one I want to be with.”

“So you’ll help me then?”

******

As soon as Jamie heard the whispers he ran to your room and threw the door open. “Jamie? What are you-?”

“Come.” He grabbed your arm and began dragging you. As he pulled you threw the halls he threw a cloak back to you. “Put that on and pull the hood close to your face.”

“Jamie, what is going on?”

“Cersei and Joffrey are going after your father. She’s sending guards to collect you and your sisters as insurance. I need to get you out of here.”

“If that’s true then I need to get my sisters,” you tried not to scream. “I can’t leave here without them.”

“Look at me! It is not safe here. I am getting you out of this city. You will get on a horse and head for Casterly Rock, where you’ll be safe. I will stay here and collect your sisters. As soon as I can I will get them back to you.” He lead you through tunnels and you arrived at a horse. “Go now, before they hunt you down.”

“Jamie, I love you.”

“And I you,” he pressed a kiss to your lips and lifted you onto the horse. “Now go.”

You rode quickly out of the city and continued on until your sense of new found freedom hit you. You realized the gravity of what was starting and knew what you had to do. You looked to the North and rode towards Winterfell.

******

“M’Lord,” a servant interrupted his pacing. “A raven from the North arrived for you.” He took it and opened the parchment. “Jamie, I’m sure you are worried as you haven’t gotten word of my arrival at Casterly Rock. Fear not, I am alive and well. I know you instructed me to head for your home but I couldn’t. I needed to go somewhere where I knew I was safe, and that wasn’t the castle where your sister has swords. If she knows what you and I spoke about then she will want me dead. Play your part, Husband. Protect the people. Look out for your family. My heart aches to see you again. Y/N.”

He read over the note again before throwing it onto the table. Shock and anger coarsed through him. His plan was ruined, he couldn’t keep you safe from here. There was only one thing he could do, and that was play his part to get back to you.

#game of thrones story #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones imagine #got imagines #got imagine #jamie lannister imagine #jamie lannister imagines #Game of thrones requests

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resonatingfern · 4 years

Note

Bearach and Finnas for the ship asks please ?

(I hope I got Finnas down okay!)

who hogs the duvet I’m gonna say Bearach just because he’s so much bigger than FInnas, he just ends up pulling the covers away without realizing it.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going Finnas. Bearach gets very busy during the day and sometimes forgets to do things like eat or take care of himself

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts I’ll say Finnas again. Bearach… isn’t good with that type of thing.

who gets up first in the morning Bearach is up with the sun, making rounds and getting to work before it all piles up.

who suggests new things in bed I really have no idea. Maybe Finnas? Again, Bearach has spent his whole life hyper focused on other things and sex is often the farthest thing from his mind.

who cries at movies Probably Finnas, since Bearach has never once (?) cried.

who gives unprompted massages Bearach. He knows Finnas has to put a lot of strain on his shoulders and arms while using his bow, so he likes to make sure he works out all the knots and tension he gets.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick Maybe Finnas? I think Bearch tries to hide the fact that he’s sick, so Finnas might fuss to try and actually get him to rest for once

who gets jealous easiest Bearach. He’s not using to having feelings for anyone, so he’s a little insecure about how well he’ll be able to keep Finnas interested

who has the most embarrassing taste in music Bearach doesn’t listen to music, so not him!

who collects something unusual Also not Bearach, since he doesn’t collect anything.

who takes the longest to get ready Bearach usually has a bit of armor to strap on, or formal clothes to wear for special political events, so probably him!

who is the most tidy and organised Bearach for sure. A place for everything and everything in its place is one of his mottoes.

who gets most excited about the holidays Finnas, though Bearach slowly starts to get excited about them too once he and Finnas are together.

who is the big spoon/little spoon Big spoon Bearach! Arms wrapped around Finnas, resting his chin on his head, holding him very tight because he’s the only thing in the world that he’s allowed to be selfish about.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports Probably Bearach. He’s uhhh very used to winning things.

who starts the most arguments Bearach. Sometimes he shifts into Commander-mode when he shouldn’t.

who suggests that they buy a pet Both of them. They’re both rangers… they both love their pets… why not have a few more.

what couple traditions they have None yet!

what tv shows they watch together I don’t think Bearach would like television!

what other couple they hang out with In the very limited spare time they have together they’re probably see other couples that Finnas knows. Or Bearach would take Finnas along on a double date with Kas and Jory.

how they spend time together as a couple Long walks outside, probably with their pets, too. Just going somewhere they can be alone would be perfect for Bearach.

who made the first move Bearach

who brings flowers home Finnas? I can see him trying to brighten up Bearach’s office a bit.

who is the best cook Bearach can make camp rations and the most plain, nutritionally adequate meal. So hopefully Finnas can cook a little better than that!

#tieflingbi #thanks for asking!#sometimes i look at bearach and i think #wow he's so very boring and uptight #its a wonder anyone took the time to get to know him #oc: bearach

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magisterlys · 4 years

Text

Ice Weakens

Written Cross the Stars: Chapter 4

Summary:

Jora's Keep is in an uproar as more norn men betray them, stealing away a group of Vigil in the night. The beleaguered commander leads a team to the Ravenfrost Caverns where she'll confront more than just icebrood. Good thing Braham is there.

It just never stopped.

The headaches, the heartaches; the guilt and the choices. It was hard enough to carry the world when you were in your right mind but the longer Lys spent in the Marches the more certain she became that she no longer was.

The whispers never stopped. Brief reprieves to remind her what silence was like, and then the insinuations began again. It wasn’t so bad at first, she was well used to an abusive inner dialogue. It was the tricks and compulsions, the thoughts that were not hers that were the worst to deal with. The hardest part was pretending it was all okay, being the strong one. Being The Commander.

She found moments of peace up here, high above the treetops. The sound of the wind whistling past her ears as her griffon, Morrigna, played in the air drove the whispers away for a time. She claimed these morning flights were scouting, but everyone knew she just needed some time.

Morrigna tucked her ebon feathered wings and dove for the ground, brushing the treetops and then using her momentum to swoop back up. The wind whipping past her face was biting cold but Lys welcomed the cold for once: it was silent. Her head still throbbed, but she was used to that. She held tight to the saddle, let the griffon soar where she pleased and took the chance to enjoy the view. There was a cold beauty to Bjora Marches from this height, the svanir camps and the shattered Bear shrine below like festering wounds on the snowy jewel of the landscape. Off to the west, the dagger-sharp beauty of Aesgir’s Legacy was shrouded in low hanging storm clouds, a roiling threat on the horizon.

“Commander.” Jory’s voice over the coms startled her, “I’m sorry to interrupt your scouting flight but we could use you at the keep.”

“What’s going on?” A subtle pressure from her right knee and a shift in her weight were all that was required for Morrigna to understand her request. The corvid griffin banked hard to the left, gaining speed with a mighty flap of her wings as the walls of Jora’s Keep rose ahead. “ … Jory?”

The coms opened again to a sharp background noise of raised voices and this time it was Jhavi who responded, “Just get here, please.”

As if she sensed the urgency Morrigna dove hard, pulling up just short of the ground and then rocked back toward the sky, covering the remaining distance in a handful of heartbeats. The pair crested the walls to find a large crowd gathered in the courtyard. The griffon barely had time to tuck her wings back to her side as they landed before people began to press the commander.

“I told you this would happen again!” A woman yelled, to the agreement of several others. “Of course it happened again.” A second answered. “We’ve said it would from the start.”

Lys dismounted neatly and the griffon took wing, sailing up to land on the roof above and keep a sharp eye on things. “Alright, slow down. What’s going on?” A dozen voices all tried to answer at once. She held out her hands, gesturing for quiet and restated her question, “Jhavi. What’s going on?

“We have more missing, Commander. Jory and Braham are - “

The barracks door opened and Jory stepped out, interrupting Jhavi’s response, “There are five by my count.” She gave the commander a nod of greeting as she continued, “All Vigil. Two humans, an asura, sylvari, and a norn woman. Their beds are slept in, but empty.”

“You can add two more to that,” Braham announced as he came down the mess hall steps. He looked nervous, Lys noticed, or … frustrated. “Kruve Grellson and Isvar Axebreaker. No one’s seen them since dinner last night.”

There was an immediate reaction from the crowd, voices raised and a fearful shuffling. “They’ve betrayed us again!” A dark-haired man from the back called out, “Why aren’t we watching the norn men?” another wondered none too quietly. Some physically moved away from norn they were standing near.

“Their bonds are fragile. Such cowards …”

There was nothing more unsettling than finding yourself agreeing with the whispers hissing in your head. She’d been here before, standing in the jungles of Maguuma with the Pact in flames around her. The voices raised against the norn sounded eerily similar to those raised against the sylvari. She’d be damned if she’d see this all play out again.

“Let’s make something clear here.” Lys didn’t raise her voice but she had a well-honed skill for speaking so clearly, so confidently that people reacted as if she had. The look she threw around the gathered probably also helped. “Norn are no more susceptible to Jormag’s machinations than any of the rest of us, and this divisive fear-mongering is exactly what that dragon wants. We’re all Pact. We’re in this together.” She turned toward Braham, leaving no room for argument, “What do we know?”

Braham had crossed his arms over his broad chest, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You’ve already guessed that Kruve and Isvar are norn. They were in the common room till late, drinking and keeping to themselves. Talk says they were seen a couple days ago heading southwest like they were on patrol, but neither of them was on duty.”

“Southwest?” Lys cast a quick side glance at Jory, “Toward the caverns?”

Braham nodded, “Yeah, their unit wasn’t heading out until nightfall and they were supposed to be doing rounds near Bear’s shrine. So there was … some gossip.”

She knew what he meant. Several people had been keeping ‘inventory’ on norn in the keep. That those people didn’t see fit to bring this concern to their superiors was … worrying.

“You are losing control.”

The commander turned toward Jory, “Do the other missing have anything in common?”

“Nothing on first inspection, Commander.” Jory responded with a tilt of her head, “Other than all being Vigil, they were on different rotations, shared no similar backgrounds. Their bunks are not even near each other.”

“Commander!” A small voice interjected from the crowd and an asura elbowed his way through, trying to be seen. “Commander!”

She recognized him, he’d been part of a squad that helped clear out a prison camp a while ago. “What is it, Mokk?”

“Please, Commander.” Mokk had finally made his way through the crowd and now stood in front of Lys where she could see the desperation on his face, “They’ve taken Zarri.”

“ Another broken heart, another lost. You should save him from his pain … ”

Lys shook her head as if the dragon buzzing in her ear was a bothersome gnat. Zarri must be the asura Jory mentioned then. “We’re going after them, Mokk. I promise.” They had to move quickly if there was any hope of bringing people back. “Jory. Take Captain Jawspire and a group to the svanir camps. Don’t assume that the missing norn have betrayed us, but … be careful. Braham and I will lead a group southeast toward the caverns.”

“You sure that’s smart, Commander?” The same dark-haired man who had spoken up earlier did so again. “Taking a norn, much less Vowbreaker, along with you I mean.”

Lys didn’t have to look at Braham to sense his spike of anger, it matched her own. Such needling wouldn't normally get to her, but after days of little sleep, under relentless assault, she was tired, stretched thin. She stared at the man, “There are few people in the world I trust more than Braham. And his name is not … Vowbreaker.” She spit the word out as if it tasted sour, “Is that understood?”

The commander’s tone left nothing open for discussion. The man simply nodded, throwing glares at a few snickers from nearby.

“That one will continue to sow discontent. Kill him.”

Lys flenched, unable to completely hide her reaction to that one. She recovered quickly and was glad that the snickers were drawing attention away from her enough that no one seemed to have noticed. She sensed something behind her though and looked over her shoulder to find that Braham had quietly drawn nearer. He was frowning, giving her that concerned look that always made her pause. Damn him for watching her so closely. She gave him a subtle shake of her head, a silent communication between them as he touched her arm, fleetingly.

