#(arya) i just died in your arms tonight

[rabid-dog-steve-horn]

THE NIGHT KING - "(ARYA) I JUST DIED IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT..." (CUTTING C...

[mortumslab]

Remembering to be Human - Chapter 4

Chapter 4! A slower chapter. Some gasp character development!

(tw: blood, medical stitching, sexuality, sensuality, sexual content)

Julia follows you back to the rooftop. She’s quiet. And even though you can’t read anything besides the soothing hum, you can tell she wants to talk. You avoided the others downstairs. Sidestep never shared their backstory. Their reasons why. You shared more tonight than you have in a decade. You feel numb. Unsure if you will wake up tomorrow regretting the decisions you made tonight. Regretting trusting them.

“What’s up?” You ask, not looking at her. You’re watching the city. Your city. The city you’re going to upend. The city you will rebuild from the ground up. After it has been leveled. Politically, of course. You hope.

“I’m worried about you.” She says it softly.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?” She sort of blurts it out. She’s anxious about asking. You never expected to bring anyone to your base. However, it was designed to accommodate more than just yourself. You just never expected Julia to be so okay with you as a villain. Though you fight for the same thing. Justice.

“Are you sure?” There is a note of panic in your voice. She catches it instantly.

“I know today has been exhausting, emotionally and physically,” her eyes trace the growing welt on your forehead. “But I… I want you to know how committed I am to you.” 

Oh. That wasn’t expected. This is a show of trust as much as love. She wants you to know how much she trusts you and your crusade.

“But… I’m a villain.” She has had her flings before. She has had her PR scandals flirting with villains. But she has never told a villain she loves them. And you know she hasn’t been able to date since you died. The Farm manufactured that newspaper. They left it where you could see it. Where you could learn to hate. A hatred you need to eradicate before it kills you first. The hatred that you feel dissipating the longer you look at her.

“You’re not. You’re fighting the same battle. Just… outside the law.” 

“I hurt you. I broke your arm. I nearly killed you.” You feel like crying. Villains don’t cry but you might. You cry a lot.

She hesitates. “You did. Yeah. And I would have been the first to apprehend Heartbreak tonight if I didn’t know the truth. And I believe you don’t want to lose control again. Why… what happened at the gala?”

You don’t like having this conversation here. At Ranger HQ. But the alternative is to have it at the base. And you don’t know why she’s so willing to forgive. 

“I hated you. All of you. I thought you had forgotten me. I know I was wrong, but that night. That night, I was able to unleash all the anger. Everything that had been done to me.”

You don’t let her interrupt you. “I don’t know if Arya or Heartbreak is the mask, but until I figure it out, I don’t want to hurt you again.” Tears. Human? Not sure. Not yet. Maybe never.

“I can help you figure it out.” She smiles. It melts you. 

“But what if I hurt you again?” You don’t choke back the sob this time. She covers the distance between you and slowly pulls you into an embrace.

“You won’t,” she whispers. You feel chills down your spine despite the warm Los Diabolos evening.

“We’ll go to my base, then. But I need you to keep it hidden.” You can’t let your base get on the Directive’s radar. 

“Of course.” She steps back and smiles. Her hands still hold you firm. Keeping you grounded.

“I need to call my ride, but my associates are also off the table for arresting.” You can’t let Rosie get hurt for your stupid plans. 

“Arya, I won’t let anything happen to you or your people. We’re fighting the same battle. And even if that weren’t the case, I love you. I have for a long time. And I’m never losing you again.” 

This time, there are tears. And this time, you initiate the hug. A hug that becomes a kiss. A kiss that deepens. This woman has always been here for you. You just couldn’t see it. She’d have gone through hell and back to keep you from this path you’re on. But it’s too late to go back. So you might as well go forward with her by your side.

“Hey, Rosie,” your helmet is back on, and the HUD shows green across the board. “I need a pick up where you dropped me off. I’ll have company. We’re going to make a show of a fight but just enough for anyone who’s watching.” Argent disabled the cameras far before the meeting, and they should be off the rest of the evening. 

“You ready to play fight?” You turn to look at Julia, but she’s already winding up a punch. You know she knows she can’t hurt you, but you suspect she wanted to get you back for breaking her arm. Your helmet takes the brunt of the blow. You grab her arm and fall backward off the roof, leveraging her momentum. The Rat King targets the lip of the building with your grapple and slows your descent. Julia, the daredevil she is, only giggles as you land smoothly on the ground. Van waiting.

You roughly shove Julia into the back and close the doors behind you.

“Hey Rosie, take us back to base.” You say to her.

“Uh… boss, that’s Charge.” She looks nervous.

“Yes, and she’s my girlfriend.” The word slips out and sounds odd, especially through the modulator. That shuts Julia up. 

“Uh, okay.” She starts back onto the main road. You pull your helmet off and turn to Julia.

“I guess it’s pretty easy to kidnap a Ranger then, huh?” You tease. Thankfully, Rosie can’t hear or see you through the dividing panel.

“Only when the company is attractive.” She gently strokes your face. The space in the vehicle is limited. With your height and Julia’s muscles, you’re essentially in each other’s lap. Time to remember how it is to be human. To love.

You pull Julia into a gentle kiss. First on the lips. Then, at the jawline. Then, down her neck. You’re wrapped tightly in her arms. You can barely see her in the moonlight. Streetlights paint a steady rhythm of light across her face. Beautiful. Loving. She may flirt with everyone, but those eyes, this smile, these are only for you. Your kisses get hungrier. She gasps when you nibble on her ear. You’re relying on nearly seven-year-old memories for instruction. If anyone will teach you to be human. To forget the scars that cover your body, she will. You spend the rest of the ride in each other’s arms. You know your armor can’t be removed that quickly, anyway.

When you arrive back at the penthouse, you have Rosie pull into the private garage and then send her home for the night. She agrees but looks nervous about leaving you alone with a Ranger. She’s not entirely sure if the “girlfriend” comment was facetious or not. But, after a moment of gentle influence, she leaves.

Turning to Julia, you motion to the elevator. It’s private and secure. A benefit of owning the top 3 floors. The door opens to your secret lair. A strange sentiment given your less-than-villainous activities of late. It’s hidden in the wall behind your office desk. Julia watches you as you remove your armor. Plugging in the battery and replenishing the Rat King’s nutrient supply.

“What’re you looking at?” You may not be able to read her mind, but you can tell she’s looking at your ass.

“Nothing, just Los Diabolos’ hottest new villain. In more than one way.” Thankfully, she can’t see you blush.

She brushes past you and looks up at the trophies taken from various villains in the last few months. 

“You never were much of a rule follower.” She muses. “I guess this was just the natural path for you.”

“I couldn’t let them get away with everything. Sidestep wasn’t strong enough. This was the only way.” Sidestep died. Sidestep was a hero. The Nanosurge. The Void. The Catastrofiend. Psychopathor. All victories. More or less. Each is a name tattooed on your chest. A tattoo you did to yourself. You chose it. Not them. It reminded Sidestep of what they had accomplished. But that hero is dead. Heartbreak isn’t a hero, but you’re not sure they’re a villain either. Some sort of twisted amalgamation that makes you the enemy. Everyone’s enemy.

“Can you stitch me up?” You’re wearing nothing but a sports bra and shorts. You hardly ever dress like this unless you need to perform some minor surgeries on yourself. Which happens less nowadays with the armor keeping you safe. Though taking a few strikes from powerful boosts tonight has left you with a swollen eye and a large enough gash above the eyebrow that you’re having to blink blood out of it.

“Of course.” 

Julia marvels at everything around you as you lead her through the halls of the building. “How did you afford all of this?” You laugh softly because you were wondering when she’d ask. “I robbed Umbral. Then a few other villains. I think that’s why Hollow Ground is pissed at me.” 

“And this is all yours?” She looks now at the medical facility you had installed. Fit for most trauma surgeries.

“All mine… ours, now.” You say. Unsure as to why you’re the sappy one tonight. You must be tired. It has been a long, long day. But you could get used to this, you think. As long as you don’t hurt her again. What you’ve done to this point can be excused. But that would be the line. A line that you drew after you saw the battered and beaten Julia. At your feet. Oh.

Screams. 

Panic. 

Herald screams. 

Julia. Julia is bleeding

. 

Her arm is bent unnaturally. 

She’s asking you why. Why? Why?

“Arya!” She catches you before you collapse. You’re shaking. Usually, you just hit the ground during an episode. You can’t catch your breath. Your heart is reverberating in your chest. 

“What was that?” There’s panic in her eyes. She can’t bear to lose you again.

“Telepathy means I have… bad flashbacks. Bad memories. I was… I was thinking about how I could get used to you. To us. And then I… I remembered the gala. And I…” You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried today. Never in front of anyone else. You promise yourself that now. Only Julia.

She pulls you into a hug. Not a long one. Just enough to calm your panic. You’ve drawn your line. Don’t cross it again.

She sits you down on the operating table. You took a lot less of a beating than you had expected. The wounds from your collision with the conference table are the worst. Argent’s nails left minor impressions, but the bruises will fade. 

Your bare shoulders and abdomen show your inhumanity. But Julia doesn’t even flinch at the orange irregularities. Stitching you together, one loving action at a time. You wonder how long this dream is going to last. Whatever you did to survive Heartbreak still lingers. In a manner that you can’t describe. But tonight, you let her love on you. A new, strange, and terrifying concept. 

Before you know it, she’s kissed you on the forehead, right over the new lattice work. “All done, I think.”

“Were you going to let them kill you?” You know she means Herald and Argent. Were you? You knew that the only way to show them you meant no harm was to do no harm. You know an underlying factor to your villainy has been a disregard for your own safety - but were you willing to let a Ranger kill you, there and then? Herald looked devastated by what he’d done. He could have done worse, and you would have allowed it.

“Yes. And I won’t stop them from doing so in the future if I lose my way again.” You look her in the eyes. Brown. Soft. Warm. Safe. “I’d ask the same of you, but I suspect you might be biased.” A small smile.

“I couldn’t lose you again. I won’t lose you again.” You can see a hint of wetness in her eyes. “Will you lose control again?” 

A question you have considered. From the moment you told her your secrets. You know the gala was meant as your arrival to the scene. You needed to cause a wave if you wanted to make Heartbreak infamous. And the brutality of your swift justice delivered upon the Rangers surprised even you. You expected to be caught, to be killed. But you won anyway. You decimated the team. But you know that person was laboring under false pretenses. The Heartbreak that emerged nearly a year ago is not the same Heartbreak today. Arya and Heartbreak. Two masks. Whichever is the real you, if it exists, is still not sure what you’re capable of. And that scares you. You try to keep the violence directed at the devils, but there are some hidden amongst the angels, too.

“I could see it happening again.” You’re honest. Because you need to make sure that she’s willing to put you down for the cause. “Julia, this goes deeper than me. Heartbreak is a means to an end. It’s the way for me to enact justice outside the law. But the moment I become the problem, I need to know you or one of the Rangers will put me down.” 

She doesn’t speak for a moment. Looking you fully in the eyes. You’re still not used to the affection. The open desire. “Okay. If not me, I’ll make sure someone will. Probably Sentinel since you’ve pretty much beaten all the others.” She’s making a joke. Good.

Brevity. Humor. Humanity.

“I did didn’t I,” you laugh softly. “I wasn’t expecting to be able to, but I guess all Sidestep needed was high-grade power armor.” Julia laughs, too. The sound is beautiful to your ears. When did you become this much of a romantic?

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” You know she’s thinking about the meeting with Hollow Ground.

“I will go in my armor. I expect you and the others to make a plan to take out Hollow Ground and maybe beat on me a little.” You stress the “little” because you already took a beating tonight. “Then we can interrogate Hollow Ground or whoever we find there. I don’t think they’re brazen enough to be without security. But I think I know why people haven’t been able to identify them in the past.”

It’s called threading. The Farm trained you to be an operative. You recognize all types of telepathic powers.

“It’s long-range control. I think that’s her brand of telepathy. It makes for easy anonymity if everyone you meet you can touch.” Can you be threaded? You’re not sure. It’s a rare talent. You’re an alpha-level telepath, and pretty sure you meet all the known classifications for telepaths. You’re at the top of the boosts. Hopefully, it’s enough to resist Hollow Ground.

“Then we better make sure to get you out of there.” Julia looks nervous but she knows she can’t stop you from continuing down this path. Like it or not, you’re both superpowered gluttons for pain and punishment. This path ends in victory or undignified death. There is no middle ground.

“Want to head to bed?” You’re exhausted and want nothing more than to try and sleep. Though now it occurs to you that you’ve never shared your bed with anyone before. The thought is both terrifying and exciting. Nervous butterflies. Only in the presence of Julia. 

“Sure,” she smiles softly. 

You lead her back the way you came. Back out of the lair entrance in your office. Past the desk in the lobby and up the elevator to the top floor. You didn’t mean to impress tonight, but Julia’s eyes take in everything with a facial expression akin to awe. Arriving at your bedroom floor, you tell her to make herself at home. You suppose it’s about time. After all, this whole thing has only been a decade in the making.

You strip off what’s left of your clothes and start the shower. You can sense Julia’s presence in the doorway to the bathroom. She’s watching you. Taking in the scene. Her eyes drift to the sink where a mirror would usually be. Her brow furrows.

“Easier to pretend to be human without the constant reminders otherwise.” You can’t read her mind, but you’ve known her for many years. Mannerism and behavior are your forte. A cuckoo needs to be able to read its mark. No. Don’t think of her that way. You’re better than that. Pull it together. Julia is saying your name. You must look like you just had another panic attack. Her hand is on your back.

“It’s okay, I understand.” She sounds like she truly does. Though you know she can’t. She’s human. You’re a facade. Not real. Produced.

“I’ve never had mirrors. Only in Eden’s apartment. But I can get one if you’ll need it.” You realize you just offered your bathroom to her in a more permanent fashion. She caught it, too. Fuck.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” She’s teasing you, but you know she’s not against the idea. “Let’s try not to die tomorrow, and we can make more permanent plans.” She says with a wink. It isn’t your first time losing your composure in her presence today. Thankfully, she doesn’t push the topic.