“I’ll take a third group west toward the forest,” Jhavi stated, blessedly seeming not to notice the exchange.

Lys was happy for the change of subject. “We need you to stay here, Jhavi.”

Jhavi blinked, her tone incredulous, “These are my people, Commander. I can’t just sit by.”

“These are your people.” Lys agreed, nodding toward the gathered crowd, “And they need you to lead them. There’s a very real chance that the intention here is to divide us. You need to be in command here, in the Keep.”

“... we’ll hold the line.” Jhavi begrudgingly agreed.

“Commander.” Mokk spoke up, “I’m coming with you.”

Lys considered the asura with a frown, looking down at him. She wasn’t sure he was up for a mission like this but she’d been where he was right now; knew the gnawing, desperate, neutered terror he was feeling. She couldn’t make him stay behind. “Of course, Mokk.”

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

Braham and Jasper took point, the norn and the bear working to break a path through the freshly fallen snow for the group behind them. Aside from Mokk the commander picked Lessandro and his group to accompany them. If the Svanir were recreating the ritual they’d interrupted before, having people who wouldn’t need to overcome the initial shock and revulsion would be a benefit. Altogether there were two norn, four humans, an asura, and a bear making their way south toward the Ravenfrost Caverns.

“Commander, we got tracks.” Braham stopped and Lys made her way forward, pausing to brush the snow from Jasper’s head as she neared. Their path had indeed intersected with someone else's.

“Several hours old, would you say?” She looked up at Braham.

“Yeah.” He agreed, “It’s been light snow, but last night was all wind. They’d have been covered if they were any older. Looks like a big group too.”

“Right. Let’s follow it then.” The commander started to turn toward the rest of the group to give orders but she saw something out of the corner of her eye and stopped. A flash of blue. Movement.

“They are here to greet you.”

“Eyes up!” She called out, reaching for her bow just as the first of a half dozen Svanir stepped through the trees. There was a moment of stillness as each side took stock of the other, the expectant pause before the battle erupted with force. She felt Braham brush her shoulder as he spun to cover her flank and Jasper gave an angry roar as he bounded over the snowbank, charging straight for the nearest svanir. Lys sent an arrow streaking ahead of her bear. It stuck the svanir in the shoulder. He let out a guttural bellow of anger and didn’t notice the massive clawed paw heading toward his face until it was too late. Leaving her pet to do the work Lys spun quickly to her left, sending a rapid hail of arrows toward the enemies engaged with Lessandro, Mokk and the others. Two svanir already lay dead in the snow and based on the wet sounds and growls Jasper just added a third to the count.

A sharp metallic crack rang out behind her and Lys spun around to see Braham recoiling from a blow to his shield. She braced herself, leaning into his back and kept him from losing his footing as he slid backward in the snow. The svanir he’d been engaged with took the opening and suddenly turned, bolting off toward the caverns

Braham growled, righted himself and charged right after him, calling over his shoulder “He’s going to raise the alarm!”

“Braham, wait! Don’t -” Lys yelled after him.

“Follow him! If you hope to ever see him again.”

She felt her blood run ice cold, watching Braham disappear into the trees. She had to follow him.

“You can’t let him go alone again.”

Behind her, there was still a battle to be fought. The sound of Jasper’s paws on snow as he raced to join the fray, the crackle of the Elementalist's magics, the sharp cry of someone tumbling over into the snow. Growling with frustration she turned away from Braham’s fleeting form and loosed an arrow at the most beleaguered of the three remaining svanir, sending it through his neck. He crumpled like a wet sack. Mokk gave a yell of anger and dodged behind another, slicing the towering svanir in the back of the knee.

“Will you be able to live with yourself when he dies?”

“Stuff it, dragon!” Lys yelled to seemingly no one, taking advantage of the opening Mokk created to help him finish off his adversary. The remaining two went down under the assault of the vigil members and finally, the woods fell silent. “Everyone in one piece?” Lys asked.

“I believe so, Commander,” Lessandro answered, helping Mokk back to his feet.

“Good.” The commander fairly snapped, poorly contained panic rising in her chest. “Quickly then, Braham is … being Braham.”

They pushed on, following Braham’s trail as the trees gave way to a rocky incline. The wind carried the sounds of combat, the sharp crack of metal on metal, grunts, and growls of exertion, the familiar hum of Braham’s magics and then a sickening, wet thud ...and silence.

“Too late.”

Lys took off, terror at her heels. She scrambled up the rock face, bounding from one ledge to the next until reaching the crest of the rise. Looking down into the small valley she saw the crumbled, shattered form of a svanir stained the snow with red and Braham standing over it, virtually unharmed. For now, she thought as she made her way down the hill, because she was going to kill him.

Braham looked up as commander neared, the rest of their party still a distance behind. “Sorry, Commander. I wasn’t fast enough.” He frowned, glanced over at the shimmering Raven barrier blocking the entrance to the caverns nearby. “The whole place knows we’re here now.”

She took a deep breath, then a few more. “Braham. That was … I’m glad you’re alright.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish, “I did kinda run off again didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” Everyone else had caught up, so she left it at that. She wasn’t fully in control of her emotions, couldn’t tell which were hers and which were prompted by Jormag’s taunts but either way, here and now wasn’t the time to let her weakness get the better of her.

“They’ve got the barrier back up …” Observed one of Lessandro’s group, a dark-haired Raven shamaness. Inge, if the commander remembered her name right.

“We can assume they’re up to no good, then.” Lys agreed, turning to give orders. “I’ll use the lens to lower the barrier. Once we’re in, stick together. No matter what you hear or what you think you see, we move as one. Understood?” She looked pointedly at Braham.

“I’m - we’re at your side, Commander.” Braham nodded, echoed by the others.

According to old maps, these caves had once been an open natural passage from the southern mountains to what was now the Aberrant Forest, but with the awakening of Jormag, they had grown into an ever-shifting maze of ice. The entrance was cavernous, jagged icicles loomed high overhead like impending teeth. The walls and floors were solid ice, some natural but most formed of unnaturally dark corrupted ice, teeming with Jormag’s magic. It seemed almost to move, bent the light in unsettling ways. The effect on such a large space was disorienting. Sound too echoed oddly, they could hear voices and rustling, the resonating thrum of magic but it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Lys took the lead, she remembered clearly where the central cavern was, but she kept her pace careful. When walking into a trap it was a bad idea to rush.

“Welcome, Commander!” A voice suddenly boomed seemingly from overhead. It sent all of them reaching for their weapons, searching for the origin. No one was there. “You are not Jorasdottir, but Dragon welcomes you anyway.”

Braham had moved ahead of the commander, giving her a clear view of the anger on his face, “Isvar, I’d guess. Sounds like him.”

“Oh!” The voice replied with a hearty laugh, “And you’ve brought Vowbreaker with you. Of course, he’s always hiding behind your skirts. Good, Dragon has a special place for him.”

“Don’t listen to him, Braham.” Lys spoke encouragingly under her breath, “... you know I never wear skirts.”

Braham glanced at her, blinking several times before breaking into a slow grin. “Shall we bash some svanir heads, Commander?”

“We should politely request our people back, yes.” She nodded once, turned to the rest of the group behind her. “Shall we show them how the Vigil responds to traitors?”

Lys lead them forward, up a winding incline that doubled back on itself several times until they reached the main room. As they neared she signaled their silence, stopping near the last bend in the path. Ahead they could see three figures each lashed to an upright post at equal intervals, just like the ritual she and Jory had interrupted before. A half dozen svanir and one massive icebrood moved between the captives and a totem-shaped ice formation that glowed with a sickly green light. Sounds of movement and chanting out of sight left an accurate count of what they were up against as a guess at best.

“Tell me, Commander.” The taunting voice resonated just as before, this time it was coming from the side of the room they were unable to see. “Have you borne any sons?”

Braham looked over at her, brow arched in confusion.

Lys sneered. She’d heard this svanir taunt before. The next implication would be that as a woman her only usefulness was birthing sons, and since she hadn’t, she was less than useless. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of following along. “I have not, Isvar. But I have seen the svanir transformation ritual firsthand. The pain will be unbearable, and in the end, you will be nothing more than that grunting monstrosity next to you.” She paused, letting her words sink in. She heard whispers, Isvar was arguing with someone. “Did Jormag not tell you that? You will lose yourself under a torrent of ceaseless pain. You will be nothing more than an empty husk that will shatter against Pact steel before the end of the week.”

“Silence!” The voice was sharp with anger, “Dragon’s gift is one we gladly accept. Better that than to rot in fear hiding behind cowards! You know nothing of what struggle so uselessly against.”

Lys ignored the tirade, using the chance to slip forward enough to confirm her memory of the cavern. There was a small ledge on the south side, accessed by a branch in the path farther back. She gestured to the group, indicating they should stay where they were and adjusted the grip on her bow. She looked at Braham, nodding toward the room and made a talking gesture with her fingers. A nod from him confirmed he understood what she meant - keep the hot head talking and distracted. Jasper turned to follow her but she shook her head, gave him a scratch on his cheek.

“Who are you hiding behind now, Axebreaker?” Braham’s taunted as Lys slipped away, “Cause looks to me like it’s two women and an asura. Why don’t you step out and face me like a man? Find out how strong you really are.”

That seemed to hit a button, based on the roaring response that carried down to Lys as she found the side passage she remembered and began picking her away along the precarious edge, keeping tight to the shadows. Reaching the end, she got a clear view of the room below. There were ten svanir, along with the hulking icebrood that she’d glimpsed from the entrance. Isvar was standing in the center of the room along with another norn who she assumed was Kruve. Isvar was doing all the talking, but it was the other norn that seemed to be communicating with the svanir, aiding them in whatever it was they were preparing. She could see their missing as well, three tied to stakes and two worryingly crumpled forms in the far corner.

“You’ll leave a lasting legend as the hundredth brainless svanir to mess my boots this week, Isvar.” Braham was still doing an admirable job riling him, the attention of the whole group had shifted toward the argument.

The commander silently knocked an arrow, drew back her bow and slowed her breathing, her eyes following Isvar as he paced, waiting for the compromised norn to give her a clear shot.

“You think I’m afraid of a toothless, Vowbreaker? Come find me when you manage to become the wolf and we’ll -” His taunt was silenced by an arrow to his throat.

There was a moment of stunned silence as Isvar clutched his neck, eyes wide with panic and confusion as he gurgled his lifesblood. Kruve cried out and several svanir spun toward the hidden assailant, toward Lys, but that was the distraction needed as the rest of the party broke cover and rushed the room.

Braham lead the charge, heading straight for the biggest threat - the massive icebrood goliath. From her perch above Lys could see Lessandro and two others engaging with the svanir, while Mokk and Inge worked to free their people. A couple of well-placed arrows covered Mokk as he helped a limping Zarri back down the passage.

A svanir caster launched a torrent of ice at the ledge, forcing the commander to scramble backward and out of sight to avoid the jagged spikes of magic pummeling the ground. The attack ceased suddenly, accompanied by a bellow of pain and a sharp avian caw of anger. Taking position again Lys saw the shamaness in raven form engaging her previous attacker. She pulled another arrow from her quiver and intended to help but an all too painfully familiar bellow drew her attention sharply away.

Braham was down on one knee before the icebrood, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his shoulder down his now useless shield arm. The goliath loomed over him, maul of a fist raised over it’s head, poised to end the kneeling norn before he could find his feet.

Lys dropped her bow, letting it clatter forgotten to the ground as she reached for her staff. She focused on where she belonged in the natural order of things: standing between Braham and that icebrood. Nature corrected the mistake and suddenly she wasn’t on the ledge far above, she was a wisp of light, streaking forward to her proper place. The commander regained her form in a burst of healing starlight, leaves trailing in her wake as she rose to stand in front of Braham

“No!” She barked the command with such force that her next spell didn’t require a gesture. A wave of cosmic energy sent the icebrood sliding backward, giving her the opening she needed to help Braham to his feet. Her arrival method had healed the worst of his wounds, but he was still covered in blood.