You get into the shower and bask in the heat. Warmth. Burning. Human. Remember to be human. You hate showering because a look down at your feet reminds you how inhuman you are. Yet, the scalding water begs to question that. How can you be fake if your skin feels the temperature? 

It’s odd to feel this way. Your entire life changed again. Your secrets are slowly leaking. Truths are being told. Were your secrets out of habit, protection, or both? Or did the Farm just build you to lie? And you’re not sure who you would be without secrets. You’ve never been an open book. Even Sidestep was an enigma. Part of why Steel never trusted you. You had too many secrets. But they’re out now, and you’re not sure if that makes you more or less trustworthy.

There are hands on your back, startling you from your thoughts. You’re never aware of the soothing buzz. You always have to focus on it. But being unable to read her mind makes it easier to love her. More normal. More intimate. More human. Just two people. Two people who waited too long to fall in love. Maybe things will be better now. Hopefully.

“Hey,” you mumble. Turning around and facing her. Fully exposed. She kisses you softly, the warmth from her body and the shower intoxicating. The kiss deepens, her tongue trying to taste all of you. It feels like forever that you stand wrapped in her arms. Then she breaks for a moment. Her eyes filled with something akin to lust. Asking for permission. You nod and kiss her again. The kiss becomes hungry when her fingers trail down your abdomen. Then she circles the sensitive areas of your flesh. The flesh you hate so much. Yet, wants her so badly. Moaning into her mouth as her fingers slip inside, you press yourself against her. Your height gives her an enviable position as your hips move in rhythm with her fingers. Deeper. Quicker. Sounds you’ve never made before. Then, with a final symphony of wordless music, you relax into her arms. Breathing hard. She smiles up at you. Full of herself, as always. Though, you don’t mind it.

Later, as you crawl into bed, you realize you’ll have to actually make room this time. Scooting to a side, you turn to look as Julia slides in next to you, pulling you close. The cool, air-conditioned room makes the bed cozy. Will you have nightmares tonight? Will they be worse? Be better? Be different? Part of you wants to slip into Eden and keep working, but you also want to be present. Be with Julia. You suppose that if the dreams are worse, you can always slip into the puppet tomorrow night.

“You’re tense,” Julia says softly, “I thought I just took care of that.” Her flirting whisper sends chills down your back.

“I’m worried about dreams. Nightmares.” You don’t look at her. You’re trying to calm yourself. “I usually get them. I would normally slip into Eden to keep going indefinitely.” You know that sounds like a crazy person sentence.

“Do what you need to do. I’ll protect you.” She knows she can’t fix what your mind will do to you, but she’s trying her best. You appreciate that.

“I’ll try to be here tonight. Maybe things will be different.” She scoots to spoon you. You’re taller than she is; she’s much more muscular. Your lean form is good in a fight. Quick and nimble. But, her large size envelops you. Warmth. Security.

Maybe it’s too much. Too quick. But maybe this is love. Love is difficult. You’ve never experienced it, but you’ve felt it on other’s minds. So you decide you might as well accept this. Your emotional connection may be holding on by a strand but that’s a strand that wasn’t there before today. Your scar is healing. 

“I love you.” You say it knowing she’ll say it back. And she does. And then you slip into dreams faster than you expected.

[saitamasgreencactus]

I have the biggest earworm of that cover song from the Night king... Arya, I just died in your arms tonight. Must have been Valyrian steel...

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Dangerous Love (Pt. 06 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

Word count: 2.5K

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

×

Dance With Me

Bruce kept his promise and brought you a TV. He also streamed the first season of Game Of Thrones before giving you the second book, and the old deal remains. You'll watch the second season when you're done with the book. But you don't mind. They did leave a lot out of the TV show, and you want to know everything that happens. He even stayed to watch some of the episodes with you. You cried when one of the characters died. You and Bruce have the same favorite characters. Daenerys, Jon, Arya, and Tyrion. And you love to talk about it with Bruce.

The week goes by quickly, and now you have a digital clock too, so you'll know which time and day it is. And that's how you know your birthday is coming.

Today is Saturday, and Bruce is hosting a party. You can see many people down in the garden already, making things ready.

“Alfred will bring you dinner tonight.” Bruce reminds you, as you eat lunch. “But I'll come tomorrow.”

“I'll forgive you if you promise to have fun today. For both of us.” It's so damn hard not to think about that blonde woman. “Try to dance a little.”

“I will.”

He stays for a little longer until he has to go.

In the next following hours, you focus on the book. The noise gets louder, and the music starts playing as soon as the night falls. You also take a shower, long and warm, washing your hair. Patiently, you dry and brush it, struggling with your thoughts. Then you try reading again, but you can't seem to focus.

That woman is down there, and the image of her and Bruce dancing fills your head, like torture. Her beautiful blonde hair, kind eyes... She will pull him close, and he won't resist her touch. Why would he?

He will pull her against his chest, and what you can only dream about, she will feel it. How lucky she is.

You go to the window, a knot on my throat. Why do you want to cry? Why do you feel so terribly sad over a freaking scenario you just imagined?

“Because it'll probably happen...” You tell yourself.

And if not her, with some other girl. Looking through the window, you see the pretty lights on the garden, and some people, smiling, talking... A soft music start playing, and you see as some couples get together, slow dancing.

Smiling, you close your eyes as you step away from the window, resting your back against the wall.

You imagine yourself down there, among the people, and they don't bother you. You're comfortable, wearing one of those pretty dresses. You're not a villain, you're a normal woman, someone people won't be afraid of... Someone Bruce could love. You would walk around the house, the gardens, and you finally get to see all of it. And then, you'd find Bruce...

Opening your eyes again, you walk to the bathroom to wash your face. Wash away the tears. What is going on with you? You can't let this happen. Not with Bruce. You've never been through this, you never needed or wanted someone so bad. It's weird. You don't want this to be love, you can't let this be love. Punching the sink, you ignore the pain that spreads through your fist.

“Remember who you are,” you tell the girl in the mirror. “Remember who you are.”

But it doesn't work. Who you are, or who you were, is a distant memory. He's succeeding, Bruce is changing you, he's making you see who you are behind the villain mask you had on. And you don't think you can go back there. You don't want to... You want him...

You're crazy. Now you're finally going crazy. Bruce won't like you. And you can't expect him to. You can't want him to. A loud laugh coming from the garden gets your attention, and you run back to the window. You can see a couple, happy, in each other's arms. You envy them... You won't ever have anything like that.

When the door clicks, you dry off the stubborn tears that came rolling down again. “Alfred, tell Bruce everything is beautiful.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“It's me.”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn around, seeing Bruce by the door. He looks amazing in his tuxedo, so handsome. You step forward abruptly, an impulse, ready to run into his arms, but you manage to control yourself, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

“Hi.” It's all you manage to say.

“Why do you always keep the lights off?” He inquires.

“I'm just used to it, I guess... I... I tried to read, then I tried to sleep, so...” Walking away from the window, you move closer to where he's standing.

“I'm sorry if the noise is disturbing you.”

It's not the noise that's keeping you awake, it's him, and all the things you shouldn't be feeling. “That's not it. I don't sleep too much, remember?” Taking a deep breath, you avoid his gaze. You must look so bad, in your black tank top and sweatpants... The girls down there look so beautiful... “What-what are you doing here? The party seems to be going very well.” You gesture at the window, the only sight you have of outside.

“It's considered polite for the host to dance with the single ladies.” He reaches out his hand, and you wonder what it means.

“I... I'm not at the party...” His hand doesn't move, so slowly, very slowly, you take it.

“You're here. That's what matters.”

“I don't know how to, remember? I don't–”

“Relax, (Y/N).” Bruce pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist. It feels like a drug, inebriating. “Just follow my pace.”

Why is he doing this? Why does he care enough to come here instead of focusing on the party he's hosting? Bruce will be the one to drive you crazy.

You start moving, from side to side, following the rhythm of the soft song playing down there. The distance he first put in between your bodies disappears as you move until you're very, very close.

“You... Why did you come here? I-I mean... Don't you have enough girls down there? To dance with? You shouldn't lose your time with me.” You whisper, stuttering. Hesitantly, you look up, meeting his eyes. It's breathtaking.

“Thought you would like a dance.” He keeps his voice low as if the didn't want to disturb the darkness. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” You burst out, too fast. Suddenly, you decide to tiptoe. “This is how I'd be like if I were wearing high heels. And you can pretend I'm wearing a pretty, long dress.” Smiling, you notice your face is closer to his now. His lips get your attention, so you close your eyes.

“You're beautiful, just like this.” His voice is so low that it's hard to hear it. But does he really mean it? Can he find you pretty in such simple clothes? “Sorry I can't take you to the actual party.”

“It's alright. I... I wouldn't feel comfortable, I think... Among the people.” Bruce moves your arms, from where they were laying, on his biceps, to be around his neck.

It's hard not to look at him, but you feel that if you do, you won't be able to control yourself. “I would be by your side the whole time.”

“But what about that... That woman I saw...”

You're begging yourself not to do this. Not to ask something that will make you feel bad to know the answer. But you need to. “Wouldn't she... Wouldn't she want to have you too? I know you're just saying that to make me feel better, I... I shouldn't even be saying that. Just ignore it.” That's embarrassing. Good thing he won't see you blush in the dark.

“Angela is an old friend,” Bruce says, taking your hand and pushing you away in a smooth motion. You've seen this move in some movie, and you're happy to know what to do. You step away for a moment, and then, you spin around, back to his arms. But you miscalculated the movement, so you end up with your back against his chest.

“Sorry.” You quickly say, but before you can turn around, Bruce softly holds you there, swinging to the song. His arms are like a cage, but a good kind of cage... One that makes you feel safe. You feel his breath on your hair, and how his chest moves as he breaths.

“Relax, it's alright.” You close your eyes to hear his voice. “And don't worry about Angela. She's married.”

“Oh... That's good. For her. That's good for her.” You hate how you're always so damn nervous around Bruce. He probably thinks you're stupid.

“I guess it is.” He spins you around again, as the song ends, and pulls you close, strong arms encircling your waist.

Taking a deep breath, you gather all the courage you have to tiptoe again. Your faces are only a few inches away, despite the height difference. He'd have to bend down a little to kiss you. Would he want to kiss you? Would he even consider it? Your stomach feels funny, like butterflies. A hand comes to touch his face, your fingers caressing his skin. You're about to pull him, to end the last inch separating you when you hear someone saying his name out there.

Freezing, you step down, catching your breath. Bruce is breathing fast too, but you're not sure why. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” Smiling, you nod. “Go get them, Batman.”

“Thank you for the dance.” Bruce doesn't let go of your hand, but eventually, he moves away. You can only watch as his fingers let go of yours.

Then, you're all alone again. You're waiting for the familiar click that separates you from Bruce, but it doesn't come. Letting yourself fall on the bed, you cover your face with both hands. You're going mad. Would you really kiss him? What would you do when he pushed you away? You need to take these thoughts out of your head. So you hide under the blankets, eyes closed, trying to sleep. Sleeping is the only way to stop thinking, and right now, the nightmares are the least of your worries.

•••

You're staring at the digital clock. 4 a.m. The party ended two hours ago, and the house is silent. Your head keeps going back to what happened earlier. The dance, and the kiss that almost happened... You're tired of thinking about it, you need to stop. You're caught between trying to understand what's going on and trying to ignore it. To forget it.

But there you go again, replaying everything... Even in the very end, how it seemed like he didn't want to let go of your hand... And then... The click of the lock...

The click that didn't happen.

The door is open.

You jump up, running to the door. Hesitantly, slowly, you turn the handle. And you were right. It's open. A rush of adrenaline sets you in motion, and you swing the door open, running through the hall, to the stairs, and to the first floor. You don't know where you're going, you don't even remember where you went when you first tried to run. You know the front door will be locked, so you run straight past it. You end up in the kitchen, just as you did on your first day here. Your attention is caught by the window above the sink, and in your rush, you try to push it open, but it doesn't move.

You can actually go now. Nobody knows you're here. Taking the blender that's on the kitchen counter, you throw it against the glass until it breaks. You need to move fast now because the noise might wake up Bruce. Climbing on the sink, you use your hand to remove the last bits of glass of the way out...

Bruce...

You made a promise to him. And you know that, if you go on with this, there are chances that you'll end up back in Belle Reve. And Bruce would be sad... Right? You remember how it felt to be so close to him earlier today. His arms holding you... He touches you like no one else did. He's not disgusted... That's probably just Bruce being kind... But even so, you can't do it.

You're looking outside, to the rock path you'd have to take to get to the gates. Slowly, you step down the sink, a sharp pain on your left hand. Looking down, you see a cut in the palm. Taking a deep breath, you start making your way back to your room. On your way out of the kitchen, you see Alfred coming from the hall. He stares at you, wide eyes.

“Sorry for the glass,” you mutter before running upstairs again.

You close the door behind your back, crawling to the bed. You leave the bleeding hand hanging off so the blood won't stain the sheets. You shouldn't have done that. It happened so fast, your body just moved. You just had to get out of the room, and running felt so good. It doesn't take much time for the door to open, and you know it's Bruce. He turns the lights on, and soon you feel the mattress moving when he sits on the bed, but you can't even look at him, so you keep your eyes on the wall.

“I saw you in the kitchen.” He says, his voice soft. Why isn't he mad?

“Hiding in the shadows?” You can feel his eyes on you.

“Something like it.” Bruce takes your hand, and you hear him opening something. The first aid kit, probably. You feel as he starts cleaning the cut.

“Aren't you mad? Or disappointed?”

“Why should I be? You didn't run.” He goes silent, and slowly, you look at him. He's focused on the wound, but it doesn't seem to be too serious. He wraps a bandage around it before laying it on the mattress.

“Was it a test? You left the door unlocked.”

“I forgot. I have a lot going on in my head.”

You want to know what is it he thinks so much about. “I'm sorry about the glass.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“I can't tell you.” You sit up, and when you do, you're suddenly very close to him. You know you should move away, rest your back on the headboard, but you're frozen, looking into his eyes. Bruce doesn't move either.

“Alright. I'm glad you decided to stay.”

You don't think you wanted to run. You just needed to get out of the room. “Bruce, my... My birthday is coming.”

“I know.” He says with a smile.

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Can I... Can I see the gardens?” The moment you say it, you regret. He won't let you out just like this. “You know what, nevermind. A cake would be just fine.”

His face softens, and his hand comes to your face, fingers softly caressing your skin.

Bruce needs to stop doing that because it's sending you the wrong signs, and you should probably tell him to. His touch is so different from anything else, is addicting.

You're falling for him. You're just about to fall in love with Bruce Wayne. And that will probably the your biggest mistake.

×

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

[alicenttully]

Chances

I.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other with all the devotion of two girls- one whose sisters died in the cradle while the other was not close with the sister she had.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other, although the world does not let them forget who they are. The world never lets them forget that Sansa is the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. Jeyne is the only daughter of Vayon Poole, Winterfell’s steward- A respectable position, but a steward nonetheless. Jeyne knows any match she makes will not equal that of Sansa’s- promised to the heir of the Vale.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other freely and without restraint, until Riverrun.

Lord and Lady Stark travel to Riverrun with four of their children- Robb remaining in Winterfell, for the wedding of Edmure Tully, Lady Stark’s younger brother. Still feeling giddy on the wine and revelry of the celebrations, Jeyne later steals into Sansa’s bed. Arya is in the another, but her peaceful snores assure the girls she’s fast asleep.

They are whispering and giggling, and then – it ceases when Jeyne kisses Sansa. They’ve kissed before, but they had been small girls then, a little older than Rickon is now perhaps. Practise, they had told themselves, as they exchanged swift, clumsy kisses. Except Jeyne is now sixteen, and she wants to kiss Sansa for herself. The gods must have granted her courage, because Jeyne is not brave- the thought of speaking to a room full of people however brief like she had seen Lord Eddard do makes her stomach flip, and the idea of Winterfell’s crypt unnerve her, even though she knew Sansa occasionally used to play down with her siblings.

Sansa breaks away from the kiss first. She is silent, and Jeyne feels herself grow cold. “Sansa, please say something.”

“Jeyne, I….” It is as if words and Sansa have become strangers. When Jeyne had kissed her, it hadn’t felt wrong. But Sansa also knew that they were not little girls anymore and – ladies weren’t supposed to that. She didn’t know how to reconcile those two feelings.

“Jeyne, you should not have done that.” Sansa’s voice was gentle but still low, mindful that Arya was in the room with them. But the light of the moon from the open window was bright enough to illuminate Jeyne’s face, and she looked as though Sansa had slapped her. She gave a strangled cry, and then left Sansa alone as she fled from the room.

II.

It takes three days of Jeyne avoiding her until Sansa had enough. They will be leaving soon, and Sansa does not want to return North without putting this to rest.

She finds Jeyne alone in Riverrun’s library.

“Jeyne, please. I can’t bear for you not to speak to me.”

Jeyne’s voice is cool and polite. “You seem to bear it well when your sister doesn’t.”

Sansa scoffed. “Arya is my sister. She’s always annoyed with me about something. But you’re my friend, Jeyne. We hardly ever fight.”

“Yes, friend.” Jeyne repeats. “You’ve made that clear the night of Lord Tully’s wedding.”

Sansa blushes. “Jeyne, forgive me. I’m just confused.”

She turns away for a moment. “I’m confused because I understand a part of me realizes you shouldn’t have kissed me like that. What if my mother had walked in? Or Arya had woken up?” Jeyne’s face blanches. “But,” Sansa takes a deep breath before continuing. “But there’s another part of me that’s confused as to why I didn’t hate you kissing me- that it felt nice. I don’t know what it means.”

Sansa feels Jeyne’s hand cup her cheeks. Her hands are so soft. “Perhaps we can find the answer together.”

When they kiss again, Sansa does not break away.

III.

The answer comes over time, in the next two years. Sansa writes Jeyne a poem, that Jeyne folds up to shut in the locket that had belonged to her mother. She wears the locket daily, to keep Sansa’s sweet words close. Lord Eddard sometimes invites one of his household to sup with him and his family. On the occasions that Jeyne and Vayon are honoured with an invitation, Jeyne would tune out her father’s voice while he talked about bread stores as she smiled knowingly at Sansa. They try to find whatever spot of Winterfell’s that they can- the library, in the godswood, or the rookery – and make it theirs.

Two years pass, and Sansa remains promised to Harry Arryn. A cousin of Sansa, the son of Elbert Arryn and her Tully aunt. Jeyne vaguely remembers Lysa Arryn from Riverrun- but what she remembers was a contented woman whose life was her husband and son. Sansa and Jeyne avoid talking about Sansa’s intended, although Jeyne is aware that Sansa does write to him. Jeyne does not like to think of what Sansa writes in those letters. But with Lord Elbert and Lady Lysa dying within days of each other and Sansa’s eighteenth name-day, Jeyne knows Sansa must begin the life she was promised for since she was ten.

That night before Sansa and Harry will speak their vows, Sansa and Jeyne both go to bed early. Sansa had told her mother that she was nervous, and thought perhaps Jeyne’s presence would soothe her.

“They say the Vale’s beautiful.” Jeyne says softly.

“It is.” Sansa’s hands stroke Jeyne’s arm. “Harry says the Vale will be made even more so by my presence.”

Jeyne grits her teeth. “I don’t want to speak about him.” She knows it’s partly her fault for bringing up the Vale, but she can’t help it.

Sansa lifts Jeyne’s hand and kisses it gently. “I’m sorry, Jeyne.”

But Jeyne feels angry now, and perhaps her anger gives way to the courage that had possessed her all that time ago in Riverrun. “We could leave.”

Sansa was lost for a moment. “What?”

“Leave. We’ll – We’ll run away, maybe Bravvos or somewhere. Somewhere where people don’t know who we are. We could be happy, you and me.” Jeyne’s voice is rapturous, and for a moment Sansa allows herself to be swept up in this sweet dream- but that’s all it could be, a dream.

“Jeyne, you know I can’t. I have a duty to my house, and to Harry. And if we left, there is no way we could return because of the scandal it would cause, the daughter of Lord Stark running off with a steward’s girl.

You remember that my aunt was taken by Prince Rhaegar? There are those who whisper she went willingly, and that shadow has hung over my father. I would only be making it worse.” Jeyne is resolute in the face of Sansa’s gentle pleas, but it is the mention of Vayon Poole that makes her yield. “And what about your father, Jeyne? You wouldn’t be able to see him again.” Every word Sansa speaks now is agonising, but it is necessary.

Jeyne nods, her eyes shining with tears. “I understand. It was a moment of folly, that’s all.”

“Jeyne, I’m sorry.”

Jeyne takes Sansa’s hand in her own. “Don’t be. It’s just that from tomorrow, you’ll be his. You’ll be his lady and give him sons if the Mother is good. He will get to love you openly, like I never could. But tonight- I just want you to be mine.”

When they kiss, Sansa wonders if this night with Jeyne will be enough to sustain her all the nights of her marriage.

IV.

During the first year of marriage, Sansa gives her husband a son- little Hugo. It is a good thing that Sansa finds joy in her son, because she finds little with her husband. Sansa wonders if part of this is her failing – wonders if she has prevented building something good with Harry, because she had already given away her heart.

But it was the second year of their marriage that Sansa understood how Harry had his own ghosts.

The serving girl does not notice Sansa as she slips out of Harry’s bedchambers one morning. Sansa is half-tempted to speak up, but she would probably frighten the girl to death.

She makes her way into Harry’s bedchambers. She thinks idly how her father and mother had possessed different chambers, and that Lord Eddard had never shamed his lady by using his rooms in such a way.

He shamed her in other ways, though.

“I hope you have not tired Mandy out.” Sansa says politely, as way of introduction. Sitting up amongst the covers, realization dawns on Harry’s face. “My Lady, I’m sorry-"

“My lord, please.” Sansa knows it is rude to interrupt, but perhaps it would be forgivable for this occasion.

“I am not angry at you. My father is the most honourable man I know, but my half-brother is proof that he like all men, will stray from his wife’s bed. I’ve long accepted that it could be the same for us. All I can ask is that you keep your dalliances discreet for my sake. I will not be treated like that of Queen Naerys. You make sure that whatever girl you are intimate with is given moon tea.

If you do sire a bastard, you will see to that child’s needs, but you will send both the woman and child away. I will not be like my mother.” Sansa is surprised by the intensity in her voice.

Harry nods, and it feels like a victory. “Agreed.”

The conversation could have ended there, but in spite of herself Sansa feels compelled to ask him this.

“Do you… do you love her?” She is genuinely curious.

Harry shakes his head. “She warms my bed, that’s it.” Harry locks eyes with Sansa. “I did love someone.” He said softly, and his face looked pained. “But I was promised to another.”

“You were promised to me.” Sansa feels her heart twist in sympathy for her lord husband. “I understand my lord, perhaps better than you realize. I loved someone else as well.” I love her still.

Perhaps it was this odd, unflinching honesty between her and Harry- the first time they were truly vulnerable with one another, that changes things for them. The next six years sees the birth of their twin children, Brynden and Teora. Duty and their children bound them together, but they have become good friends nonetheless.

V.

When Hugo is eight and the twins six, Harry dies suddenly in his sleep. His heart had just stopped, was their Maester’s finding.

As Sansa suddenly finds herself becoming Lady regent for her son, her thoughts keep coming back to Jeyne. Sansa had been back to Winterfell twice in the years she married, but it was as though she and Jeyne were strangers, rather than – what they were.

Sansa realizes it might do to marry again, but it is the last thing she wants.

What she does want – or who, is in the North.

 

VI.

“Who’s it from?” Jeyne asks, as the letter is handed to her.

“Lady Sansa.”

Jeyne’s breath catches in her throat at the mention of Sansa’s name. For eight years, she has tried not to think of Sansa in the Vale, with her lord husband and children. When they had guested at Winterfell, Jeyne had wanted so desperately to reach out to Sansa- but the realization she would only be making things worse that held her back.

Dear Jeyne,

Perhaps you will have learnt by now that my husband is dead.

Harry was a good man. Although ours was never a love match, we came to an understanding.

But it is his death that has made me realize something.

Jeyne, I have never stopped loving you. When you proposed to run away that night, I cannot tell you how tempted I was. But I had a duty to my betrothed, and my father. But Harry is dead now, and I have given him three heirs. The Lords of the Vale cannot pressure me into marrying again when the line is well secure. I want to make my own choices now. Jeyne, my father gave my hand in marriage to Harry but it is I alone that gives you my heart. Be mine, Jeyne. Come to the Vale.

Yours,

Sansa

 

Trembling, Jeyne read the words over and over again.

At first, she is overwhelmed with joy- but it is the thought of her father which gives her pause. It would mean leaving him, and for the past eight years, Jeyne's father had become her entire focus, as she had assisted him in his duties. He had tried arranging a match for her, but Jeyne had refused.

She has never stopped loving Sansa, but just as Sansa had put her duty towards her father first, Jeyne needed to do the same.

However, Vayon had other ideas.

"I heard you got a raven from Sansa today," Vayon said quietly, as they ate in Winterfell's Great Hall.

"Yes." Jeyne folds her hands in her lap. "Lord Arryn has passed recently, and she invited me to stay in Vale."

Her father raises his eyebrow. "An honour. I remember how close you were as girls. I never understood why you didn't go with her in the first place, Jeyne. It would have been good for you."

Jeyne shrugs. "It is. But-" Jeyne's voice falters. "I don't know if I can accept it."

However, Vayon takes Jeyne's hands in his own. "Aye Jeyney, if you're worried about your old Papa, don't be. Lord Stark always looks after his servants. But you- I don't want to stop you being with someone you love."

Jeyne could fancy that her father means the innocent love of friends, but his knowing look made Jeyne's heart thud. "How..."

"I think a part of me always suspected. You were always so close like I said. The day Lady Sansa was married, I remember how sad you looked. At first, I thought you mourned your friend leaving, but when you refused that boy - I pieced it together. In a way," Her father pauses, and brushes back a strand of wavy hair that he would sometimes say had been a legacy of Jeyne's mother. "I was glad in a selfish kind of way. I didn't have the means to make you a great match. But Jeyney, life only gives you so many changes at happiness. Don't miss on yours."

VII.

When Sansa reads Jeyne's answer, her smile is bright as the rising sun.

[hateswifi]

Rising from the Ashes: Of Graduation and Growth

So this is Part Thirteen here is to my Master List and Part Twelve.

——————————————

Marinette started growing after her first commission with the help of Diana, Lucky Spot became a headquarters for Nette's clothes. She did originals for celebrities only really unless asked for a special event such as a wedding and only for a good price and she couldn't be swamped in commission. Bruce offered her a small part of Wayne Enterprises as a factor because she was using all earth-friendly material and was good publicity. She, at first, refused but unable to keep up with demands accepted Bruce's offer. There was a public announcement and signing of the contract between Wayne Enterprises and Nette, but being dead, she sent Diana as her representative to sign for her. She was well known throughout America and Asia with popularity moving towards Europe. She was getting better known as Nette even more popular than MDC had ever been.

This made knowing Nette a perfect lie for Lila without Marinette around to try and expose her, little did Lila know her Castle of Lies would soon fall. That's how the announcement of a field trip to Gotham happened a couple of weeks before graduation; they were to leave the day of graduation. This is the field trip plan she had come up with before she 'died', but Lila took credit for it all because she became Class President after Marinette's death. Chloe and Adrien didn't bother to pay attention to where the group was going. They didn't realize or care where the class was going because they were leaving to go on tour from graduation. Well first they were going to visit Marinette she was going to reveal herself soon, after coming up with a cover story if she was ever asked about her 'death'.