There was no time for worrying though as the goliath had regained his senses and was quite angry. Braham nodded his thanks and stepped in front of the commander. She fell in behind him, wordlessly. They’d fought together for long, no words were needed. Even shieldless Braham charged forward, swinging his mace wide at the solid ice of the goliath's leg. He felt warmth on his back, like the comfort of a summer’s sun but while the commander’s magics were healing for him, the icebrood crackled with rage under the burning assault. He let the momentum of his swing bring the mace back toward the goliath's other leg and a sudden ursine form came barreling out from the side as Jasper took advantage. The goliath’s crystalline legs shattered, bringing it crashing to the ground as bear and norn worked to finish it off.

They’d won. Kruve and Isvar both lay dead among the svanir, the icebrood in pieces on the ground. Lys quickly took stock of her party. The shamaness’ feathers were stained with blood, but most of it didn’t seem to be hers. Everyone was on their feet … other than the two vigil forms in the corner. She felt a sickening dread as she approached them.

What had once been a human man and a sylvari woman lay in a broken heap, tossed to the side like so much trash. His head was matted with blood, features barely visible beneath the gore. The sylvari was twisted, her limbs at unnatural angles and her face … she’d died in great pain. Lys wanted to turn away from it, but she forced herself to look. To do them the honor of understanding how their lives ended.

“So much blood on your hands.”

She nodded. The sylvari had been a deep green, like Trahaerne. And now she was dead, so far from home. She’s left the embrace of the Pale Tree and died here in a cave in the middle of nowhere for … for what?

“For the Pact’s conceit. For you.”

The commander nodded again. All these people looked to her, counted on her. And what had she done to keep them safe?

“It’s your fault.”

“My fault …” She echoed quietly, her vision swimming as she looked down at the remains.

“Commander? You alright?” Lys gave a start, turning to find Braham standing next to her. He glanced down at the corpses with a pained expression.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s …” The commander swallowed hard and finally turned away, “Let’s get our wounded back to the Keep. We’ll ... return for the fallen …”

Lessanto and Inge each took one of the survivors, with Mokk supported a dazed-looking Zarri as they began their descent. Lys lingered a moment, finally following the rest of the group but kept a distance away as they made their way back down the passage. Leaving almost hurt.

“… please, someone!” The commander stopped in her tracks. It was faint, distant, but someone was there. Calling for her. Without a word, forgetting even that there were others with her, Lys turned and followed the voice.

“Someone … anyone.” Whoever it was sounded young, their wavering voice caught with a sob that pierced the commander's heart. “I don’t want to go to the ice.”

“You’re not alone!” Lys called out, taking a sharp turn down a lower passage she’d walked by unnoticed before. The way was uneven, boulders of ice blocked her descent but she pushed on. “Keep talking, I’m trying to find you.”

“It’s here, it’s here! Commander, help me!” The little voice turned to panic. Lys was spurred on, half running, half sliding down a steep bank of ice as she yelled a response, “I’m here! I promise. Just hang on.” She’d lost all track of where she was, she couldn’t even see beyond the haze of shadows and flickers of light ahead of her but she couldn’t. She couldn’t lose another. She charged blindly forward. She had to find them before -

A strong hand wrapped around her arm jerked her backward. What … who? Lys spun around, lashed out wildly toward whoever had grabbed her.

The voice in need drowned out all sound, thrummed in her ears as if it was carried in her blood as it cried, “Don’t leave me, I don’t want to die!”

She lunged forward, broke free from her attacker and tried to run toward the voice but a pair of arms wrapped around her waist lifted her bodily from the ground. “Stop!” She yelled, desperately fighting to free herself, “I have to help them!”

“Commander, please!” Braham struggled with the flailing woman but managed finally to pin her arms to her side, clutching her against him. He’d barely caught sight of the Lys as she slipped away earlier. When he called out, she hadn’t answered and he knew instantly that something was wrong. He’d trailed frustratingly behind the quicker ranger, heard her yelling to no one as he tried to catch up. “Listen to me! There’s no one there.”

Lys continued to fight, kicking her feet up and off the wall. She sent Braham backward, smacking sharply against the solid side of the passageway.

“Commander! - Oof.” He grunted in pain but didn’t let go. “It’s me, it’s Braham. Stop fighting and listen! There’s no one there, it’s Jormag’s tricks.”

The commander stilled. The sobs and pleas still wrang in her ears, the walls around her loomed so large they pressed in her, blocked her sight. But Braham’s voice cut through.

“Please….” He lowered his voice, spoke into her ear as her thrashing stopped. “Stay with me, Lys.”

“I’m …” She started to speak but stopped in confusion as she heard her voice crack. “Where … what’s going on?”

Braham didn’t loosen his hold, but he did lower her back to the ground. “We’re still in the caverns. Whatever you think you’re hearing, Commander, it isn’t real.”

“I hear them though. They right there - I can’t …” Her vision was starting to clear, like when your eyes adjust to bright light, sparkles and specks as the haze of shadow dapples away, but the sobs and pleas still echoed around her. “I can’t let someone else die because of my failures. Not again, I … “

“Your … failures?” Braham blinked in confusion. “Who do you think you are? Me?” His hold on the commander shifted. He still didn’t trust her not to bolt but he was less clutching her and more embracing her now, his chin resting on her shoulder as he spoke. “You haven’t failed anyone, Commander. You have always done your best, no matter the cost or the odds and you know that. This isn’t like you. This is Jormag.”

Lys squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again, blinking rapidly as she saw where she was. They were standing in a narrow passage of ice, barely high enough for Braham to stand upright. Behind them the path rose sharply upwards and not fifty feet away, right where she had been so desperately running towards, it plummeted suddenly into darkness.

Braham followed her gaze toward the ledge, “Yeah … yeah, that’s why I’m not letting you go.”

“Braham, I’m ... “ She let out a shaking breath, wondered with a start how long she had been crying.

“Are you with me now? If I let you go you won’t bolt?” He turned to try to see her face. “Because if you leap off that ledge I’m jumping right after you.”

She couldn’t look at him. All she could manage was a nod. Her hands hurt and looking down she found them to be bleeding, covered in cuts from sharp ice she must have blindly climbed over. She couldn’t remember any of it. She felt weak, drained and above all deeply ashamed.

Braham turned, putting his back to the ledge and moving the commander to face the way back. He finally, reluctantly released her but laid his hands on her shoulders in a steadying gesture. A worried ursine grumble echoed off the walls and Lys looked up to see Jasper pacing at the top of the incline, trying to find a way down to her. Braham followed her gaze up and spoke gently, “Come on. Let’s get you back to the keep, it’s not just your bear that’s worried.”

#icebrood saga #braham/commander #braham eirrson #gw2 fanfiction #tyriaslibrary #lws5 spoilers #Fic: Written Cross the Stars

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ghostladyofwinterfell · 5 years

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These (K)nights of Summer

A Modern Jonsa AU.

Summary: Sansa should have been having the time of her life celebrating graduation with her friends in Kingslanding.

But her parents have other plans, instead sending Sansa with her feral little brother to a run down camp in the North. All in an attempt to get their two unruly children straightened out.

Whatever, Sansa was not lost and this wasn’t about to be one of those stupid summers were she would embark on a journey of self-discovery. That was not her. No way.

But being there, in the heart of the North she starts to remember who she was before the likes of Joffrey had set his claws in her.

These were the nights were she found Jon, were she reforged her bond with Rickon and met people that were fierce and proud of who they were. These were the nights of summer.

Chapter One: Introduction

Sansa’s head was still pounding, the milk of the poppy vial had yet to kick in after the night’s slumber party with Margaery.

They had pestered her older brother Garland, to buy them a bottle of peach schnapps with added frilly umbrella's, that they had drunk in less than twenty minutes.

Later, after sipping on a pink concoction of Margaerys making with a cocktail stick full of sweet Morella cherries, they had giggled their way down to the cellar to pop open a bottle of Arbour Gold champagne.

They often didn't need a reason at all for these nights, but they had gone all out just the two of them. In celebration at them both finishing high school a few days ago and breaking up for the summer.

Well that was what Margaery was celebrating for, Sansa on the other hand, was knocking back drinks to avoid her problems. Everything seemed better in a champagne haze.

They had gone back to Margs' room with a full glass and played games that had gotten more of an edge to them the more they drank.

It didn't matter if it was just the two of them, because whenever you had Margareys attention on you, your night was made. She just had that aura around her. She was the blooming rose in the centre of any room she was in and even Sansa couldn't help but gravitate towards her.

The last thing she remembered was revealing all about her first kiss and all the juicy details about her breakup with Joffrey during truth or dare.

It was only as her head hit the plump pillow and her eyes were slowly closing that a thought flashed through her mind. In the six months she had known her, Margaery had never let slip any real truths about her or her family, not like Sansa had.

Sure Margaery had come to her whispering that she had a secret she could only share with her, Sansa was sure her face would light up at that, but it was never anything deep or a hard truth like Sansa would share about Joffrey.

She'd pull her close, whispering in the shell of her ear, "Can you keep a secret Sans. I've had a crush on our sociology professor and its gotten so bad I'm going to do the 'drop the pencil on the floor trick' to see if he stares at my ass."

But they weren't really secrets. Yet Sansa had peeled back all the layers of herself to Margaery hoping for her approval.

So awaking at 7:15 to six missed calls from her mother, she knew she could no longer avoid her problems. So after downing a glass of pomegranate juice and the vial that had been left by the staff, she whined before finally plucking up the courage to call her mother back.

Before she could even hear the first full dial tone her mother had picked up. Obviously having her phone glued to her hand ready.

Oh I am in so much trouble, she cursed to herself.

“Jory is waiting outside the Tyrell town house. You are to go down immediately and get yourself into the car and come home young lady-" her mother’s tone was clipped, "and do not forget to thank the Tyrells for their hospitality.”

“Marg says she’ll help me to book a train home in two or three days after our shopping trip. It’ll take less time than getting back by car,” Sansa didn't like to plead, but desperate times and all that. Two more days in the sun and shopping sounded more marvellous to her than going home.

She heard Rickon screaming in the background before her mother sighed heavily, “It wasn’t a question. A car has already come to collect you once Sansa. So to the car, now.”

She wished for her mothers warm comforting tone to greet her with the way she had been feeling the last few months, but she guessed she deserved it really.

She put her phone and the rest of her things in her bag after hearing the abrupt end beep. She pouted knowing not to go against her mother’s words, instead walking over to the bed and shaking Marg’s shoulder.

“I have to go. Mum’s brought another driver to come pick me up,” she whispered it so softly, wanting to wake her gently so they could say goodbye.

But Marg just rolled back over, pulling the sheets over her head and giving Sansa a sleepy ‘mmphh’ in response.

Well, I'm was clearly going to be missed.

She dresses quickly, grabbing a croissant from the tray and made her leave before shouting a quick ‘thanks for having me’ over her shoulder. Can't forget that hospitality her mother had instilled in her.

Jory’s eyes kept flicking to her in the mirror and they were the eyes of disappointment. She slunk further in her seat, licking her fingers of the almond glaze that had filled the pastry and sighed heavily.

She knew they would be the same eyes she’d see from her father when she returned home.

He’d left her a voicemail yesterday- her eyes filled just thinking about it now. Her father wasn’t one to show emotion often, yet he had pleaded with her to come home all the same and that he could help her with whatever was wrong. Instead she had chosen to just ignore him. As she had ignored them for the past several weeks and even after the incident happened which they had helped her fix.

It was noon when they had pulled up at the services, choosing to grab a bite to eat at the Crossroads café. She was flicking through her phone when she saw it, Marg’s new Instagram post. A picture of her and the bunch of friends from Kings Landing High- Joff and the rest of his footy guys included as well.

It was the caption that ticked her off, ‘Ready to kick off summer with only the best people’.

She couldn't help but scoff aloud as she scrolled through her last texts with Marg hoping she’d missed one from the morning off of her, she had not. She rolled her eyes chucking her phone in her bag moodily as Jory raised his brow at her.