Adrien graduated valedictorian, which Lila cried about due to it being unfair with her 'disability', Alya threw a fit for her 'bestie'. There was nothing they could change though because Gabriel would have the school board's heads. After the graduation caps been thrown and pictures had been taken, the 4 Outlaws travel to see their dear friend once again, little did they know the class would soon be following them the next day. Lila spread more lies about knowing the Wayne family and her childhood sweetheart Damian along with her best friend Nette.

Back in Gotham with Marinette, she was getting ready for the release of the line 'Butterfly' and the gala that was to follow the next day. Her friends were coming to watch the release and they offered to model because they inspired most of the outfits. She had been spending extra time at Wayne Enterprises, one so Damian didn't murder anyone --a lot was going on-- and two to monitor the production to be released. All the outfits in the actual show were handmaid by Marinette and would be auctioned off at the end to give to a charity.

There was a mix of excited chatter on the plan with the class."I can't wait to get that interview with your boyfriend," Alya exclaimed. oblivious to how irritated the Italian girl had become. "Also I can't believe you managed to get us a tour of Wayne Enterprises, which now includes Nette's factory, along with her fashion show AND the gala. Maybe you can get me an interview with Nette being her best friend. Also, is Damian asking you to the gala?"

"I worked extra hard to get us this trip. Something our old Class President couldn't do. I don't think my Damiboo will do an interview he is shy, so I don't know if we'll be able to see him. I don’t know if he’s taking me to the gala, he’s shy," Lila lied, crossing her arms letting a tear fall. "I still can't believe they had the nerve to tell me I am not in first class."

"Ya girl, I can't believe they would treat, Ladybug's best friend, Jagged Stone's niece, and Damian's Wayne's girlfriend that way." Alya huffed. "Hey, you should ask Damian to sue because you've been treated so badly."

"I'll ask him when I see him," Lila said, putting in headphones while thinking to herself. 'Maybe if I sleep I won't have to deal with this obnoxious girl.'

The plane ride lasted eight hours, which Lila had to listen to Alya babble, about only god know what. When they had gotten outside it was raining and the class tried to hail a taxi.

"Lila. I thought you made plans for how we would travel," Ms. Bustier asked, trying to sound nice through gritted teeth. A car drove by and splashed Lila and Alya, the girls shrieked getting covered in the dirty street water.

"I swear I did," Lila explained, now dripping in the water she started to cry. "They must have been some mistake, they must have canceled on me."

"It's fine Lila, the hotel isn't too far right?" Alya comforted rubbing the top of her back.

"It's about a three-mile walk from here," Lila whimpered between tears.

"We can walk, right Ms. Bustier?" Alya said, hugging the poor Italian.

"I suppose, but Lila you have to make accommodations for tomorrow's tour," Ms. Bustier said as she got the kids to follow her.

Luka was looking out the window of the Outlaw’s limo when he saw his sister's unfortunate class. "Guys! look. Pullover," Luka said looking away from the window.

"Who's there?" Chloe asks moving towards where Luka had been looking. Before Chloe could argue with Luka's decision, he was opening the door.

"You guys need a ride," Luka asked, looking specifically on his sister, they hadn't been on good terms since he had been kicked from Kitty Section.

"Why would we want to hang out with bullies like you!?" Alya exclaimed as Lila was about to accept the offer.

"Juleka are you staying warm and dry?" Luka asked, ignoring Alya.

"She is fine," Alya cut in again.

"It's fine Alya, they're trying to make up for their mistakes," Lila said, stepping forward with her bag following behind her.

"Ya know what," Chloe says, angrily. "We are not bullies and you're all in for a surprise."

"How many of you want a ride from us 'bullies'?" Kagami asks.

"If you're good with Adrien and Luka, you're good in my book," Juleka says, pushing past her classmates and got into the limo. Alix and Kim get in the dry limo while everyone else agreed with Lila, the liar, walk to the hotel in the cold rain.

As the limo drove away Lila started crying, "That was supposed to be our limo, they must have bribed the company to give it to them."

"Those bastards!" Alya screamed and stormed faster towards the hotel.

Back in the limo "So you guys know the truth about Lila's lie?" Kagami asks leaning into the seat.

"Yes, we've known for a while, but couldn't do anything in school," Kim says.

"But now since we've graduated we're done putting up with her bull," Alix huffs, crossing her arms.

"Besides we know Marinette planned this trip and there's no way that we're going to let her work go to waste by Lila's lies," Juleka says, putting her head on her brother's shoulder.

"We're actually on our way to see her," Adrien says sleepily into Kagami's shoulder.

"What... What do you mean?" Kim asks sitting forwards.

"Ignore him," Kagami says, elbowing him.

"No is she alive? We thought she.... she well ya know," Alix said.

"Nah she just moved," Adrien said with a big yawn.

"Shut your boyfriend up Gami," Chloe said harshly.

"She's alive?!!" Juleka said whipping her head forward.

"You can't say anything. She came here for a reason, heck she probably forgot about your trip or she would've had Damian, her boyfriend, cancel the tours," Luka said, shaking his head.

"She's alive, but why did she leave?" Kim asks heartbroken.

"It was kind of a rash decision on her, but she is our friend and we were supporting her," Chloe explains.

"She'll probably explain everything if you run into her at the factory. If not we'll explain everything later," Luka said, looking out the window.

"Looks like this is your destination," Kagami said, looking down at her ringing phone. "Hey, Mar. Yes, we're on our way. We got stuck in traffic we'll be there soon." Luka started opening the door for the group to exit as Gami hung up. "Jagged is waiting for us. She wants to go through fittings before dinner tonight."

"Well sorry this was cut short, but we'll see you soon," Luka said through the open window after he closed the door.

"You may go," Chloe said to the driver. Luka put up the window as the small group headed into the hotel. The Outlaws decided not to tell Marinette about her class and their field trip because she didn't need any more stress.

————————————————————

Tag list (Open):

@northernbluetongue @melhuney @ladysblackcat @sturchling @otaku4312 @g-arya @smolplantmum @bluefyoto94 @echpr @moonlightstar64 @thesunanditsangel @cutechip @heaven428 @elmokingkong @kass-is-weird @niza13149 @urbanpineapplefarmer @ginamarie1512 @chocolatecatstheron @iggy-of-fans @crazylittlemunchkin @komatsuna-yuki @weird-pale-blonde-person @ellerahs @sinnamonroill @daminett4life @queenmj10 @indecisive-mess-named-me @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo @lizziejay @random-posts-and-stuff @purplesundaze

[krispydefendorpolice]

The Demon’s Bride (3)

So, I’m still working on the actual chapter while creating this tag list. Thank you all for showing interest. My wages have been paid.

So we are now wrapping up with the scene from @multifandomscribette and her posts “Gotham for Two”. I have spelunked through the works and found some of the original posts that inspired this what if in my brain before @mindfulmagics gave it a voice.

This post I am recommending “Fairy vs Angel” by @mochinek0 which really put this “huh I like this idea” bug in my head. Thank you. And Mademoiselle Mari by @inevitableenquere for helping to refine that bug. I am of course playing in this sandbox with very little “canon” knowledge...so here’s to having fun.

*Will be updating these with Hyperlinks as soon as I learn how :(

Beginning Previous Next Masterpost

____________________

Chapter 3

Marinette froze at the order. Not from obedience but from disbelief. She turned in his grip to look at the man holding her. He wasn’t quite a man, being smaller than the others, though he was still much bigger than her petite frame, she figured he was about her age. About two months older exactly if her ears weren’t deceiving her.

The domino mask did a lot to hide his identity. Masking his features and hiding easy identifiers such as eye color. But her eyes skirted over the mask towards his hairline and there...

At the corner of his left eye, half hidden by the mask and his hair, was a small, light silvery scar that stood out stronger against his darker skin.

She knew that scar. She had been the one to give it to him when they were kids. His features blurred as tears filled her eyes.

**************************

The other bats shouted in alarm as the girl lunged into the youngest ones arms and, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she collapsed into sobs.

Batman and Red Hood stood in shock as their youngest was suddenly comforting a distraught girl. A girl who had minutes before been competently holding Red Hood and Red Robin in a veritable stalemate. That it was the youngest, who Hood still affectionately called Demon Spawn, doing the comforting was mind boggling.

Damian ignored his father and brothers as he focused on the girl in his arms. He knew he was facing an inquisition about this later, but right now he had Mari back. She was in his arms, crying her heart out, but alive. He didn’t know what miracle created this but he wasn’t going to question it. Not now.

Instead he tightened his grip on her as she sobbed about ‘him dying’ and ‘don’t wake up, please don’t wake up’ and focused all his senses on her, trusting that even if they didn’t understand, the rest of the Bats would have their backs in this moment. Damian buried his nose in her hair and yes, that was her smell, sugar and yeast and baking things and he had forgotten. How had he forgotten?

He blinked back the tears in his eyes, it was dust how dare you suggest anything else, and looked at Mari as she seemed to be calming down. She was looking back at him with eyes bluer than the bluest anything.

“What the Fuck, Demon Brat?” Jason broke the silence.

Mari flinched turning her attention back to the others. Standing she placed herself slightly between Damian and the others, not enough to block him from view (pft how could she, she’s so tiny?) but enough to obviously be a defensive move. With him squarely at her back.

Standing too, Damian just glared at Todd and his father who were the only one’s visible at the moment though he had no doubt Grayson and Drake were hanging out on the roof watching this. “Later,” he said to his father before grabbing Mari and the grappling gun from his belt. Firing it he tightened his grip on his personal angel and reeled it in pulling them away from the rest of the bat clan.

Mari didn’t say anything, just kept her hold on him as he bound across and between the rooftops of Gotham city. When he stopped he set her on her feet and, while waiting to see that she could stand on her own, he silenced his comms unit.

The two of them stood on a roof top in Gotham, city noises echoing off the buildings around them, staring at each other in silence. She was the first to break it.

“It really is you, isn’t it? I was told you died after...” she trailed off before starting over, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream and I’m going to wake up and you’re dead again?”

He frowned before removing his mask. Her eyes roamed over his face noting the changes time brought to the boy she remembered. His were doing the same, observing a face devoid of its baby fat, her eyes were red from crying but the blue was still a color he had no name for. He’d heard others compare them to precious stones or other flowery nonsense, but they were Mari’s eyes. They had no comparison.

“It’s me, Habibti,” he said taking the hand she lifted to trace over his features and held it against his cheek, “I’m real. Just as you are, and you’re here with me.”

They didn’t say anything more for a moment just relished that the other was here and alive. Taking a deep breath Damian took Mari’s hand and lead her to the edge of the roof where they sat so they could observe the city below them, the roofs around them and just talk.

“You didn’t expect to see me,” he made the observation first.

“No,” he didn’t expect an answer but Mari did anyways.

“So why are you In Gotham?”

“I’m on a field trip with my class,” she answered.

He frowned. Yes it had been years since he had seen her but she wasn’t usually so short with her answers. Long rambling dialogues were more her usual style. Unless she was hiding something?.

“Where is your class,” he asked as that thought came to him.

Mari sighed and frowned, not at him but more like she was unhappy with her answer. “They’re probably at the hotel by now.”

“Mari,” he growled. She glanced at him and he saw she could see he was So Done! with her evading the story.

She bobbed her head in understanding before turning to look at the city instead of at him. “I got left behind at the pizza parlor where we were having dinner and was walking back when someone started following me. I ducked into the alley and took him down before that friend of yours interfered. And well you know the rest from there.”

“Todd is one of my brothers.” He smiled at the memory of the scene he and Batman had entered to, “And I wish I could have seen you take him down, though seeing him held at gun point was a nice second.”

Mari rolled her eyes, “yeah well I don’t really think flipping and holding your brother hostage is going to endear me to him or any of them really. And should you be announcing their identities so casually?”

“Tt, it’s Todd’s own fault for underestimating you. Which I will point out every chance I get for the next year,” he smiled like the little brother with the good blackmail material he now was.

“I’ll ignore the fact you didn’t answer my question about identities. For now,” she said.

Damian smiled at her acknowledging he knew that she knew that he was avoiding that question.

“So now what,” she asked.

Damian looked up at the sky before answering. “I guess now it just depends on what you want to do?” He said.

Mari just looked at him waiting for him to explain.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before answering. “I can take you back to the hotel you’re staying at tonight. Tomorrow I come over and pick you up and we talk to the others over dinner.”

“Or...?” She asked.

“Or I can take you to the others now and we explain tonight,” he said.

____________________

Okay, hopefully I get everyone in this taglist. Oh my... I had to readjust this list since more people asked to be tagged before I could post. I’m hoping I’m catching you all. Let me know if I’m missing you still.

@zebrabaker @poshplumcot @tog84 @luciferge @sonif50 @ravennightingaleandavatempus @northernbluetongue @actual-disaster-human @clumsy-owl-4178 @aarushi-03 @bluerosette23 @g-arya @moonyloonyx @fertileleaf @shreky-boi @thanks-captain-obvious @mochinek0 @panda3506 @hinata3487 @thequestionablyhuman @dontgiveaflyinflip @dast218 @chocolatecatstheron @asianfrustration13 @slytherinsheashire @weird-pale-blonde-person @yin-390 @mycupisbroken @vixen-uchiha @kuroko26 @autisticlinx @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mariae2900

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “Red Curtain”

My first modern Jonsa piece.  Definitely a different voice than I usually use, but loads of fun to write.

If you’re interested in the accompanying playlist at all, here you go.

Red Curtain

Chapter One: No Take-Backs

“He’s pretty sure he left that closet at least half in love with her.”  -  Jon and Sansa.  Summer’s for lovin’, after all.  

Oh, and crisis.  That, too. 

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2

* * *

"No, no, but you see, gravity doesn't matter here," Theon argues. "You're up in space. It's like a fucking swimming pool up there, just, you know, minus having your trunks hauled halfway down your ass every time you surface."