“Girls. The teenage kind,” she huffed in reply. Jory chuckled, “Enough said then”.

She moved her lunch around the plate some more, all before finally giving up and pushing her tray away, after losing her appetite.

“Head to the car and I’ll go get us something sweet from the bakery. Is lemon still your favourite?” Jory asked. "Yep. But can I also have something with chocolate in it to. A lot of chocolate," she spoke before taking the keys.

Sweet treats would give her back an appetite and Margaery Tyrell clearly wasn’t worth giving up lemon cakes for. Although, she supposed she could message her first, but she didn't want to seem needy, Joffrey said it was a disgusting trait.

The closer they got to the Stark Estate in Winterfell the more the feeling of dread seeped further into Sansa’s bones. Worst case scenario, her parents would ground her for life, even though she was about to turn eighteen in less than a month.

She was 50% positive that Margaery might come up for a week in the break and see what the North had to offer.

She could picture it so clearly. Marg's distasteful gaze at the cloudy days filled with cold winds that occurred here even in the height of Summer. Maybe she was like 25% sure she might come up here to see her.

She turned to look at Jory again, "How much trouble am I in?"

She hated that. Asking how much trouble She would be in, Sansa was never the one to be in trouble.

She had tried so hard and for so long to be the golden child. Until she realised she never was or never would be in her parents eyes. It may have also been the same time she visited her aunt Lysa in Kings Landing for New Years. Where she had bumped into Joffrey and decided she would badger her parents to death unless they transferred her to Kings Landing High to finish out her senior year.

"They were worried Sansa-" he paused giving her a sad smile, "we all were". She turned her head sharply to stare at the hedges that lined the private road, which lead to the Stark Manor, in case they tears brimmed over. She didn't mean to let anybody down and make them worry. She hadn't meant to do a lot of things lately.

They reached the wrought iron gates at half past five and the sky was already starting to turn a deep blue. Jory gave her a sheepish glance and a ‘good luck’ before driving round to the garage once she'd left the car.

She nervously headed to the door up the cobble path that was illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns in the lawn. She huffed to herself, here she was admiring the stupid lawn lights so she could reach the door even slower to face her fate.

She doesn't know what has happened to her. Who doesn't want to come home to their loving parents after being away at school for near on five months. Gods, how could it have been a whole five months since she's been home and three months since she'd seen any of siblings.

Another driver just begins to pull into the large front drive way, its light shining on the door handle for Sansa to grab at.

The words, Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, are the only thing repeatedly flashing through her mind as she see's what greets her as she enters into the foyer.

Her father and mother are both sporting judgemental glares and she wishes the floor would swallow her up.

But she can't deny how much she has missed them, even if they don't look pleased with her.

They don't do what she expects, there's no scolding, at least not yet anyway. Her mother simply calls out for Rickon, who comes bounding through to them with Bran wheeling behind them. She steps back to avoid being caught in the whirlwind that is her little brother, as he launches himself at their father.

She thought they were supposed to have grown out of this silliness by eight, or was he nine now she wasn't too sure, she had already been four when she stopped this nonsense.

Her heart ached to see both of them though, her little brothers who she used to help take care of when they were babies as if they were her dolls.

She remembers her mother laughing down at her when she had once tried to put a new born Bran in her own little dolls pram to walk him around the house.

How times had changed things between them, or maybe she had just allowed distance and Joffrey to. She felt splintered from them all, and it had seemed like the hardest thing in the world these past few months to just simply call them up and ask for help.

It's her mother who breaks their silent stand off, "Your bags are all ready and the cars waiting outside."

Wait.

Her mother was looking at her when she said that and gestured to several of her old suitcases waiting by the door.

She had just gotten here, they had brought her all the way home and now what, packed her bags for her to go again. Gods, parents were so confusing.

"Yay, yay, yay!" Rickon screams as he comes over to her, pawing at her coat to drag her over to where she see's his cases as well, which are parked up right next to hers.

"The drivers here to take you both." To say her mother was not from the North she certainly had the ice cold stare and voice down to a tea.

"To take us where?" She starts gnawing on her bottom lip. She doesn't like not knowing what was going on, why were they going in a car with suitcases and a driver she didn't know?

"We've decided to let you both go on a little holiday-" Sansa eyes brighten at that, all until her mother quietly mumbles out the last bit, "camping."

What on earth would make her mother think that Sansa wanted to go camping. She was clearly not outdoorsy and everyone knew it.

"Let us. You mean make us. I'm not going. And why is it just me and him?" Great she was home for all two minutes and in a sour mood.

Why couldn't they just yell how disappointed they were in her, then she could yell back, run up to her room to slam her door and then be left in peace.

"Hey, I wanna go and I wanna go now!" Rickon began to shout out, as he pulled his suitcase over to the door and opened it.

"Shut up Rickon, the grown-ups are talking," she hissed at him.

"No. You shut up." That made her stand up straight in shock. Her eyes flicked over not to Rickon but to Bran at the outburst.

He never yelled and never at her. "Won't you just shut up. You're so ungrateful, don't you think I would love to go there. But look at me, I can't, but you can. So just shut up and go," he started to tear up at the end, she didn't know from sadness or anger.

And it was because of her. She didn't know how to talk to him after the accident. She felt the guilt eat away at her again as he wheeled himself off down the hall. She should go after him and apologise, but she doesn't.

Her mother bends down and kisses Rickons forehead, she gives Sansa a sad smile as she says goodbye and goes after Bran.

Her favourite child, not you, the voice hisses in her mind darkening it. Rickons fidgeting urges her father into motion, "I'm sure you'll enjoy it if you let yourself."

Sansa cuts him a sharp look, what did he even know about her anymore. He shows her some mercy even at her harshness, "Don't worry, it's not the kind of camping in a tent. You'll be staying in a lodge by the lake, having bbq's around the camp fire-"

She gasps out suddenly, interrupting him. Dorne, they where going to Dorne. She wanted to squeal out in joy.

How spending a couple weeks in the summer at the Water Gardens in Dorne was a punishment she didn't know. But they had actually done something incredibly right and cool for a change.

She tells him just that.

"Its for the whole summer Sansa and it's not at-" She interrupts him again and he doesn't look happy, but its her birthday plans that have been ruined.

"But I'll be there for my birthday, I want to celebrate with Margaery and the girls. She promised me a big party at her home in the Reach," she's pouting like a two year old but she doesn't care.

She'd even start stamping her foot if she had to.

"Well, plans seem to change don't they. You'll do this for us after what happened," he gives her a pointed look.

Well, she couldn't argue with that. She agrees quickly so no further mention of the incident can be brought up.

"Fine. I suppose Marg probably won't mind meeting me somewhere else for my birthday for some sun, lakes and bbq’s. It should be fun away from you two nagging me all summer."

Oh, she's disappointed him again.

She sees her fathers eyes tighten up at her admission.

Her own widen in shock. She upset him. She didn't mean to, she doesn't want to hurt anyone, but she knows she won't apologise. Nobody said sorry to her when they did it.

"You best get going. You have a while in the car yet, here I'll help you with your bags."

Once they're ready and getting in, Rickon squeezes her father tightly before leaping in and snapping up the leaflet, all while excitedly yapping on about the things they’re going to do.

Her father turns to her, but she gives a simple goodbye and quickly jumps into the car, slamming the door shut. She shoves Rickon over into the back of the seven seater car, so she can have the whole of the middle to stretch out.

She doesn't turn her head towards her father, even as she feels his sad gaze burning into the side of her face.

After a few moments, he pats the side of the car to signal the driver to go and wishes them a safe trip.

As they pull away, she turns to look at him. Her eyes fill with tears as they both stare at each other. They both seem to watch the other all the way down their long driveway, even when their faces get too small and they began to blur.

She drowns Rickon out when he starts yammering on, she's good at that, she's had a lot of practice from blocking out Joffrey when he starts to rant at her.

He flits from one thing to another, hands flapping like the wings of a hummingbird. He'd chucked the leaflet on the floor and had started ripping all of his things out of his bag to get at his sticker book.

She scrolls through her social media before texting Margaery to inform her of the utter misery that has befallen her. She hovers over the messaging app for several minutes hoping to see the three dots appear for a reply.

No one from Kingslanding high had reached out to her since Joffrey and the whole debacle that had happened after.

She'd gotten through about half of Hoziers album, letting the deep timbre of his voice lull her, when she catches one of the road signs.

They were heading the wrong bloody way.

She informs the driver rather impolitely she knows, but hey she's tired.

He tells her that they're not. Their destination is North he tells her, not South.

The cogs in her mind begin turning before everything clicks into place. She launches her upper body over the back seat and stretches her arm out for the leaflet, bringing it over to her so she can get a closer look.

'A Knights Camp'. A rustic and rural experience in the heart of the North for children and teens to get back into nature. Have fun exploring the famous Wolfswood and adventuring on the Long Lake, push yourself further and learn new skills under trained Camp Instructors.

She feels as though she's swallowed a bee.

Well then. All the visions of herself sunbathing on the golden sands, of exploring the ruins of SunSpear and dipping into the Water Gardens to cool off slowly began popping in her mind.

Her phone had no signal. It didn't stop her from redialling every time the call failed to try and get in touch with her parents.

How could they do this to her. She felt bitter tears gather in the corner of her eye, so she clenched her jaw closed. She was so tired of being upset all of the time.

She crumples the leaflet up in her other palm, sick of looking at the dreary state of the place in each one of the photos.

The camp was hardly popular. Not for people south of the Neck anyways. Sure northern children and teens often went their out of school term time, but not someone like Sansa. It taught things like how to start a fire, why the hell would she need to do that. There fun adventure days were things like hiking and fishing, as if she'd be caught dead doing that.

The people she grew up had actually found things like that fun, it was popular among the children of WinterTown High.

The people of the north were weird though. And she clearly took after her mother, who thought her twice a week yoga sessions meant a hard core fitness regime.

The people of the south viewed it differently, many using it to send their wayward children so they could be rid of them for the summer.

And by the old gods, did that make Sansa and Rickon like them. That's why they were going wasn't it, so her parents could be free of them and they'd get straightened out by the camp guards.

Every year Walder Frey often sent a whole army of children and grand children to use the camp as a babysitting service.

Or in case of the Tarly’s, who had sent their son Samwell many years ago in hopes of curbing his eating habits and to toughen him up. She remembers because his brother Dickon had told her at a college party and she hung on his every word.

She turns to Rickon as he begins talking, just not to her but at one of his games. He has the contents of his bag is all over the back seat, a colouring book with scribbles from when he got bored and stickers all over the roof of the car. Sansa sees the shine of stickiness on his face and fingers from the bag of sweets he’s devoured, least he’s being quite tapping away on his computer.

Its only two hours in and things went downhill, she thinks its lucky she's had peace for this long.

Rickon's moaning because his stupid computer is out of charge, he has no pages left to colour because he scribbled all over them and there's no snacks left.

She can't help but snap at him. She knows why she's being a bitch, Margaery's text had come through when she had gotten a few bars on her phone finally.

Marg: Poor you, having a drink for you, talk soon xxx

Maybe she was being a bit irrational, she doesn't know why she expects a bit more from her. She was too busy pre drinking and getting ready for a party from all the pics she had been posting.

Rickon looks at her tearfully and she sees the tiredness in his eyes. “I'm sorry," he mumbles out through a yawn.

She can't help but soften at him, she was seventeen and couldn't keep it together and he was only eight- or nine.

“It’s okay Rickon, I’m sorry as well. It's just because I'm tired, you look tired too." She gives him a soft smile, hoping to stave of any upset.

She thinks that although he's probably excited to be going camping for the whole summer, it didn't mean he wasn't missing their mother and father already.

"I'm not tired," he pouts out.

She laughs, looks like sticking ones bottom lip out at their displeasure is a shared trait.