"Theon, it's not gravity keeping your jizz in your dick," Jon laughs, reaching for the ice bags Robb hands him over the edge of the pickup truck.

Robb heaves another bag over. "This is literally the dumbest conversation you two have ever had."

Jon points at Robb accusingly. "Hey, okay look, I can guarantee you this isn't the dumbest conversation Theon's ever had." He swings the offending finger over to Theon in point.

"Dude, how do you know how that shit works in space? You ever been?" he defends, fumbling with one of the coolers.

Jon rolls his eyes. He hadn't really expected he'd be arguing the finer points of masturbating in space when he got up this morning, but in hindsight, he probably should have, considering the day's company.

"I'll be back with the beers," Tormund calls out, coming around the truck as Robb jumps down.

Jon tosses him the keys in answer. "Grab some spritzers, too."

"You got it, Buttercup," Tormund says, winking, climbing into the driver's seat.

After a glare his buddy's way, Jon looks back to find Robb and Theon staring at him with matching smirks.

He shrugs. "What?"

"Spritzers?" Robb asks, closing the truck bed with a cocked eyebrow.

Jon grabs the cooler handle opposite Theon's hold. If he's lucky, maybe he can upend him. "Your mom likes 'em," he mumbles. And then he throws an arched brow Robb's way. "Actually, your dad, too."

"You're such a fucking suck-up," Robb laughs, shaking his head, piling in what bags of ice he could fit into the cooler.

"Your boyfriend's kinda cute, you know. He's not staying?" Theon asks with a nod sent back at Tormund as he peels off in the truck.

Jon throws a swing Theon's way and he guffaws in answer while ducking, before nearly dropping his end of the cooler, scrambling for balance.

Serves the fucker right.

Between the two of them, they get the cooler up the driveway. Robb trails behind them with a bag of ice on each hip, looking every bit the expectant father he is. "Tell Tormund to come by. He always makes a party more eventful," Robb goads.

"You mean more expensive," Jon throws back.

He's still paying off that bill for the pool table Tormund wrecked back at The Crow, after all. And yet, it's him who gets all the dirty glares from the bartenders now.

And really, what's up with that? It's not like he's the man's mother.

Jon shakes his head, glancing back at Robb. "Anyway, he's got a shift tonight."

Theon wrinkles his nose. "The brewery?"

"Yeah."

Robb mock pukes.

"What? It's a good gig," Jon defends.

"It's where you met Ygritte," Robb points out, shifting the ice over his hips.

Jon refrains from rolling his eyes. Only barely. "She's not a bad person. We were just... bad for each other."

"Ever heard of that river in Egypt?" Theon quips. "De-nile?"

Jon throws him an exasperated look. "Why do you hate her so much anyway?"

Theon's smirk instantly dips into a frown entirely too somber for such a face. "She borrowed my copy of 'The Thing' and never gave it back."

Jon actually laughs at that one.

"See!" Robb butts in, "Those are the worst kinds of people. She's a taker, man. What you need is a giver."

"Someone like Tormund," Theon supplies cheekily. "Seriously though, what is it with you and redheads?"

Jon drops his half of the cooler weight for a brief moment in response, just before catching it again, and Theon's yanked hard left with the motion.

"What the fuck, man?" He rubs his shoulder, glaring at Jon, but Jon's too busy laughing, before he stumbles over a sprinkler head when they dip off the driveway. "Agh, fuck, that hurt."

"Karma's a bitch, Snow," Theon taunts. "And she's my bitch."

Jon opens his mouth but Robb cuts him off, ushering them off the driveway. "Guys, left – go left. We gotta take the cooler round back anyway. Dad's already in the yard."

So they shuffle left, crossing over the Starks' large front lawn toward the side gate to the backyard.

"Watch the zinnias," Robb directs.

Jon and Theon stop simultaneously to look back at him.

"Dude," Theon deadpans.

Robb comes up short, glancing between the two, shifting awkwardly with the ice in his arms. "Mom will kill you," he says in answer.

"Do you want to carry this thing?" Jon asks with a pinched brow.

Robb brushes past them toward the side gate. "Just don't step on them. Come on, come on."

They trudge onward, and Jon really does roll his eyes then because of fucking course he still takes pains not to step on the goddamn zinnias.

Maybe Robb was right. He really is a suck-up.

They make it to the gate and drop the cooler, thank god.

"Dad! Dad, open up," Robb yells over the gate, rocking back and forth from foot to foot with that cold ass ice at his sides.

"We brought your shit!" Theon hollers, and Jon throws a smack to his chest in reprimand.

"Ow," he draws out dramatically, a hand to his chest.

Robb frowns at the gate, the gate that isn't opening. He wiggles the ice higher up his hips. Stares hard at the fence.

Theon cocks a brow at him.

"Call him," Robb says, chin jutting toward Jon.

He reaches for his phone, hands flattening over empty back pockets. "Shit, it's in my bag." The bag he left in Tormund's truck.

Theon makes a similar show opposite him.

Robb throws his head back with an exaggerated groan, dropping the bags down on the top of the cooler. "I'm not picking that shit back up again," he swears, an unexpected shudder rippling through him when he's suddenly ice-free. He clamps his hands over his chest, his t-shirt already damp and sticking to him. "Shit, my nipples," he curses.

Theon barks a laugh.

"Look, I'll call him," Jon says through a laugh. "Where's your phone?"

Robb shoos his hands away. "I got it, I got it." He pulls his phone from his back pocket, dials, waits a moment. "Yeah, Dad, we're here." He glances to the gate. "No, it's not open." He ushers toward Theon to try the latch.

It swings free as soon as he tries the handle.

Robb glares at the offending gate. "It's open," he mutters, hanging up.

Jon cocks a brow at him. "We cool to go in or...?"

"Yeah, they're coming," he assures, pocketing his phone.

And then Jon catches sight of Ned Stark coming down the long stretch of grass lining the side of the house. He's in checkered shorts, a short-sleeved button down, flip flops that squelch at his heels with each step, and Jon hides a chuckle behind his fist, because he fucking loves this man, summer fit and all. And then Benjen comes around the corner behind him, dressed similarly, jogging to catch up, a hand raised in the air in greeting and before Jon knows it, it's a rush of hugs, and claps on shoulders, and a kind of rough jostling that makes him beam, a rowdy tousle of welcomes, smiles stretched wide.

He misses this. God, he fucking misses this. The only family he ever truly felt a part of.

And then that useless, familiar guilt ripples through him.

The thing is though, he thinks his mother would have appreciated the closeness he feels with the Starks. After all, she and Ned Stark grew up living next door to each other for fifteen years, near as siblings as anyone could be. And then years had passed, and suddenly they were all adults, and maybe Ned made some better choices, and Lyanna hadn't. Maybe all of this was supposed to be ancient history. And he doesn't really know if history is supposed to be a lesson, he really doesn't. And he doesn't fucking care. Because his mom did a hell of a job with what she had, and he loved her, more than he knew he could love anyone, and she was good for him, she really was, right up to the moment that she died.

She never stopped being good for him, really. Even after she died – when Ned Stark wrapped his arm around his trembling, nineteen-year-old shoulders at the funeral, let him cry into his perfectly starched collar, took him home to a warm house, gave him some hot soup and his first glass of whiskey, told him stories about his mother that had him laughing as hard as he'd been crying just earlier – that was his mother right there. That was his mother bringing Ned Stark, and all the rest of them, into his life full force. No take-backs.

It's not something he thinks too hard about most days – how his first real birthday party, when he was seven years old, was a cowboys versus dinosaurs theme, because he and Robb Stark, the stupid, loudmouth boy next door, had gotten into such an argument weeks before (and they've never really settled that one since, to be honest.) Or how the boy across the street, Theon fucking Greyjoy, had knocked on his door in the middle of the rain, holding up the tail-end of his pet iguana with a look of exasperation far older than their eleven years with a sigh of 'He keeps getting into my sister's bathroom'.

And he tries not to think about the day he attempted to teach Arya to drive in his busted up Jeep and became witness to such road rage that had him shrinking in his seat, fingers curling around the hand-hold along the roof, or the way Bran quietly demolishes him every time they play a round of Modern Warfare, sipping his perfectly iced root beer with a hint of superiority, or the way Rickon had wailed when animal control took away that stray dog they'd found in the park, huddled under a bush, whining and licking at its broken leg. Or how Sansa had –

Jon swallows thickly, mind fizzing out.

Because he remembers how Sansa helped him pick out a new suit for his first day at the firm, when his nerves had been frayed all to hell. And he remembers how she helped him sneak Robb back into the house through her bedroom window, nagging the whole way through, when he and Theon had gotten her brother drunk for the first time in highschool. And he remembers back in middle school how she helped mend the jacket his mother had given him because he didn't want her to find out that he'd ripped it riding bikes through the construction site she'd warned him to stop playing in.

And sometimes, when he least expects it, he even remembers the morning after his mother's funeral.

After spending the night, he'd been sitting out on the Starks' front step just before dawn, his hands linked between his knees, mouth fuzzy from the whiskey Ned had given him the night before, and he remembered looking up at the sky. Barely a cloud in sight. This pretty sort of blue, just on the verge of daybreak, and he remembered absolutely hating it. Wanted to throw something up into that stupid, pretty blue, make it crack and break, blow a hole straight through it, watch the pieces trickle down.

And then Sansa pushed the front porch door open.

He'd turned back to look at her, squinting in the half-light. She was standing there in the same sweatpants and tank top she'd gone to sleep in the night before, holding an opened yogurt in one hand, a spoon in the other, keeping the door open with her hip.

He's sure he'd meant to say something, but nothing really seemed to be worth saying right then, so he just looked at her. She watched him a moment, like she was still deciding whether to step out onto the porch entirely or not, and then she offered a light quirk of her lip and let the door slip off her hip and shut behind her. She sat down beside him and started to silently eat her yogurt.

It was that probiotic shit he'd seen her eating dozens of times before, lemon flavored, and it was so normal suddenly – here – the morning after his mother's funeral, sitting next to Sansa Stark at the crack of dawn.

She looked at him, lip caught between her teeth. "Want some?"

And he'd let out a breath finally, all the anger bleeding from him instantly. He shrugged, a chuckle leaving him. "Sure, why not?" He opened his mouth and she spooned a dollop in obediently.

It tasted terrible. And he must have made a face, because her lips tipped down in an imperceptible frown and then she was glancing back at her yogurt. "It helps with indigestion," she said despondently, turning the tiny carton around in her hand, peering at the label.

And then Jon laughed, only it hurt. So maybe it wasn't a laugh at all. All he knew was that his eyes burned, and he couldn't look at her, and the air built up in his chest and it wasn't leaving, it just felt like choking, and he was sure he was laughing now, awkwardly loud and clipped off at the end, like his own tongue hadn't expected it, and then he was pressing his knuckles into his eye socket, like he could dig the very tears out if only he could clench his fist hard enough.

The sky was so stupidly, frustratingly blue.

And his mother was dead.

"I think it's supposed to get better with time. Easier, I guess," she said quietly beside him.

Jon looked at her, brow crinkled. "What?"

"Missing her."

He frowned at that, stared hard at the half-eaten yogurt held in her limp hand as she glanced out over the lawn.

She looked at him, and her eyes were blue, too. And maybe that was supposed to mean something, but it didn't. It didn't mean anything.

"You believe that?" he asked her.

She shrugged, an earnest look on her face. "It's what everyone says."

"Sure." He looked back to his hands linked between his knees, pressed the toes of his boots into the wood beneath him, just to feel it. "I guess."

"I'm sorry she's gone." She dipped her spoon back into her yogurt but just twirled the tip of it around languidly. She shook her head, and she looked so unbearably sad. Too sad for any seventeen-year-old to ever look. "I'm so, so sorry, Jon."

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Yeah, me too."

Maybe she caught the quiver in his voice. Or maybe she'd just grown tired of playing with her yogurt, hands fiddling with the spoon. Fuck if he knew. But she looked at him then.

Jon turned to look out over the lawn where the lip of the sun had just begun to peak over the houses across the way. "I don't - " He caught the break before it could fully form, swallowed it down, tried again. "I don't really know how to talk about it," he admitted. Because it was true. "Not yet."

She gave it a moment, and then, "Okay." And he figured she'd leave then. But she didn't. Or maybe she just didn't know how. But he – he –

"Can you..." And then he looked at her again, caught sight of the new sun slanting over her face, and it was bright, too fucking bright, and she raised a hand up to shield her eyes, squinting at him, and he wanted to laugh again, but he didn't know how to make it not sound like crying. So he simply cleared his throat. "Can you just sit with me?"

Sansa's hand lowered, one eye still squeezed shut from the light, her mouth dipping into a frown. But it wasn't the sort of frown she'd always given him before, like the one she wore when he spilled soda over her homecoming dress, or the one she wore when Arya chose go-karting with him over swimming lessons with her, or even the one she wore when he punched Joffrey in the middle of the hall her sophomore year. No. This one was softer at the edges. And maybe it was just the morning light coming over the neighbors' roofs. Maybe it was just him being uselessly sentimental. But for some reason, her frown didn't bother him this time. Didn't bother him at all.

And damn. Was that supposed to happen?

Jon swallowed thickly, throat parched. "Will you just sit with me?" he managed again.

She set her yogurt on the step, forgotten. And then she braced her hands back on the porch ledge behind her, palms going flat over the wood. She nodded, the frown settling out into a thin, unassuming line. "I can do that," she said softly.

Jon took a breath, let it go. And then he was sure. Sitting there, staring at Sansa Stark at the ass crack of dawn, the day after his mother's funeral –

He was sure.

This was not supposed to happen.

But then, the morning passed, and so did the months, and one day Jon woke up and realized he was doing alright.

So no, he doesn't think his mother would begrudge him this happiness. Even though he misses her every damn day.

Benjen's hand on his shoulder now steadies him, and the merry-go-round of memories settles into a low hum in the back of Jon's mind. There'll be plenty enough time to get sentimental later. It's the Starks' annual cookout, after all. The first day of summer – when they stay up to the crack of dawn to greet the new season. It's got something to do with their family way back when or whatever. Making it through the night, a celebration of life, and all that cheese. Catelyn tried to explain it to him once but he was nine, and really, could she blame him for zoning out? Anyway, afterward, he'd just turned to Robb while they sat at the kitchen island, Catelyn pulling chicken nuggets out the oven for them, eyes wide as he whispered in awe, "She lets you stay up all night?"

Robb had nodded smugly, grabbing for the ketchup bottle with bravado, and after dinner at the Starks, Jon went home to beg his mother to let him join the party that year. She had an unofficial invitation herself for years, anyway. Why couldn't he?

Jon can now safely say that this annual cookout of theirs is the longest commitment he's ever made in his life.

"Your mother's in the kitchen," Ned tells Robb.

"Ooh, is she making deviled eggs?"

"When has she ever not made deviled eggs for this thing?" Theon interrupts.

Ned only offers up a hand and a raised brow in a gesture that easily says True. And then he's nodding back toward the front of the house. "Use the front door. You know how she is." He reaches for one handle of the cooler, Benjen already going round the other side.

"Yeah, yeah," Robb waves off. "Shoes off in the foyer and all."

Ned gives a smile, lifting then. "Why don't you boys try to give her a hand?"

Jon feels suddenly nauseated at the idea of traversing a kitchen where Catelyn Stark is wielding any kind of sharp cutlery. "Where are the girls?" he manages to gulp out.

Stupid gulp.

Ned shifts his knowing smirk his way. "Arya and Lyanna are somewhere about, I'm sure. Jeyne's at the store getting the grill meet with Sansa and Margaery."

Okay, so maybe his palms get suddenly sweaty, and maybe his jaw ticks, and maybe he gives a disinterested shrug (a very disinterested shrug, yes, very disinterested), but dammit, she wasn't supposed to be here this summer.

"Oh," he gets out.

Oh.

Like a fucking idiot.

"Jeyne's at the store?" Robb asks, brows furrowed.

Oh thank god for overprotective Robb. Jon feels infinitely less under the microscope when the collective attention shifts to him instead.

"What, does she plan on carrying that all back herself?" he asks, huffing.

Ned blinks at him. "Like I said, she's with Sansa and Margaery."

"She's nearly eight months, Dad."

Theon claps a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, she's pregnant, not incapacitated."

"You're gonna be incapacitated pretty soon, I swear to god."

Ned rolls his eyes at his son, hefting the cooler up with his brother on the other side. "Calm down, Robb. If you only knew some of the things your mother did when she was pregnant with you," he starts off, smile twisting.

Benjen barks a laugh at that. "Ned, do you remember when she – "

"Oh god, let's not do this, please," Robb groans, face pulled back into a grimace.

Ned just shakes his head, smile wide. "Go help your mother." And then the two older men shuffle off back into the yard, cooler and ice bags held between them.

Jon shoves his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooking at his belt loops. "So?"

Robb pulls his phone back out. "Give me a sec."

Theon throws his head back in a dramatic sigh.

But Jeyne picks up pretty quickly it seems, because Robb perks up instantly at the sound of her voice on the other end. "Jeyne, hey, babe. Dad said you were at the store?"

Jon pretends not to listen in.

Robb pouts. "We could have gotten it, babe. You know I brought Jon and Theon back today. You didn't have to – " He silences, pout turning into a slight purse of his lips. "Yeah, I know, but – " Another silence. He huffs. "Your feet aren't hurting?"

Jon grins wide at that, try as he might to smother it.

In a way, Robb and Jeyne have become a strange sort of model for Jon these last years. Not a bar, per se, but an example, at least. That much, at least, for sure. It's one of the things that threw his relationship with Ygritte into such stark perspective. Where their relationship was enduring, his was combustible. Where theirs was comfort, his was a trial. Where theirs was honest and open, his felt like a never-ending minefield.

And now: "Your feet aren't hurting?"

Jon wants to laugh. It's such a simple, unloaded question. But Robb may as well have said 'I'm in love with you' and it'd have meant the same thing.

So yeah. Not a bar. But a hell of a lot closer than he's ever gotten to it himself.

Theon lets out an impatient groan at Robb's phone call. Robb only glares at him. "Okay, babe. Yeah. That's fine. But wait, uh, can you pick up some of those chips I like? You know the ones. The onion thingies. The – yeah! Those! Get me some funyuns." He smiles blindingly. "Thanks, babe. Oh, and tell Sansa not to make you carry everything!" He stops, frowns. "I mean, it's not like she's – " Robb stops again, looking down. "Alright, I'm sorry, babe. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Love you, too. See you at home." He hangs up.

Theon immediately makes a whipping sound, gesture and all, a crooked smile breaking over his features, and if Jon hadn't valued his life so much, he might have done similarly. As it is, Robb is only trying to strangle Theon at the moment, which is fine by him.

"Sansa's coming?"

There. He said it. He asked.

Not so fucking difficult, after all.

Robb stops his attempt at throttling Theon to look over at Jon. "Of course, she's coming. It's the annual Starkfest." He gives him a disbelieving face.

Jon's brows hit his hairline. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"Starkfest."

Jon shakes his head as though clearing his ears. "Yeah, still didn't get that."

"Come on, doesn't it sound epic?"

"Sounds lame as fuck to me," Theon pipes up.

"That's your problem, Theon. You think your opinion matters."

Theon gives Robb a dramatically wounded look, hand to his heart. "Oh spare me, cruel viper."

Robb throws his hands in the air. "What? Bran likes it."

Theon drops his hand from his chest. The look, too. "I'm sorry, but Bran is most definitely not the measurement of coolness here. What are you on?"

"I think Bran's cool," Jon says on a shrug, hands still in his pockets.

"Okay, you've forfeited your right to speak in this convo," Theon says.

"Oh come on," Robb says. "'Starkfest' is perfect."

"I thought she was staying at Margaery's this summer," Jon says before his courage can fail him.

And fuck, are his palms still sweating? Jon bites off a growl of frustration at himself. Fuck that shit.

Robb blinks at him. "What, Sansa?"

Jon nods. Maybe because he's afraid of saying more.

"Yeah, she is, but she's not missing the cookout. Brought Margaery, too. They've been staying at the house for like, four days now. Heading back south tomorrow though. I hear they're going to a concert down in White Harbor before they get back to Marg's."

Jon furrows his brows at that. "She's leaving tomorrow?"

Robb nods.

"She's not staying up with you guys?"

Robb waves him off. "Ah, don't worry about it. She never made it to sunrise before, anyway. Always passed out at least an hour or two away. She'd probably appreciate the sleep more, actually," he shrugs out.

Jon purses his lips. "Right."

And all at once, he's wondering if she still keeps her hair long. If she still carries that dragonfly keychain on her phone. If she still pulls at the edge of her skirt when she's nervous.

If she still hates him for last winter.

Jon clears his throat, nodding back toward the front of the house. "Your dad said Arya was in?"

Robb smiles at him, thankfully oblivious to his desperate change of subject. "Yeah, she's not taking summer classes this year. Come on."

And then they're making their way back across the front lawn. Jon still takes care to avoid Mrs. Stark's zinnias.

He wonders, briefly, if Robb isn't the only whipped one here, but he doesn't think too long on it.

They're just fucking zinnias anyway. So maybe he just cares too much about the things he shouldn't. Attaches to things that give no promise of attachment back. And damn, there's some psycho-analytic bullshit somewhere in that mess, if he looks hard enough, but he doesn't.

He's gotten pretty good at loving the transient, after all.

Sansa Stark shouldn't be any different.

It's not really something that needs another look, he finds. Not then. And not now.

They make it to the front door before he can linger long on it, and then Robb is jiggling his key into the lock, and then he's pushing the door open, and then he's hollering Arya's name into the open foyer. Something about it sends Jon to beaming.

Home.

He's home.

Thunder seems to come down the stairwell. Jon looks up to find it's Arya. He barely opens his arms in time. She launches herself at him, jumping into his arms, winding her legs around him.

"Jon!" she cries, ecstatic.

And oh fuck!

"Arya, fuck, my back! My back!" Jon nearly crumples from her attack, stumbling against the end of the stairwell. "Holy shit, get off me," he chokes out beneath her bone-crushing hug.

She slips from him effortlessly, huffing a strand of hair out of her face. "Old man," she grouses, punching at his shoulder with affection. She grins up at him, crooked and earnest.

He softens at the sight. "You're getting too old for that."

Arya rolls her eyes. "Or you're just getting all rickety."

"That's my vote," Theon says at his side. He opens his arms wide for Arya with an expectant smile.

"Ew," she deadpans, one hand settling at her hip.

"Missed you too, runt," he says, ruffling her hair.

"Oh fuck off, Theon." She shoves his hand away, but he just brushes further into the house.

"The boys back from school yet?" he asks into the open foyer.

Bran suddenly crosses the threshold travelling from the dining room into the den with his face almost adhered to his phone. "It's summer break, dumbass." He promptly disappears around the corner.

Theon plants his hands on his hips. "Ah, that's a yes, then."

"Hey, babe, your Dad wants you and Rickon to help get all the pool stuff out of the shed," Lyanna Mormont says then, coming down the hall toward them before sidling up beside Arya with a hand at her waist.

Arya swings an arm around her shoulder. "Lyanna, you remember my brothers," she says, motioning to the three in the doorway.

"Unfortunately." Lyanna grimaces, and it makes her already dour face even more so. And yet, her hand at Arya's waist is tender, her glance toward her girlfriend softened somewhat, and Jon has learned by now to keep his smile in check.

He watches Arya's hand curl around Lyanna's shoulder and wishes for nothing else in that moment but many more such years ahead of them.

"Good to see you're still in high spirits, Lyanna," Robb smiles brilliantly at her.

"Yeah, well, you're not my brothers, thank god, soooo," she smacks her lips, turning to Arya. "Babe, you gotta get Rickon."

And just like that, the moment is shattered. Jon heaves a sigh.

"Rickon!" Arya yells up the stairwell behind Lyanna's head.

"Arya, what the fuck?" she snaps, hand to her ear.

She shrugs down at her girlfriend. Footsteps thump at the upstairs landing. "What?" an annoyed voice calls down, only a pair of socked feet in view as Jon cranes his neck up the stairs without success.

"Dad wants you."

"I'm not falling for that again."

"Fine," she says, shrugging, steering Lyanna into the kitchen. "But the boys are here."

Silence for a beat, and then the socked feet take a few cautious steps down, and Rickon's head pops out beneath the second floor obscuring the rest of the stairs. His eyes go wide. Smile, too. "Jon!" he beams, bounding down.

And fuck, it's a man coming down the stairs now, not some socked feet or a boy he remembers, but a fucking beast of a man. Jon teeters back, shooting straight from his lean. "Rickon?" he asks, eyes wide.

The boy – man – jumps the last three steps and comes hurtling toward him, arms wide. Jon opens reflexively, afraid he'll be mauled otherwise, and Rickon slams into him, rocking him with his hug. It warms something instantly in Jon, even if the teenager's head now sits higher than his own. He frowns at that a moment, pulling back to look at him.

Theon claps a hand on his shoulder. "Shit, Rickon, what have you been eating?"

Rickon smiles down at Theon.

Holy shit, he's smiling down at Theon, Jon realizes in horror. And then he squints at Rickon's chin. "What is this peach fuzz?" he laughs, letting the boy go, fingers flicking at his baby beard.

Rickon slaps his hand away good-naturedly. "You've been gone too long, man."

"Clearly."

"No hug for me?" Robb asks with a mock pout.

Rickon levels him with a dead stare. "You were literally here this morning."

"Doesn't mean I don't miss you," he croons, looping an appendage around Rickon's neck and tugging him into his chest.

"Oh god, no, stop it!"

"Come here," Robb smooches, wrestling with him through the hallway toward the back of the house. Rickon's protests drown out somewhere past the hallway bathroom.

The smile comes easy and wide along Jon's face.

Home, he reminds himself.

No take-backs.

[yeniayofnymeria]

Which Stark daughter needed special attention? Arya or Sansa?

After Ned and His Love For His Children, i wanted to discuss about Arya’s and Sansa’s KL life...

I have read that some Sansa fans often claim that Sansa was traumatized at KL and Ned was a terrible father as he preferred to constantly take care of Arya instead of this daughter in need of attention. 

The main reason for Sansa's alleged trauma is often attributed to the Lady's death. So, who is the Stark girl who was traumatized and depressed after the Mycah and Lady incident? Is it Sansa or Arya?

For this we will do something very simple, we will read the books (please don't read the pirate book where the character names are replaced, I'm talking about real books).

Just after the incident ...

When she saw him, she cried out and began to sob.

Ned went to one knee and took her in his arms. She was shaking. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said. She felt so tiny in his arms, nothing but a scrawny little girl. It was hard to see how she had caused so much trouble. “Are you hurt?”

After Mycah incident, Arya escapes the Lannister men alone in the forest for 3 days. She's hungry, scared and doesn't know what to do. Imagine being the star of a witch hunt when you were 8 years old, she probably even thought she would be killed when caught.

She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. “I don’t know,” she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see...”

“You rotten!” Arya shrieked. She flew at her sister like an arrow, knocking Sansa down to the ground, pummeling her. “Liar, liar, liar, liar.”

“Arya, stop it!” Ned shouted. Jory pulled her off her sister, kicking. Sansa was pale and shaking as Ned lifted her back to her feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked, but she was staring at Arya, and she did not seem to hear.

Sansa was brought into the hall by her father to verify Arya. There is no doubt that Sansa was scared by this incident. We know she told her father everything when things were just happening, but now Sansa doesn't want to be here and is in a difficult situation ... because she has a sister on the one hand and her fiance on the other. She has to make a choice between the two, and this is emotionally challenging for Sansa, of course, this why there is tears in her eyes. As a result, though, Sansa chooses Joffrey and lies. This causes the Lady's death, and the slander on Mycah and Arya is not cleared. Arya, too, is enraged by her sister's betrayal of her and attacks her.