"Okay, whatever you say. How about you come here for a snuggle though?” She knows it will help Rickon, but it'll help her to. It had been too long since someone she loved had shown her affection and if she wasn't so stubborn she could have gotten one from her dad when they left.

Rickon huffs like he doesn't want to, but then unclips himself and kamikazes over the seat.

She belts him up again and lets him lean against her as she strokes his hair. Its not even a full five minutes when she can hear soft snoozes fall from his lips.

She wakes him softly when they arrive, trying not to poke the sleeping bear too hard.

She can see he's about to whine until he looks out at their surroundings.

She wishes she could see this through his eyes, maybe these dilapidated wooden huts looked like castles to him and the dark shimmer of a murky lake looked like the mouth of the deepest sea.

Once they are out with all their bags and cases a figure approaches from the main lodge.

Her hearts in her throat when she see's who it is.

Jon Snow. Robbs best friend, who has grown up with them all since they were babies. Her first kiss.

She blushes just thinking about it, the whole thing had been embarrassing. Not the kiss, the kiss had been sweet, what happened after was not. Her fragile, just turned sweet sixteen year old self had barely recovered.

Rickon is more than overjoyed for the both of them and quickly runs to him, trying to tackle him down by his legs.

They greet each other like long lost brothers.

She greets him like an enemy.

He looks to her smiling, she remains with her arms folded and chin raised.

"The cases are in the boot, I need to make a call," she walks away sharply, her hair whipping around to her other shoulder.

"Phones need to be handed over, you get access to them at the weekend." He never did take her shit.

"Don't worry it's just one call," she thanks her father for her stubbornness. But she won't be giving him thanks in a minute.

She stares out at Rickon as she listens to the ring. He'd wondered over to the sloppy mud, stirring it up with his hands until they were caked.

See, this is the kind of crap she didn't sign up for. Rickon needed a leash and she needed to be sunbathing in the South for summer.

"Yes Sansa?" the voice on the other end is airy and sickly sweet.

Oh damn, its her mother who answers her fathers phone. Catelyn Stark was fierce and she didn't crack in her resolve. There would be no pleading or begging to her in hopes she'd get to come home.

So she did the only other thing she thought she could do. Lash out in hurt and anger.

“You sent us off here. Well here I was thinking you’d actually cared sending us to the Water Gardens for the break, I bet you and father had a right laugh-" she doesn't even pause for a breath in case her mother answers back, "that’s it, ship your moody teen and uncontrollable child to the end of the world so you don’t actually have to deal with us now that we’re home. What great parents.”

Her mother doesn't respond for a long time, which makes it worse as it gives her time to digest all of the horrible things she said. It also allows her a moment to stare at Jon's shocked expression towards her at what she'd unleashed upon her own mother.

“I’m sorry if that’s how you see this Sansa. I hope you’ll change your mind and give it a try. We know the rules, so we hope to hear from you at the weekend. Now its late, you and Rickon get to bed. Me and your father love you both.”

She hates it that her mother sounds so understanding, she shouldn't be, Sansa was being awful and they all knew it.

She sniffles out loud with her reply, "Okay."

She shuffles over to Jon, handing him her phone. He gives her her cases as he takes Rickons and escorts them to their own cabin.

She's thankful its a private one, with two single beds and a shower just for them. She doesn't think she has it in her to handle a communal cabin.

She shouts at Rickon to stay over on his bed when he starts getting mud everywhere. She sighs heavily, this is what happens when you get lumbered with an eight year boy who was a wild savage at heart.

She pulls her cases on her bed, rifling through them for thick socks as her teeth chatter in the cold air of the cabin.

She looks over as Jon squats down at their fire place, after a few moments there's a small flicker of a flame and she sends a blessing to the gods for his kindness as the heat begins to fill the small space. He adds enough logs to see them through most of the hours of the night.

He helps lift Rickons case on his bed, telling him to get his muddy jacket off as he explains to her that they'll have to do it themselves from now.

"Do what?" She says dumbly, but her brain is too tired to try to make connections right now.

"Chop your own wood and light a fire."

She's had it. She's too tired and pissed at everyone and Jon thinks now is a good time to shovel more shit onto her plate. "Gods, what is this some slave labour camp."

"Its a skill you need to keep practising whilst your here and it helps to teach some independence," he's trying to be understanding with her but she can hear a slight sharpness in his tone.

"I don't think I like being independent," she states matter-of-factly as she sits down on her creaky bed.

She thinks she may fall asleep right then and there, but Rickon has other ideas as he launches the dollop of mud he still had in his hand right at her face.

All she can do is sit there as she feels a blob from her cheek drop onto her jeans, Rickon has the decency to look scared as she stares at him and Jon tries to hide his laugh in a cough.

Jon takes pity on her tired and now dirty form as he tells her to wait a few minutes for the shower to warm up.

She rises slowly and goes to the shower room just up from their beds. She looks at her tired reflection in the mirror, until that voice begins to stir in her mind pointing out how horrible and dark her bags look.

She brushes her teeth and takes her meds, hoping her usual nightly routine will help bring some normalcy to her.

While she washes, Jon stays with Rickon to help him get wiped up a bit and to sort through his things.

Once she's freshly clean and in her pyjamas she feels marginally better and is all smiles as she enters the room thanking Jon for his help as she see's Rickons already changed.

Its late he can shower in the morning, Jon says and she rushes to agree, to worn out to even think about having to help Rickon.

She hears her phone ping as she receives a text and goes to get it from her bag until she realises that she doesn't have it at all, its in Jons pocket.

She gives him a pleading look through her long lashes.

"One minute," he tells her sternly as he hands it over.

She wished she'd never bothered.

After all she'd told Margaery about Joffrey, after all she'd seen, there she was in the photo with her arms all over him. And it was him who had sent it.

Joffrey: I'll pretend she's you.

She shuts it off quickly, giving it back and says how tired she is, as she tries to keep horrid memories from springing up.

Jon bids them both good night, saying he'll be here in the morning to wake you them for breakfast.

As he closes the door he turns back and mouths to her, "Is everything okay?"

She nods and tries to smile, it doesn't reach her eyes and she knows she hasn't convinced either of them.

Jons face has fallen and he looks as though he's about to come back inside again, so she quickly gets under the covers and turns away from him.

The door clicks shuts after a few seconds.

Rickon is fast off in dream land and now she's left with her own thoughts which go swirling in her mind at a mile a minute.

She's glad her and Joffrey are done, how many nights had she prayed for it to be over, but it didn't stop that voice in her mind. Am I so easy to replace? And Margaery, she had said they were sisters and had fumed at how vile Joffrey was. How could she do that to me? Did she even care for me at all?

She wishes she were home. In her bedroom at Winterfell, falling asleep in her old flowery blanket knowing she was safe with a house full of Starks.

She goes to sleep in a strangers bed, in a place she doesn't know, with his voice echoing in her mind. You stupid girl.

And she was, too stupid to even realise that there would be consequences to her actions.

Of course they sent her North. She wanted to laugh at herself, as if she thought they would ever send her to Dorne.

This was a family place. Her father had come here with his siblings as a boy, Robb had come here with Jon and even Arya had been the past few years before getting that summer sports scholarship for Bravos this summer.

Sansa drifts off uneasy, but that had been the way for the past few months now.

She dreams about lions chasing her though the woods that night. She gets caught in the bushes and snagged on it's thorns. The lion puts his heavy paw on her chest and she cries out. She feels its heated breath on her face as its jaw opens. She knows its going to eat her, but then something stops it. Something saves her, albeit temporary, from being devoured right that second. The lion gets distracted at the howl of a wolf getting closer to them. She hears its panting breath as it rushes forward, drawn to her cries, she see's the trees part for it as it comes-

The knocking on her door rips her from her slumber. She's still feel half asleep as she stumbles to the door opening it to reveal Jon smiling at her.

A/N- I hope those who have read this far have enjoyed it and there aren’t too many mistakes. Sansa seems a bit bitchy at the moment, but she has her reasons which I hope you have seen hinted at a little bit here.

I hope to update this again next week.

@lovelifelovebooks

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon x sansa #jonsa au #jon and sansa #jonsa fanfiction #These (K)nights of Summer #jonsa ao3

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falconstarfall · 5 years

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Septa Mordane - the root of all evil?

In my opinion there is one really underestimated character whenever we speak about Sansa and Arya, their self images and the relationship between them in the books. So can we take a moment here to appreciate the disaster that is Septa Mordane?

Septa Mordane? What’s up with her? You might ask. Isn’t she this nice nun character on the show who has to put up with Arya AND to be subjected to all that adolecent petulance and sass from Sansa? And doesn’t she bear it all with remarkable -if not sometimes exasperated - composure, and in the end stood between Sansa and the Lannister soldiers and told her to run and bar the door?

Yes, that’s the show version (for some reason). And then there is the Septa Mordane of the book, and she is a different creature entirely. All the clever things she told Sansa on the show - Forget about them. Didn’t happen.

Septa Mordane of the books is like THAT teacher or THAT family member. The one who played favourites and liked to put children down by comparing them to other, better children; making the “bad” child resent not only the adult but also the child that it is being compared with.

I’ve tried to find all of the Septa Mordane appearances in AGoT and select the interesting ones. Please let me know if I’ve left something out.

We meet her first in AGoT, Arya I:

“Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such fine, delicate hands.” When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. “Arya has the hands of a blacksmith.”

That chapter is just full of Septa Mordane being awful to Arya.

“Arya glanced through the room, worried that Septa Mordane might have read her thoughts, but the septa was paying her no attention today. She was sitting with the Princess Myrcella, all smiles and admiration. It was not often that the septa was privileged to instruct a royal princess in the womanly arts, as she had said when the queen brought Princess Myrcella to join them. Arya thought that Myrcella’s stitches looked a little crooked too, but you would never know it from the way Septa Mordane was cooing.”

We now know that the septa sucks up to royalty.

A few moments later:

“”Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

“He’s our brother,” Arya said much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. “What are you talking about, children?”

“Our half-brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. “Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today,” she said.

Septa Mordane nodded. “Indeed. A great honour for us all.” Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment. “Arya, why aren’t you at work?” the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. “Let me see your stitches.”

Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa’s attention.

The septa examined the fabric. “Arya, Arya, Arya,” she said. “This will not do. This will not do at all.”

What this chapter shows us:

- Sansa tries to smooth things out

- Arya blames Sansa for attracting Mordane’s attention, when it was obviously herself that did it.

- Septa Mordane puts Arya down in front of others. A lot.

I really wonder who’s the source of

- the discord between Arya and Sansa

- a lot of Arya’s self esteem issues?

- who gave the steward’s daughter the impression that she would get away with calling the lord’s daughter names

(Okay, that’s a lie. I think it’s pretty clear who that was)

But that was just Arya, right. And Arya would have been a handful for any septa. Sansa remembers her fondly, so she must have been much better with Sansa, right? Right?

Nope.

Here we are on the Kingsroad, AGoT, Sansa I:

“”I’ve never seen an aurochs,” Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.

Septa Mordane sniffed in dissaproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table,” she said, breaking another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.

“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf,” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue. “Anyway Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”

The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled.

“And where is Arya this morning?”

“She wasn’t hungry,” Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy.

“Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best.”

So here we have:

- Basically Septa Mordane teaching Sansa that her sister is bad. So bad that being compared with her is something that should be avoided.

- Sansa covering for her sister. Take note, Sansa haters.

- The septa tasking Sansa with finding and dressing Arya for polite company, while she herself continues her breakfast (a few sentenses down). A task which we know Sansa will fail at (But haters, please try to remember this when you’re nitpicking Sansa’s thoughts on Arya on the next page. It isn’t much of a wonder that Sansa is annoyed with her sister).

(I also note how Sansa sounds like she would like to see an aurochs for herself, and how she stands up to the septa on the wolf’s behalf. She’s not just a docile creature - She has her fair share of defiance that she is repressing to fit into the perfect lady mould.)

We’ll move on.