That was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face. “No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good...”

“Lady wasn’t there,” Arya shouted angrily. “You leave her alone!”

“Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’l make her be good, I promise, I promise...” She started to cry.

The reaction of the two sisters for the Lady. Naturally, Sansa reacts more to the harm to Lady because Lady is her wolf and innocent. As a result, Mycah and Lady die. This situation is very bad and sad for both Stark daughters.

What happened after the Stark girls came to KL? How long has this situation left them permanently damaged?

Sansa’s eyes had grown wide as the plates. “A tourney,” she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. “Wil we be permitted to go, Father?”

“You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert’s games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this fol y.”

“Oh, please,” Sansa said. “I want to see.”

Our first view of the two sisters after Trident. After hearing the news of the King's Hand tournament, Sansa is excited and wants to participate. After all, it is one of the places where knights play a leading role in songs and stories ...

What about Arya?

“I don’t care about their stupid tourney,” Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey.

Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.”

Anger flashed across Father’s face. “Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?”

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry.

The only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. “Pray excuse me,” her father announced to the table. “I find I have smal appetite tonight.” He walked from the hall.

After he was gone, Sansa exchanged excited whispers with Jeyne Poole.

...

No one talked to Arya. She didn’t care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her meals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to dine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and cal her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But al of them were gone.

She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her.

...

This was the first time they had supped with the men since arriving in King’s Landing. Arya hated it. She hated the sounds of their voices now, the way they laughed, the stories they told. They’d been her friends, she’d felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie. They’d let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but then the Hound found Mycah. Jeyne Poole had told Arya that he’d cut him up in so many pieces that they’d given him back to the butcher in a bag, and at first the poor man had thought it was a pig they’d slaughtered. And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father.

“He was my friend,” Arya whispered into her plate, so low that no one could hear. Her ribs sat there untouched, grown cold now, a thin film of grease congealing beneath them on the plate. Arya looked at them and felt il . 

She pushed away from the table.“Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?” Septa Mordane asked.

“I’m not hungry.” Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies. “May I be excused, please?” she recited stiffly.

...

When the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry.

She went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of all. It was al her fault, everything bad that had happened. Sansa said so, and Jeyne too.

Arya isn't as excited about the tournament and her KL life as Sansa, and unlike her older sister, she doesn't want to be here. Arya is feeling very lonely right now because she feels so alone after what happened, Sansa prefers not to talk to her unless she has to. At such moments, Arya misses her other siblings.

In general, we see Arya trying to isolate herself from other people, and we often read that she is on the brink of crying crisis. These are often signs of the onset of depression; low interest in activities, deep sadness, pessimism, desire to cry, not enjoying anything, guilt, desire to be with loved ones again, loss of appetite ... In short, we see that Arya is in a very bad emotional situation.

Arya desperately wanted to explain, to make him see. “I was trying to learn, but...” Her eyes filled with tears. “I asked Mycah to practice with me.” The grief came on her al at once. She turned away, shaking. “I asked him,” she cried. “It was my fault, it was me...”

Suddenly her father’s arms were around her. He held her gently as she turned to him and sobbed against his chest. “No, sweet one,” he murmured. “Grieve for your friend, but never blame yourself. You did not kil the butcher’s boy. That murder lies at the Hound’s door, him and the cruel woman he serves.”

“I hate them,” Arya confided, red-faced, sniffling. “The Hound and the queen and the king and Prince Joffrey. I hate al of them. Joffrey lied, it wasn’t the way he said. I hate Sansa too. She did remember, she just lied so Joffrey would like her.”

...

“Let me tel you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa... Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you... and I need both of you, gods help me.”

He sounded so tired that it made Arya sad. “I don’t hate Sansa,” she told him. “Not truly.” It was only half a lie.

“I do not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have come to a dark dangerous place, child. This is not Winterfel . We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war among ourselves. This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience... at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up.”

“I will,” Arya vowed. She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant. “I can be strong too. I can be as strong as Robb.”

He held Needle out to her, hilt first. “Here.. ”

She looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes. For a moment she was afraid to touch it, afraid that if she reached for it it would be snatched away again, but then her father said, “Go on, it’s yours,” and she took it in her hand.

“I can keep it?” she said. “For true?”

“For true.” He smiled. “If I took it away, no doubt I’d find a morningstar hidden under your pillow within the fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Arya clutched Needle tightly to her chest as her father took his leave.

The next morning, as they broke their fast, she apologized to Septa Mordane and asked for her pardon. The septa peered at her suspiciously, but Father nodded.

Arya was on the verge of depression after a traumatic event as I mentioned above during her early days in KL. She was emotionally damaged. The result was that her friend was murdered terribly, the Lady was killed despite her innocence, and she had to drive Nymeria away from her, and Sansa never spoke properly to Arya again. It wouldn't be entirely wrong to say that Sansa and Jeyne also fed Arya's depression. They were constantly blaming Arya for everything that was going on, and Arya begins to blame herself on everything because she was emotionally traumatized. 

She only gets out of this situation after her father realizes and speaks to her... Ned also allows Arya to take sword lessons to help her recover.

During this time, Sansa ...

Sansa rode to the Hand’s tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it al took Sansa’s breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind... and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.

“It is better than the songs,” she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautiful y that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

Sansa fulfills one of her dreams and gets the chance to watch the knights and heroes in the stories she heard. So happy and excited.

When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, she felt her throat tighten. He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him for what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya.

She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate.

Do I have to make a special comment for this, I don't know. We have no doubt that Sansa felt sorry and cried for what happened and she was very sad that day too, and she even hated Cersei for a while and thought to hate Joffrey too, but then (she gave up because he was so beautiful) she was just hated Arya. She decided to hate her, it was all her fault. This is a typical mechanism of denial and reflection ... Actually the main culprits are Joffrey and Cersei, but the people Sansa preferred to blame are Arya and Mycah.

The servants kept the cups filled all night, yet afterward Sansa could not recall ever tasting the wine. She needed no wine. She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of al her life and never dared hope to know. Singers sat before the king’s pavilion, filling the dusk with music. A juggler kept a cascade of burning clubs spinning through the air. The king’s own fool, the pie-faced simpleton called Moon Boy, danced about on stilts, al in motley, making mock of everyone with such deft cruelty that Sansa wondered if he was simple after al . 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.

And Joffrey was the soul of courtesy. He talked to Sansa all night, showering her with compliments, making her laugh, sharing little bits of court gossip, explaining Moon Boy’s japes.

Sansa was so captivated that she quite forgot all her courtesies and ignored Septa Mordane, seated to her left.

This last quote reveals Sansa's mental state more clearly. His situation is fine, he is happy, excited, living in his dreams ... he has forgotten everything and everyone. In short, Sansa does not have a traumatic situation, emotionally, like Arya, she has not received any long-term damage.

Sansa didn't care for Mycah anyway, so she never thinks of him, and Lady ... cried a lot for her but now she is happy. Do not misunderstanding, there is no one who says that Sansa should live in grief forever, of course she has to leave this bad incident behind and look forward, but if there are claims like she was traumatized because of the Lady, depressed because of her, then we need to see Sansa is always in sorrow, pessimistic and constantly crying. We did not see. Sansa seems to have gotten through all that quickly, my KL is quickly caught up in her magical world and floating in her dreams ...

As a result, we saw that the two Stark girls were saddened, cried and grieved at the time of the incident, but it is not Sansa, who suffer trauma for a long time, it's Arya. So it is natural for Ned to be more concerned with the traumatized Arya, because she needs more special attention. After talking to Arya, Arya's situation quickly improves, and Ned does not need to pay special attention after that. How does that make Ned a terrible father? We are talking about a father who comes to the aid of his daughters when needed.

Please don't make unfair criticism about Ned. No doubt Ned had mistakes like everyone else, but he was a good father who loved his children wholeheartedly and took care of them as much as he could, just as Cat was a good mother, despite her faults. 

Like Sansa, stop blaming everyone for everything except Sansa. Thank you.

[xxcorndogxx]

Sandor Clegane x Reader||Chapter Twenty Seven

"Let me go!" I shout.

My throat raw.

"My lady, please, calm down!"

The poor maids struggle holding me down while my son sleeps. After at least half an hour of this, my body gives. I plop back down in defeat. Damn giving birth making me so tired. The maids relax as much as they can with the fear of death itself bursting through the door.

"At least give me my son." I pant.

The eldest of the three women moving him to my arms. His sleeping form so peaceful. I carefully stroke my fingers over his soft little face. We stay like this for what feels like hours. My son lays against my chest. The maids take turns sleeping. I sit up quickly at the sound of footsteps. I hold my son close to my chest. Just as Sandor comes barreling through the door. His deep panting filling the room. The poor maids startled. They quickly rush out of the room passing by Sandor not saying a word. He softly kicks the door shut behind him. His footsteps are much softer but his pace just as fast. He rests on his knees next to me. At a closer glance, he's sweaty and dirty. Only a few candles and the fireplace light the darkroom. His linger on mine but inevitably wander down to our son. He softly pries him away from me with no objections on my end. A hand under his back and a hand on his head. Elias stretches and lets out a few baby grunts of disapproval of the cold air. I can see the change in Sandor's demeanor. The way his body relaxes and his breathing changes. If he wasn't such a hard man, I would have expected him to cry. He moves to hold him closer, but I place my hand on his wrist. I hand him the warm blanket the nurses had him in earlier. He loosely wraps it over his son and holds him against his chest. His hand finds mine. I squeeze his hand and he moves down to place a kiss to my lips.

"I assume we won?" I prod.

"Yes." Is all he manages to croak out.

He moves to sit on the bed next to me. He seems to not have a care in the world at that moment. He doesn't care he had a son, that he just came from undoubtedly an intense battle, nothing. Elias starts to squirm and make a fuss. Sandor looks up at me with eyes full of worry and confusion. I reach out and take him. I sit up and move the blanket down. I push my gown off my shoulder. Elias struggles a bit at first, simply moving his head around with his mouth open but soon manages to latch on. The feeling is uncomfortable and a little painful. Sandow reaches out a hand and softly touches his son's hair. He moves up closer to us. He puts his hand behind my head and places his lips to my forehead. His lips slightly chapped from the cold air outside.

"I'm sorry."

I snap my head to look up at him. My face contorting into one of confusion.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't here." He's serious.

I reach my hand out resting it against his face.

"It's okay, they needed you out there."

He closes his eyes. He's clearly exhausted from everything. He soon stands.

"Let's go." He looks at me. "Can you walk?" He asks.

"I don't know." I shrug.

He moves the blanket off me and helps me to my feet. He steadies me as my hands are occupied by a feeding baby. Not risking it he lifts me up in his arms. Before I know it, we're back in our room lent to us. He lays me down on the bed. By this time Elias is done feeding. I roll on my side and Elias lays in my arms next to me. After some rustling, I feel the dip of the bed behind me. Sandor's warm hand smoothly moves up over my side. He grips the fabric as he scoots closer. My back pressed against him. He reaches his arm over me and rests his large hand over Elias's head. I close my eyes and all the exhaustion floods back to me.

The soft crackling of fire fills my ears. The low hums of a deep voice not far behind it. I open my eyes as the sunbeams through from the window across the room. I sit up slowly. My eyes adjusting to the room to be met with a lovely sight. Sandor stands with his back to me softly swaying and his arms bouncing lightly. Hearing my not so graceful groans of waking up he turns to face me. Elias rests in his arms. All Elias's little fingers wrapped around his father's large one. Sandor looks up at me.

"We have the funeral for those we lost in the next hour." He informs me.

I stand up and weakly walk over to him. My hands reached out for my son.

"Uh-uh." He brushes me off. "I've got this, you get ready."

He moves my son closer to the window. I roll my eyes. I move to the wardrobe. I dress myself in a warm northern gown. It's bright yellow color weaving in with the black, this was undoubtedly made just for me. I sit and brush my hair. I pin back some front pieces and let the rest flow down over my shoulders. When I stand Sandor hands me a heavy black cloak. I drape it over my shoulders and take Elias from him.

We soon make our way down the stair to the gathering outside. Elias is as wrapped as we could get him. I stand slightly in front of Sandor. He holds Elias, he's refusing to hand him over. His free hand rests on my back. Countless pyres in front of us. The dragon queen stands over her fallen friend. I can't help but realize how lucky I am that Sandor made it back to me. He very easily could have died. Just like all these other people did. Lady Sansa stands over her fallen friend as well. My eyes wander back up to Sandor. His eyes already boring into me. He moves his hand from my back to my head. He leans down pressing a kiss to my forehead. He then pulls me back to stand right against him. I know he was worried too. That door wasn't very sturdy. If any of the white walkers had made it down there, especially while I was giving birth we would have been done for. Jon walks out from in front of us.

"We're here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters," He starts. I straighten up. "To out fathers and mothers. To our friends. Our fellow men and women. Who set aside their differences to fight together and die together so that others might live. Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid. It is our duty and our honor to keep them alive in memory for those who come after us and those who come after them for as long as men draw breath. They were the shields that guarded the realms of men. And we shall never see their like again."

Jon turns back. The three men with torches standing right next to me walk forward. Tormund, Arya, Sansa, Jon, The Queen, and a man I do not know light their respective pyres. The smoke slowly accumulating into one large cloud. When we all start to leave Elias begins to fuss.

"Give him here," I tell Sandor.

He very grumpily hands him over. I begin to walk.

"Shhh, I know, I know, you're hungry, just please wait until we get inside."

I'm positive my nipple would freeze off in this cold. Sandor stops. I stop and turn to see the queen approaching us.

"Lady." She speaks to me.

"My queen." I bow for a moment.

Elias starts fussing more.

"I'm terribly sorry, he's hungry." I quickly apologize.

"May I see him?" She asks.

I raise my brows.

"Right now?"

"Yes." She smiles, her eyes never leaving my son.