AGoT, Sansa II

We’re at the Hand’s Tourney now:

““Jory looks a beggar among these others,” Septa Mordane sniffed when he appeared. Sansa could only agree.

Yes, I do wonder where Sansa’s tendency to judge people by appearance came from, and why it wasn’t checked by her caretakers.

“Jeyne covered her eyes like a frightened little girl, but Sansa was made of sterner stuff. A great lady knew how to behave at tournaments. Even Septa Mordane notes her composure and nodded in approval.”

Okay, so the septa isn’t actually doing anything wrong here, I just included it to show how badly Sansa wants to live up to the image of a great lady, and how much she craves approval.

And after the first day of the tourney, there’s the feast:

“Even Septa Mordane was helpless before him; when he sang his little song about the High Septon, she laughed so hard she spilled wine on herself.”

Yep, the septa is drunk.

“She looked for Septa Mordane, and was startled to find her with her head on the table, snoring soft and ladylike snores.

(...)

Sansa could feel the Hound watching her. “Did you think Joff was going to take you himself?” He laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. “Small chance of that.” He pulled her unresisting to her feet. “Come, you’re not the only one needs sleep. I’ve drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow.” He laughed again.

Suddenly terrified, Sansa pushed at Septa Mordane’s shoulder, hoping to wake her, but she only snored the louder. King Robert had stumbled off and half the benches were suddenly empty. The feast was over, and the beautiful dream had ended with it.”

Here we have 11 year old Sansa on her own, having to be walked home, alone with a drunk Hound, because her chaperone has gotten drunk and fallen asleep at the table - Sansa needing a chaperone being the only reason the septa was present in the first place.

So, when she isn’t bullying one of the girls, she is neglecting her duties towards the other.

Moving on again.

AGoT, Sansa III

“Her father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father’s decisions.”

This would have been a perfect time to talk to her young charge about how real life isn’t a story, and how looking and acting the part of a storybook knight doesn’t mean that you are the most capable. But no. Sansa gets the polite equivalent of “shut up and don’t worry your pretty little head with things you don’t understand.” Sure, they are in a public place - as we see from Littlefinger overhearing. But surely it should have been talked about when they got back to their chambers. Sansa isn’t allowed to ask questions, and the septa isn’t trying to teach her things about the world she is supposed to live in, other than how to get by on her courtesies.

And later that chapter:

“She turned to Septa Mordane, who was eating porridge with a wooden spoon. “Septa, will Lord Beric spike Ser Gregor’s head on his own gate or bring it back here for the king?” She and Jeyne Poole had been arguing over that last night.

The septa was horror-struck. “A lady does not discuss such things over her porridge. Where are your courtesies, Sansa? I swear, of late you’ve been near as bad as your sister.”

“What did Gregor do?” Arya asked.

Nice one. Septa Mordane is scolding Sansa by liking her with being “near as bad as Arya”. Right in front of Arya.

—-

Look, it’s not like Septa Mordane didn’t do any good at all. She did teach Sansa one important lesson that she continues to draw strenght from - the thing that she uses to survive King’s Landing:

“Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.” (Sansa, ACoK)

It kind of pales in comparison with all the other things Sansa could have benefited from knowing before being shipped off to the lion’s den. Sansa might remember her septa fondly - clearly, she was more than a teacher to her; she was the adult who was responsible for her most hours of the day during her childhood. But she also seems to have been the source of much of the way Sansa percieves the world. Still, using courtesies to shield her was the only defence she had during all her time in King’s Landing.

And Septa Mordane was put to a hard task with Arya. Even Ned said so. And it’s not like septas were given any education in child psychology before being made to take care of other people’s children. She’s not the only one who doesn’t understand that comparing children damages their self esteem AND the relationship between them - Catelyn Stark does it too.

“Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did.” (The Blind Girl, ADwD)

Clearly we can’t just blame everything on Septa Mordane. But still, the quotes are there. You judge for yourselves.

#Septa Mordane #arya stark #sansa stark

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

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Game of Thrones - Love Letter and Handwriting Headcanons

In this preference, you'll be writing to: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Eddison Tollett, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Arianne Martell

my own silly fanfic made me think of this bc there’s letter writing later on in that. whee!

Ned Stark

His handwriting is neat, evenly spaced and fairly plain. It’s easily readable, which is the point - he knows not everyone is well-versed in letters and he tries to make it easier. Ned typical sends ravens, only writing a full letter for when he has to give instructions or relay something important. He has a formal Stark wax seal for this… and yes, he uses that same formal seal when he sends something to you. The more you exchange letters, the more relaxed he clearly becomes in writing. He knows he isn’t romantic or poetic by any means, but he hopes his affection for you comes across.

Robb Stark

Goodness knows he’s had endless lessons on writing properly and expressing the right words, but Robb just has no interest in it. His handwriting is perfectly legible but obviously hastily written, and he doesn’t care if there’s a few smudges or the paper gets dirty. When he’s writing to you, he’ll try to be neater… but sometimes he’s just got so much to say, and he’s so eager to send it, he doesn’t even notice the mess. Robb never thought he’d anticipate letters, especially romantic ones, but he loves receiving things from you. If you live far away, he feels the distance strongly and starts to rely on your letters to feel more connected to you.

Sansa Stark

As expected, her penmanship is pretty and neat. If she's in a good mood she'll add little flourishes here and there, but normally she's a bit embarrassed to do it. It feels childish to do that now. When she finds a nice stationary, she saves it until she writes to you. Her envelopes have the usual Stark direwolf with some wildflowers along the border. Honest and romantic words used to come easy to her, but now she’s more subdued. She’ll include pretty poetry she heard and wanted to share with you.

Jon Snow

His writing would be neater if he just slowed down, but he’s often in haste, especially once he becomes Lord Commander. He never cared about the proper penmanship or address because who would a bastard write to? Really, it’s lucky he was taught letters at all. He’d do his best to write neater for you, but the words keep escaping him - It’s hard enough to express how he feels in person, writing it isn’t any easier, no matter what Sam says. Jon always responds if you write to him, even if he’s blushing and feeling stupid the whole time.

Benjen Stark

He’s perfectly capable of writing neatly, but Benjen rarely bothers to. He jots down what he needs, though he at least has to make it legible - there’s only so many men that know their letters at the Wall, and Benjen has to keep his orders neat. When you pass him a secret letter, he’s grinning like a boy. He thinks it’s adorable that you went through the effort of finding supplies and writing something so sweet. He’ll ask to read it in front of you, but if you make him do it in secret, he’ll want to run and find you as soon as he’s done. He’d fold it up tight and keep it in a safe pouch tied to his belt.

Jory Cassel

His handwriting is pretty messy. Jory was never bothered by it until he had to write you something. Oh no. Wasn't there a proper way to address you? What if it was too personal, or too standoffish? Poor Jory overthinks his letters unless you two write with frequency. His handwriting won't get better, but he's more comfortable writing sweet things. He likes to keep his envelopes and papers plain so no one suspects anything, which is a good habit if you’re dating in secret, but a silly once if you’re married.

Eddison Tollett

He jokes it’s a small miracle that he knows his letters, poor as his family was. He likes to pretend he doesn’t, just so the higher ups on the Wall won’t give him extra duties like they did Sam. Reading never interested him, and he had no one to write to, so it’s just not something he thinks about. When you slip him a letter, he just stares at it dumbly for a minute. Once Edd has a chance to open it up, he’s a little taken aback. What… should he do? Should he talk to you? Respond to it? He’s never had such a nice gesture given to him, never had anyone write such nice things to him (has he even received a letter before??). So the next time to meet him, he still has a stupefied look on his face. And here he was thinking nothing on the Wall could surprise him anymore..

Yara Greyjoy

She was taught writing and reading by her nuncle - because the Gods know her father hardly bothered - so she actually has fond memories of both, even if she hardly does it. Yara would be very curious by anything you sent. Was something wrong? If it smelled of perfume or had a pretty stationary, she’d snort… but once she read the contents, she’d just grin and laugh. If the letter is more romantic, she finds it silly, but so like you. Very endearing. If it’s more saucy and risque, well … she’s going to read this in private and take her time.

Daenerys Targaryen

Her handwriting wasn’t as neat as it could’ve been, given her upbringing. It’s a point of embarrassment, so Dany practices pretty lettering and uses interesting inks she’s found around the markets. It’s a bit relaxing, though when she’s writing something official as Khaleesi and Queen, she makes sure it’s perfect. She’s pleasantly surprised when you write her something - has she ever actually received something this sweet before? She’ll write you back with a smile on her face, and she likes any chance to use that fancy Targaryen seal. Dany will still love to receive and send letters even if you both are staying in a palace together. It’s just one of many romantic gestures she thought she’d never enjoy.

Jorah Mormont

Jorah's handwriting is nice, but he usually writes in haste, so several letters end up smudged. He doesn't like to waste paper and start over. Jorah really can’t believe that you’d send him something romantic and sweet; he tries to hide his grin and blush, but he’ll wear it the whole time he’s reading. When he's writing something really sweet to you, it gets him flustered and happy, so whole words end up smudged. He doesn't notice the ink on his hand until he's already put the letter in the envelope. He keeps whatever you’ve sent him in a protective leather book so they can’t get damaged.

Missandei

She has lovely handwriting in many languages, as she was taught. The neatness of the lines and letters really is impressive. When she's writing something sweet to you, she pauses and struggles with the words for a while. Missandei always has the sweetest, most thoughtful letters - more sentimental than romantic. Her letters are punctuated with citrus smelling paper and a modestly decorated envelope.

Grey Worm

He’s only recently learned to read, and writing is still a struggle - he’d be very intimidated at the idea of writing something to you. When you give him something to read for practice, it takes Grey Worm a few minutes before he realizes it’s something you wrote. And it’s for him! And about him! He’s very happy but also very flustered. It takes him longer to get through it, but he can’t stop smiling all day once he’s done. He aspires to write something just as nice, once he’s practiced more. He’d keep your letters in a safe place, and wouldn’t want anyone else to see them.

Tywin Lannister

His penmanship is near perfect, which you expected. It’s always written in a stark black ink on fine, almost marbled paper that has an equally officially looking gold Lannister seal on the envelope. People whisper it’s liquid gold that seals it, but you know better. Tywin’s letters are for business only, so he doesn’t expect you to send him anything romantic… He wouldn’t know what to do with it, besides read it with some amusement and tuck it away for later. You might think he never read it, until he’ll tease you by quoting it weeks later.

Tyrion Lannister

His handwriting is elegant and flawless, as it was meant to be. When Tyrion’s tired he’ll smudge here and there, and depending on how important the letter is, he’ll start over entirely. When he receives your first letter, he’s surprised by the pretty stationary and envelope - this is for him? - and the contents are even better. Tyrion might have a small mental shutdown if you write him something romantic and kind. He’ll re-read it over and over and be distracted through much of the day. This is really for him? He has to respond, of course, and he’ll do it while his emotions are high. For once he doesn’t think on carefully crafted words, he writes what he feels and picks a more subtle stationary (no giant Lannister seals) so attention isn’t drawn to you.

Jaime Lannister

Gods, he hates writing. Just sitting down to write a report is bad enough, but when it's something important? When it's a response to something lovely you wrote? He struggles. The letters start moving around like they used to, he remembers those awful lessons with his father and he's just put off by the whole thing. Seeing you in person is far better. Jaime's handwriting is neat, because it had to be, though when he's upset he'll write a few letters backwards.

Sandor Clegane

It's a mess. Really, the fact his words are readable is a miracle. 'Chicken scratch' is a generous term, though his name is passable. If you wrote him a letter, he'd have no idea what to do with it, let alone how to respond. Sandor doesn't do sentiment like that; seeing you in person can be conflicting and confusing enough. He'd probably rip it up and burn it after drinking too much (and immediately regret that in the morning).

Bronn

He's barely literate, and not a man of flowery words anyway, so don't respect a response. If anything he'd hand the letter to Tyrion and ask him to read it - only for it to be handed back once Tyrion realized it was very personal and... revealing. Bronn doesn't worry about a response or consider you getting upset about it. If you are, he has ways to make up for it.

Petyr Baelish

You expected him to have neat penmanship, but you didn't expect it to be this nice. And of course, his way with words shows in his letters, but it's even better. You might even blush and have to excuse yourself to read it in private. Petyr loves to write on fancy paper with fancier envelopes that have his sigil, but if they're meant to be secret, the only indicator is a little symbol on the envelope's seal. He delights in anything you send him, especially if he can smell your perfume on it.

Stannis Baratheon

Stannis writes very neat letters with equally impossibly neat rows. He has a habit of gripping his quill too tight, but his letters are concise so his hand doesn’t hurt. While he usually writes quickly because he knows what to say, when he writes to you, he pauses far too often. Sometimes ink drips on the paper while he’s thinking, sometimes he misspells a word he’s never gotten wrong before. It takes a long time, especially if he’s responding to something that was very sweet and romantic. His first letters were very awkward and halting, but they’ve steadily improved. Mostly.

Davos Seaworth

You were the one who helped him with writing, after helping him read as well. Davos isn’t happy with his penmanship, but he didn’t think he’d make it this far, so he keeps trying when he has time. It’s messy but legible enough. Davos is always pleasantly surprised when you write to him; he loves that you took the time to send something so sweet. It’s hard for him to reply efficiently, or to put what he’s thinking into words, so sometimes he’ll wait for you to get back instead. He would use your letters to practice reading… but it gets him terribly flustered to read the same kind things over and over again.

Margaery Tyrell

She doesn't mind taking the extra time to make her letters extra beautiful, to press dried flower petals and put them in the envelope, to look through dozens of stationary to find one that's just right for her mood. For most people, they're lucky to get one of these little rituals - you get all of them. She'd be delighted if you took extra care in your letters, too, and naturally she keeps whatever you send her in a special box (that absolutely no one will find).

Brynden Tully

It's no surprise that his handwriting is simple and gets the job done. His brother used to complain that he wrote like a soldier, not a lord, and Brynden is proud of that. He won't wax poetic to you, but he will plainly state that he misses you and he always writes back promptly. Brynden feels bad that his letters take so long to arrive, so he'll make them longer with funny anecdotes and things he's heard from travellers. He folds his letter a few times and wraps it in a protective parchment, just in case rain comes or some idiot drops it.

Edmure Tully

He writes well enough, with neat letters that are jotted down in haste. Edmure almost never stays and lingers on words and sentences, he just writes what comes to mind and moves on. He’s shocked in a good way when you write something to him - you missed him that much? Enough to write all this? He re-reads it several times, and keeps whatever you send him after that. He’ll eagerly write back, and even if it’s silly and awkwardly worded, you can feel the love in every letter. His letters are often a bit crumpled and are plain except for the Tully seal.

Brienne of Tarth

It might surprise some that she has a lady's penmanship. It was never something Brienne had trouble learning, though she often accidentally broke the quill by holding too hard. Though she cherishes the kind things you send her (and she blushes terribly as she reads them), she struggles to send something in return. Her words fail her and she feels embarrassed for trying, but she does try. Seeing you in person is so much easier, though. She likes to keep your letters in a safe place and read them when she's feeling down.

Ramsay Bolton

The letters are messy, but legible enough. The real issue is all the stains on the paper, usually a combination of mud, blood or water. He has little care for the proper way to write or address others; Roose may have given him the bare minimum and not expected him to actually use it. Ramsay is very surprised and amused by anything you send him, though. He considers writing something back, but decides to wait or just go and see you directly. That’s far more fun.

Roose Bolton

His handwriting is functional and his words are to the point. There's nothing outstanding about the letter or its contents, save for a blood-red Bolton seal on the envelope. Roose rarely sends full letters, though; it's a quick Raven or nothing. Though he won't mind anything you send… he'll be very pleased with how personal they become, and he still won't send anything back right away, if he does at all. Better to keep you in anticipation.

Oberyn Martell

Oberyn has a stylish flourish to his letters that’s unique to him. If that didn’t give it away, the pretty gold ink or embellished envelope will. Often it has the spear as a seal, sometimes it’s some interesting and strange stamp he picked up from his travels. There’s always a slight scent to his letters, and you can’t always place it. The actual words themselves are often scandalous and teasing, though he’s sent plenty of heartfelt things, especially if you enjoy it. He’s no poet, but he’s honest and romantic. Oberyn much prefers to see you in person, but he likes to receive sweet things and re-read them.

Arianne Martell

Her handwriting is beautifully elegant, and she loves getting ahold of pretty colored inks and papers. Her letters straddle a fine line between romantic and a little scandalous, and she likes to use pet names, as if you both are writing in secret. Her envelopes have a pleasant smell, and the official Martell seal. If she wants her letter to be sent especially fast, she’ll take her father’s seal. She keeps anything you send her in a pretty, hand carved wooden box with a lock and key.

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fierypen37 · 6 years

Text

The Oasis: Chapter 5

Writing juices have been flowing! Another chapter up!

His stepmother Catelyn Stark was a devoted follower of the Seven. The septas had read Jon and his siblings The Seven Pointed Star as children, and he’d learned all about the seven heavens and the seven hells. This was surely one of the latter, trapped in a loop of humiliation and embarrassment for eternity.

It had been fifteen minutes standing wooden beside Dany’s security guard guy, listening as a relationship was ground to powder. Dany’s relationship. Jon listened to every excruciating second as Dany verbally disemboweled the guy. The girl had scurried out, half-dressed and in tears. There was no amount of masculine camaraderie that could get Jon to sympathize with the bastard. He had Dany, walking spitfire and epitome of female perfection, promised to him. And he gets his jollies with the secretary? It was a cliché. An embarrassing one. The security guy, Selmy, he tapped on his cell. A blessed distraction, a veneer of privacy. Jon had no such shield.

He couldn’t put a finger on why he hung around, other than he wanted to see how it resolved. He’d stuck it out this far. The horndog in his head pointed out she might need a little cuddling and comforting once she dropped The Asshole Fiancé like a bad habit. His thinking brain shot down the idea, but that hopeful, starving hound waited, ready to trot around after her, tail wagging, ready to pant and beg for a scratch behind the ears.

“To think I actually spent energy worrying about you. When you were here getting your wick dipped by a--”

“Where have you been, huh? All night I’ve tried calling, texting. I thought about calling the Watch!”

“Oh thanks for the consideration. So glad I crossed your mind in between blow jobs, you son of a bitch! I was almost killed tonight!”

“Killed? Don’t be dramatic, Dany!”

“Dramatic? I’m being dramatic when a guy puts a gun to my head?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t--”

“I thought all the gossip was just that. Cheating with an assistant? How could you do this to me? You know what, forget it. Obviously, the wedding is off. Go fuck yourself. Humph, I guess you already are.”

With that parting salvo, Dany emerged from the office. Ramrod straight, though there was the slightest quiver of rage in her hands as she combed her flyaway strands of her dried cloud of hair behind her ear. No ring. She’d flung it at the idiot’s eye in minute seven. The Asshole had the presence of mind to not chase after her.

Daenerys glided past them. Jon shared a glance with the security guy before trailing along in her wake.

“Miss--”

“Save it, Barry. I can’t stomach another lie.”

Daenerys stopped short in the hall. Her violet gaze raked over Jon. In that gaze, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. Exposed. Naked. Damn, even that turned him on. What was wrong with him? A sucker for this one, lad.

“Would you like to get dinner?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Sounds good.” In answer, she gave a curt nod, like a battle commander accepting their due.

The elevator chimed and the three of them piled in.

“Miss, we have to discuss the strategy moving forward,” Selmy said, to fill the thick silence.

“Agreed. Send a message to Mr. Lannister. He is acting manager until I return. Where is safe lodging? My apartment is now a crime scene,” Daenerys said frostily.

“The perpetrators knew your location and gained access your apartment. That means they have a geotag on your cell, and a bug in your electronics,” Selmy said. All the fierce energy bled away, leaving her looking drained and miserable. Jon checked the impulse to hug her just in time. He stumbled like he’d lost his balance. Yikes. He was in deep. But the deep water didn’t scare him. Nope, not even a little.

“So Vis’s apartment and the safe houses aren’t options either.”

“No, Miss,” Selmy said gently.

“You can stay with me,” Jon blurted.

Two pairs of eyes swiveled to him. One blue, one violet, both wearing identical expressions of disbelief.

“You said you need someplace safe nobody knows about. I’m the perfect nobody.” Nobody, guard, roommate, bedslave, whatever you want. Selmy had his number, Jon could tell by his narrow look. Who knew he got off on being a hero—particularly Dany’s hero? Daenerys laid a hand on his arm.

“Jon, I couldn’t ask you to--” Jon mustered a weak lopsided grin.

“It’s ok. I want to help. Stay with me as long as you need.” To his horror, her eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you,” she said soggily.

She didn’t hug him so much as collapse against him. Jon’s arms closed around her with a mental aah. Such fucking relief. Her strong, slender body, her face tucked under his chin, quivering lips pressed against his neck. Like a kiss. Swamped by the smell of her hair, guzzling up all that delicious contact . . . uh oh.

The elevator lurched to a stop and Daenerys peeled back. Jon’s happy bubble popped with an audible sound as soon as Dany left touching distance. Selmy’s scathing glance at his lower half almost made Jon yelp. The accusation in the older man’s face said he was an opportunistic asshole. And he was. Luring Dany to his apartment with even a faint desire to seduce her, after attempted murder and seconds after she broke up with her fiancé . . . yep, there was no other way to describe it.

Jon exhaled a heavy breath, reining in his libido which lunged on its chain like the slavering dog it was. He would be the perfect gentleman. He could do it.

The three of them filed off the elevator. Two other guys in suits waited in the darkened lobby, both with long black braids. The streetlight filtered through the windows, creating a bluish, milky glow on the marble tiles.

“Miss, I’m sure we can come up with a better alternative. Mr. Snow has done quite enough.”

Daenerys rounded on Selmy, drilling an accusing finger into his chest.

“As have you, Mr. Selmy. How long did you know about it?” “Miss?” Selmy rubbed his chest, blinking in confusion.

“Daario. He has been in the same security circulation as I. You heard him say he’s been fucking Jeyne for three fucking weeks. One of you, my sharp security team, must have seen something.” Their sheepish expressions said it all. Daenerys made a derisive sound.

“Typical.” Her flashing violet eyes raked over the assembled men.

“If you value your employment, I want you three to see to security of The Oasis’s proprietor, Shae. I was there for over an hour earlier tonight. Missy too. If they geotagged by location, they could be in danger.”

“Yes, Miss,” Selmy mumbled, looking like a kid scolded by his teacher.

A fourth security guy crossed the lobby, laden with parcels.

“I got burgers from Hot Pie’s, some cash, a burner phone, a couple changes of clothes the goldcoats let me take, my wife walked me through the toiletry bit, but I think I got everything,” he said, with a thick northern accent.

Daenerys moved to take the parcels, Jon smoothly intercepted. Beneath the leaden disbelief was a giddy rush. Was this really happening? Dany in his apartment. Dany in her pajamas. Dany after showers. Dany sipping tea. Hell yes, sign him up.

“Thank you, Jory. I’ll call you in the morning. Dismissed,” she said, with a scathing glare at her team. Laden with packages, Jon offered his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Snow,” Selmy’s iron voice brought him up short. Daenerys narrowed a look at him.

“I’ll hail a cab,” she said, clicking away.

Jon squared off against the older man, meeting the challenge in his stare.

“The authorities would like to look at the weapon involved in the incident earlier tonight. May I see it?” Selmy said.

Frankly, Jon had forgotten about it, nestled against the base of his spine. Jon set down the bags and pulled it out. He dropped it into the proffered evidence bag.

“For what it’s worth, I would have done the same thing had I been there,” one of the other security guy said, the taller one with the long braid.

“Thanks,” Jon said.

“Do you have your own gun?” Selmy asked. Jon hid a wince, and shook his head.

“I’m a good fighter, and I have a big dog. That’s all I’ve needed so far.”

“I’ll let you borrow my backup weapon. We will come tomorrow evening to collect Miss Targaryen,” Selmy said, offering Jon a sleek semi-automatic pistol with two extra magazines. Jon accepted the weapon, releasing the magazine to check the number of rounds. Satisfied, he tamped it back in and checked the chamber to show them he knew what he was doing. Having passed a temporary muster, Selmy nodded.

“Tomorrow then, Snow.”

It was close to one in the morning by the time the cab dropped them off at Jon’s apartment complex. Together they’d polished off the burgers, greasy chips, and soft drinks Jory bought. Hot Pie’s were the best in town. Daenerys managed one burger, but Jon tore through three.

“You don’t mind dogs, do you? I have a big furry mutt, Ghost. He’s a sweet dog, but protective. That’s good, right?” Jon sounded as nervous as she felt, and that put her at ease.

“I love dogs. My apartment complex wouldn’t allow pets, otherwise I’d adopt one,” Daenerys said, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin.

“Here you are, m’lady, ser,” the cabbie said with a round Landinger accent.

Daenerys shelled off several bills and followed Jon out into the pissing rain.

“It’s nicer than it looks,” Jon said, gathering her bags on one arm as he buzzed the code to open his door. Daenerys thought it was serviceable building of weathered brick. Dated, but well-kept.

“I like it.”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch as the elevator doors closed. She was staying at Jon’s apartment. She would see him shirtless, tousled, sipping tea or brushing his teeth. Sleep in sheets that smelled like him.

The fantasy of pinning him to wall and having her wicked way with him—while to no end appealing—felt impossible. Daario had been cheating on her for weeks. It wasn’t just tabloid drivel; it was gut-wrenchingly real. Their relationship was over. Knowing Daario, she wouldn’t put it past him to scuttle to the press and release a statement for a wad of crowns. It was a kick in teeth after a long and spectacularly bad day. She and Daario hadn’t been intimate in a while, either. The only thing even remotely close to sexual energy had been massages at The Oasis with Jon. Mm, she savored the memory of his hands on her. The hug at Stormcrow had blown on those embers. Best to snatch at the lovely magic heat before it fizzled, as her sexuality inevitably did.

Daenerys drew a steadying breath in through her nose, and stabbed the STOP button on the elevator. A shrill bell pealed for an ear-splitting second as the brakes settled.

“Dany? What are you--” Jon asked.

Daenerys sidled close, edging him against the wall.

“I haven’t thanked you properly for what you did tonight,” she whispered, hoarse and soft. Daenerys flicked her gaze to his lips, full and smooth. Her mouth watered. She probably looked like a wreck, bloodshot eyes and ruined makeup and tangled hair. By force of will, Daenerys wrestled that nagging voice into a locked box in her mind.

Bracing her hands flat on his heaving chest, she leaned closer. Jon dropped the parcels, his dark eyes wide.

“Dany,” he whispered.

The first touch of her lips to his was shy, tentative. Electricity seemed to arc between them, a tingling jolt. She felt the sharp intake of breath, felt the sudden hot grip of his hands on her hips. Mm, there it was, that delicious melting feeling. A pulse deep at her core. She kissed him again, a deeper press. His hum vibrated against her lips. Jon angled his chin, deepening the kiss with unhurried pecks, easing in to taste her. Heat and hunger, nervousness and passion.

It spun and twisted. Oh. Oh, yes. Mm, she loved the stroke of his tongue, the syrupy taste of soda in his mouth, the prickle of his beard. One hand curled in the curly hair at his nape, the other burrowed beneath his shirt to stroke the hot, hard planes of chest and belly. His hand cupped her hip, the other tenderly cradling the weight of her breast through the lace of her bra. Slow, careful touches that left her nipples hard and her core slick and aching. Daenerys moaned, arching for more. He pinched her nipple, ever so gently, and the sensation sent pleasure arrowing south.

“Jon,” she whispered. In his name, she heard raw, shaky need. No time to embarrassed about it.

Then suddenly, he pushed back, holding her at arm’s length. Daenerys wanted to cry or howl. Panting, she gulped down air, trying to master herself. Gods, he looked edible. Mouth red and ripe, hair in a curly snarl, a prominent erection strained against the cruel prison of his jeans.

“Be sure,” he said emphatically. Daenerys frowned, the words distant static compared to hot, towering hunger.

When she understood, she nearly did cry. Be sure she wanted him. Be sure it was real for her. Daenerys touched her forehead to his and in the humid, panting space between them, she whispered: “I’m sure.”

The world spun and she had her back against the wall, pinned by Jon’s warm, hard body.

“Ok?” Jon asked, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. The tenderness of it broke her heart. Daenerys nodded, leaning close to kiss him again.

The kiss took on a demented life of its own. A delicious, feverish blur. She didn’t recognize herself. Twined around him, kissing madly. Frantic heat. Flooded and needy, clawing for more. Jon lifted her against the wall, grinding his trapped cock against her core. Gods. Even that blunt pressure through their clothes was good. So good.

“Jon. Jon . . .” she whimpered, clinging to him. Fumbling with her shirt, he nuzzled the lacy cups of her bra, teasing one tender nipple with his tongue. Helpless mewling whimpers leaving her with each sharp jut of his hips. The tension gathered, building to the sweet-sharp tipping point . . . Daenerys clenched her eyes shut as the world blasted into a throbbing red, shot through with gold.

Jon.

Jon set her on her feet, pressing his face to her throat. Her pulse leapt against his lips, he lapped up the salt of her sweat, blazing a path to her sweet mouth. Clouded violet eyes looked at him like . . . fuck. She looked at him like he was her own personal god. Jon kissed her, ravenous. Puffy, kiss-bruised lips were soft and open, gentle hands petting his hair. Fucking hell, if this was how intense it was when they were both fully clothed, it would kill him if he was ever inside her. Gods, lodged deep in her sweet pussy, every inch of him kissed and loved, drinking in her face, her eyes as she fell apart . . . Jon broke away, panting.

“Jon?” Her voice was sex incarnate, husky and sweet. An adorable frown marred the pleasure-muddled look.

“You didn’t . . .” she trailed off. Jon shook his head.

“No,” he rasped, vaguely impressed he sounded human. His cock was achingly hard and throbbed along with his heartbeat. Daenerys Targaryen would be the death of him. Jon tilted his chin to give her a parting kiss, but it surged into greedy, clinging life. After a while, Jon peeled back with some effort, gulping in air. Mm, the floral scent of her hair, mixed with sweat and the musky fragrance of her pleasure . . . Jon uttered a frustrated sound.

“Let’s get inside,” he said.

On rubbery legs, he led the rest of the journey from the elevator to his apartment, laden with her bags. Ghost barked and wagged around both of them as he shouldered open the door.

“Shh, boy! Down! You got to be quiet!” Jon hissed. He kicked the door shut behind him, setting Dany’s bags down on the tea table. Jon grunted as Ghost’s front paws struck him in the gut. Ghost slobbered on his face, then immediately dismissed him to sniff and nuzzle at Daenerys. She giggled, ginger hands patting his thick ruff. Jon’s heart gave a lurch at the sight of her in his sparse living room. Daenerys Targaryen. The mind boggled.

The mood was definitely broken. Jon’s mouth twisted. That was for the best. He didn’t want to fuck this up. He wanted Dany to feel safe, to feel comfortable. The best way to ruin that was with sex. Incendiary and mind-altering as their petting had been, boundaries had to be locked down, etched in steel. No more slip ups. He had to be the perfect host. His body howled in denial. The silence between them felt excruciatingly awkward.

A note fluttered in his key bowl beside the door. Grateful for the distraction, he picked it up. In Sam’s neat hand, he read: ‘Little Sam took Ghost on a walk up the stairs. He did his business on Mr. Glover’s welcome rug. We left a note. Call us back!!’ Beneath it in Little Sam’s heavy-handed scrawl, it read: ‘I gave Ghost a treat. Mr. Glover is mean.’ Jon chuckled.

“My neighbor, telling me he took Ghost for a walk,” Jon explained.

The mutt in question was on his back, squirming in delight as Dany rubbed his belly. You and me both, buddy. Daenerys giggled and cooed at Ghost before she straightened, dusting white dog fluff off her hands. She slung her bag over her arm.

“Um, I think I’ll take a shower, if that’s ok.” Jon bobbed his head in a frantic nod.

“Sure, help yourself. The only full bath is in the master, around the corner.” Jon trailed after her, as if connected by a string. His large bed was unmade, dirty clothes littering the floor. Face aflame, he snatched a pair of plaid boxer-briefs from the square bedpost.

“Sorry. I wasn’t . . . ah, expecting company.” The bathroom was little better, cluttered and messy. Daenerys’ smile loosened the knot in his gut.

“Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

Dany shut the door with a quiet click. When the hiss of the shower bled through the door, Jon burst into a frenzy of activity. He stripped the bed and wadded the sheets and dirty clothes into the hamper. Digging in his cramped linen cupboard, he found fresh sheets, silvery grey worn to downy softness. His summer blanket, a cheap black microfiber thing, looked too thin. She might get cold. He hauled out his down comforter too. The hefty flop of it releasing a faint musty odor. He remade the bed and tucked the curtains tight over the windows. He shucked off his damp clothes and peeled off soaked socks with a moue of distaste. The faint clean scent and dry chafe of a pair of drawstring sweatpants and white undershirt felt great.

Jon snagged his favorite pillow and tossed it and an extra blanket on his squat suede couch. That would be his post. Guarding the door. Seized by inspiration, he checked the deadbolt, and wedged a dining room chair under the knob, just in case. The door was a solid, concrete-filled fire door. Hanging them was a bitch of a job. A quick sweep of the apartment found all the windows locked. They were high up and small, typical of the age of the building. The fire escape was at the end of the hall. A good little fortress against any of the fuckers who wanted to mess with Dany. Ghost trotted after him, jumping up on the couch and resting his head on a throw pillow.

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” Jon said, scratching one tufted ear, “she’s pretty great, huh? We got to keep her safe.”

Jon bent and tugged his waterlogged phone out of his jeans pocket. What was it the internet said to do? Rice? A hot lamp? He chose his desk lamp in the living room, a squat thing with a blinding white bulb. He sat, too exhausted to try the TV, too jittery to doze. Selmy’s pistol he laid on the tea table within easy reach, along with the extra magazines.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door to his bedroom clicked open, revealing Dany in all her heat-flushed glory. Jon shot to his feet. That was what she slept in? A powder blue nightgown that fell to mid-thigh, trimmed in white lace clung to her body, those perfect breasts untethered. Predictably, his cock had some very definite opinions about how she looked. No protection in sweatpants. Jon shoved his hand in the pocket, tenting his pants in a hopefully casual gesture. The air between them felt thick enough to cut.

On impulse, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. A schmoozy move, but it felt appropriate. A princess and her bodyguard. He liked the vibe. Her cheeks blushed a charming rosy pink.

“The bed’s all made up for you. I’ll take my turn in the shower,” Jon said.

“Ok. Than--”

Jon stopped the words with a fingertip over her lips. So soft. A smile stretched her lips beneath his finger. Jon gulped, overwhelmed by the sparkle her clear violet eyes. She was in his blood now, lodged in his chest.

“I want to keep you safe. You don’t have to thank me for the bleeding shower.” His voice came out all wrong. Harsh, almost angry. Dany didn’t bat an eye. Her posture straightened, defiant.

“I know I don’t have to. But I will. Often and repeatedly, because you deserve to be appreciated.” Given the encounter in the elevator with her ‘thanking’ him, his damned horndog brain ran with the imagery. Well, fuck.

“Suit yourself. Try and get some rest,” he said, ducking for the safety of the bathroom.

#jonerys #snowstorm #fp37fic #The Oasis #AU #Masseur!Jon #ceo!dany

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