"Okay." I very cautiously place him in her open arms.

"Walk with me." She orders.

I walk alongside her towards the warmth of indoors.

"What's his name?" She asks.

"Elias."

"A handsome name for a handsome young man."

She softly runs her gloved finger over his cheek. Sandor follows very closely behind us.

"Missandei, look at him."

She leans to the girl next to her so she can ogle and my child as well. She smiles and looks up at me,

"He looks very healthy congratulations." She compliments.

"Thank you."

"I don't believe we've met officially. I am Missandei, the queens' personal advisor." She bows.

"I'm Lady Y/n Clegane, wife of," I turn to Sandor. "Sandor Clegane, or the hound if you will," I explain.

The Queen turns to me handing Elias back to me.

"Let's get him inside shall we?"

She smiles and walks ahead of us. Sandor very quicky takes Elias from me. I grab his arm as we walk inside.

"He still needs to eat," I grumble.

He hands him back over. We make our way back to our room. Sandor takes my cloak for me. I sit back on our bed and work my breast out of my gown. This time Elias makes quick work of latching. A hungry little man just like his father. The bed dips beside me and Sandor lays next to me. His head resting on my shoulder next to our son's head.

"You need to stop hogging him," I argue looking down at him.

"I'm not hogging him." He grumbles, eyes closed.

"Yes, you are. You take him from me every chance you get. I would like to have my son too you know."

"You have him right now." He points out.

"This is different, you know what I mean."

He huffs and sits up to look at me. His face very close to mine. My heart flutters. I forgot all about what this man does to me.

"Fine. I'll just hog you instead." His voice is low and tired.

He wastes no time pressing his lips to mine. His kiss is heavy and slow. I can barely breathe. He pulls back and lays his head next to mine. I shift a bit so my head touches his.

Elias soon finishes eating and Sandor is asleep. I softly wake him.

"Sandor, dear, will you hold him for a bit?" I ask.

He groggily nods and takes Elias from my hands. He holds him to his chest and they both sleep. I make my way across the room to the wardrobe. As I comb through the fabrics there is a knock at the door. I open it.

"My lady." A young servant bows.

I step aside for her to enter.

"I have brought you a gown for tonight at the request of the queen. She said she wishes many blessings on you and your son." I smile as she sets the bundle of fabric on the edge of the bed. "How sweet."

Later that evening she returned to help me dress. Sandor sits waiting on the edge of the bed. Elias tightly swaddled in a dark red cloth. One the gown if secured to my body I dismiss the maid.

"I've forgotten what it felt like to be waited on," I admit making my way to Sandor as he stands.

"I've waited on you." He argues.

"Yes, but that's different."

I smile. We make our way down to the hall where everyone is supposed to feast tonight. Sandor steps aside letting me lead us into the room. We find ourselves seated across from Gendry. Sandor very happily eats away as I hold sleeping Elias and eat what I can.

"Can I see?" Gendry asks nodding to the bundle in my arms.

I lean forward and move the cloth down a bit so Gendry can see him.

"Cute little fella." Gendry compliments as we all return to eating.

"Nothing like his father." Gendry jokes.

I kick his shin hard under the table.

"Ow, hey what's that for?" He grumbles rubbing his shin.

"I kindly ask that you do not insult my husband please." I smile passive-aggressively.

I continue to eat until I'm full but sadly Elias is not. Gods, he wants to eat all the time. I excuse myself and stand off at the edge of the room. I face away from everyone as I pop my breast out and Elias latches. One he's settled I move part of his cloth to cover myself as best I can. I turn back to watch the room. I watch as Gendry leaves the table. I huff. What did Sandor do?  As Gendry makes his way out he's stopped

"Gendry." It's the queen.

He turns to face her. The whole room watching to see what will unfold.

"That's right, isn't it?" She asks.

"Yes, your grace." He answers standing in front of their table.

"You're Rober Baratheon's son." She notes.

He doesn't speak. Only nods.

"You are aware he took my family's throne and tried to have me murdered." She presses.

"I didn't even know he was my father until after he was dead." Gendry defends.

"Yes, he's dead." The queen speaks.

"His brothers are too. So who's Lord of Storm's End now?" She asks.

"I don't know, Your Grace." He confesses.

"Does anyone?" She asks.

No one answers. My eyes wander to Sandor still eating away unbothered. I smile to myself.

"I think you should be Lord of Storm's End." She announces.

My eyes snapping back to them.

"I can't be, I'm a bastard." He protests.

Just take it, kid.

"No, you are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End." She decides. "The lawful son of Robert Baratheon. Because that is what I have made you."

She smiles. Davos stands to raise his drink.

"To Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End." He toasts.

Sandor stays seated. I shake my head smiling down at Elias. I wonder what's in store for you my son. Will you be a little lord one day? Lord of my house? Lord of house Clegane? Both? Only time will tell. I look up and Sandors eyes are watching me. He takes a long drink from his cup of ale, his eyes never leaving me. I can feel the primal need from here. I shift. His hungry gaze is making me a bit uncomfortable. I break his gaze and look off to the side trying to stay calm. I look back and he has a whole new pitcher of ale. I roll my eyes. He should be fun to deal with tonight.

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. Six

Title: Sheltered From the Storm

Words: 1,258

Warnings: None that I can see. Maybe Arya being a pain in the ass, but that’s about it. No swearing or mature content.

A/N: Our three main characters go by different names in this chapter. MC is Lara, Arya is Ava, and Sandor is Marcel. I explain a bit in the chapter, but I know so many names can get confusing. 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

 “I think it’s gonna rain soon,” you said, frowning at the sky.

 “Where are we?” Arya asked as she plucked a root from the ground.

 “Near Fair Market. I think,” Sandor replied.

 “You think? Do you have a map?”

 “Does it look like I have a map?”

 “Well maybe you should get one.”

“Why don’t you point out the next map shop you see and I’ll buy you one.” You let out a giggle.

 “How far to the Eyrie?” You asked as the three of you walked back to the horses.

 “Not far.”

 “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Arya quipped. She was in a mood today that was for sure.

 “We’re going the right way, don’t worry. We’ll see Aunt Lysa soon.” You gave Arya a small smile and a pat on the cheek.

 “We should find some shelter,” you said to Sandor. “A storm is coming.”

 “Aye, one is.” He took your hand and pulled you close. “We’ll find something.”

 “Seven Blessings to you,” someone said above you. Looking up, you saw a man and his young daughter.

 “What do you want?” Sandor asked him.

 “What do I want? This is my land.”

 “I’m standing on it, makes it my land.”

 “We were just watering our horses. We’ll be on our way,” Arya said. She stood up. “Forgive my father. He was wounded in the war and our cottage burned down while he was gone.”

 “We’re just trying to find a place to put down some roots,” you said sweetly, holding onto Sandor’s arm. “My husband can be a little too brash at times.”

 “Which House did he fight for?” The man asked you.

 “The Tully’s of Riverrun,” you said. The man looked between the three of you.

 “There’s a storm coming. You’ll be wanting a roof tonight. There’s hay in the barn,” he offered. “And Sally here makes a delicious stew like her mom used to do.”

 “We’re very grateful for your hospitality,” you said, bowing your head slightly.

 “We don’t have much but any man who’s bled for House Tully is welcome to it.” With a smug look on your face, you looked at Sandor and Arya. Arya looked back with the same expression and Sandor just pinched you lightly. You giggled and kissed his cheek.

 ---

 It had started to rain a little before you got to the cottage. It wasn’t too much to where you were drenched, but enough to feel the wet. Inside the house was a fireplace that was already lit, a table, and a small bed. A door was on one side and you couldn’t tell where it led. The man took your cloak and hung it by the fire to dry. You and Arya sat in front of the fire to warm up while the little girl made the stew and the two men went and collected more wood. With a shiver, you stood up and made your way to the girl.

 “What’s your name?” You asked her.

 “It’s Sally.”

 “Well it’s nice to meet you, Sally. Is there anything I can do to help make supper?”

 “You can cut the vegetables if you’d like.”

 The two of you made supper and you got to know the girl a little more. Her mother had died of an injury when she was young and ever since then it had been just her and her father. She was happy and healthy though, so she didn’t complain. Sandor walked in to the sight of you teasing the young girl, making her laugh. Your eyes met and you smiled softly at him before returning your attention to the child.

 “Your wife is very kind. I haven’t seen Sally really smile like that since her mother was alive,” the man said.

 “Aye. She’s very kind. Sometimes too kind.”

 “I never got your names. Mine is Issac.”

 “My husband’s is Marcel. Our daughters is Ava and mine is Lara,” you piped up from the kitchen. “Ava, help Sally set the table. Supper is almost ready.”

 “Yes, mother,” Arya said, obediently getting up to help.

 “Ah, you are guests you don’t have to do that,” Issac said.

 “Nonsense. You are sheltering my family from the storm outside. It’s the least I can do,” you said with a wave of the wooden spoon. He looked like he wanted to argue, but Sandor put a hand on his shoulder.

 “It’s best not to argue with that one. She’s so stubborn she can give an ass a run for its money.” Arya let out a snort and you glared at him.

 “Keep talking like that and you won’t get any food, dear husband.” Your voice was steely and Sandor gulped. Arya laughed and you turned your attention to her.

 “It’ll happen to you too, if you don’t behave yourself,” you warned. Arya stopped laughing and quickly went to grab the bowls and spoons for the meal.

 “What about me?” Sally said with a tug on your tunic. You crouched down to her height and pinched her cheek.

 “You can have all the food you want, sweetheart,” you cooed. She smiled brightly and waltzed over to her father.

 “I’m a sweetheart!” She said happily.

 “That you are,” her father agreed. “Now let’s go wash up for supper.”

 The two of them went to the wash basin across the room and Sandor came up to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and put his chin on the top of your head.

 “Are you going to deny me some food, lovely wife?” He said.

 “Are you going to stop being a prick?” You shot back. Sandor tightened his grip on your waist. Your breath hitched.

 “Not the time,” you said lowly.

 He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

 With one last squeeze to your middle and a kiss on your cheek, Sandor went to wash up with Arya. Your cheeks were red and your gut humming as you recalled what had transpired the night before. You were only jerked out of your thoughts when Arya touched your shoulder.

 “Mother? You can go wash up now. Sally’s going to finish with the food.”

 “Thank you, love,” you said to Arya, kissing her head. “Go sit down, I’ll be right over.”

 ---

 Dinner had gone off with only a few minor hitches. You had to stop Arya and Sandor from drinking directly from their bowls and to remind Sandor that he was in the presence of a child and that he shouldn’t curse. You doted on little Sally when you could and had helped with the cleanup after the meal. Sandor kept you close to him and you were grateful for the extra warmth. It was only when Arya and Sally both yawned at the same time that it was time for bed.

 “Let me put Sally in the bed then I’ll lead you to the barn,” Issac said. He picked up his little girl and Sandor picked up Arya. She tried to protest, but you shushed her.

 “Just go to sleep, Ava. It’s okay,” you murmured, brushing hair out of her face. Arya tried to keep the sleep at bay, but lost the battle. Before Issac came back she was out like a light.

 “This way.” He led you outside and opened the door to the barn.

 “If you end up needing anything, please let me know.”

 “We will. Thank you very much for everything,” you said. Sandor had carried Arya inside and you followed.

 “Goodnight, Issac.”

 “Goodnight, Lara.”

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

One where Robb was away for war and won. He comes back not knowing whether rumors that his best friend (reader) and Jon are a thing are true, but the second he gets down from his horse she’s like jumping into his arms crying because she’s so relieved he’s back and safe and sound and later all Starks (including Jon of course) hang around, Robb brings her to her room and she asks him to stay and they finally just kiss. Like a little anxiety but a lot of fluff. I love your writing!

Of course my darling!!

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

Robb felt his heart growing heavier with every step that his horse took back towards his home.

Since he had been away fighting, he had received letters from his best friend, Y/N who had been a ward at Winterfell for as long as any of the Starks could remember, updating him on life at Westeros, assuring him that everything was running smoothly in his absence and that she missed him.

And yet, Robb had picked up on the amount of times Jon had been mentioned and the affectionate tone Y/N carried when speaking about him.

He had also had heard the rumours of their courtship. The very idea of Y/N being with anyone made Robb’s stomach churn. The fact that it was Jon just made it even worse.

Robb pulled his horse to a stop outside of his home. His father dismounted before him, embracing his mother in a hug before greeting his other four children. 

Robb got down from the horse and locked eyes with her.

Even from just that one look he could tell how desperate she was to go and greet him. A laugh formed in his stomach at the clear hopeful anticipation obvious in her stance, but it died before it could see the light of day as he saw who was stood next to her.

Ned, however, vocalised his laugh as he reached his ward.

“Go to him, Y/N, or you may explode,” he chuckled and Y/N took that as all the permission needed to rush over to Robb and throw herself into his arms.

Robb caught her readily, holding her close and rocking her backwards and forwards as they embraced. His head fell to the crook of her neck as she breathed in deeply, her hands tightening slightly.

“I was so worried about you,” she said though the words were muffled by his clothes.

“I promised you I’d come back,” Robb pointed out and Y/N let out a breathless laugh, grinning up at him with shining eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re really home,” she whispered, her hand coming up to rest on his cheek. Robb softened under her touch, as he always did with her, and smiled.

“I’m home,” he murmured in response.

“And it’s good to have you here!” Jon’s voice knocked Robb back into reality and he stepped away from his best friend, not missing the disappointment that flashed across her face.

Robb took Jon’s hand, pulling him into a hug.

“It’s good to be back,” Robb admitted, slapping his back maybe a little too hard.

“It’s good to have you back,” Jon repeated, no sense on malice in his words and he shot a sly grin in Y/N’s direction. “Perhaps it will mean that Y/N will shut up about you,” Y/N looked away in embarrassment and Robb’s heart lifted hopefully.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to your mother?” Catelyn called, breaking Robb’s stare with Y/N. He nodded and walked past his friend and brother to embrace his mother.

///

Later that night, they were having a celebration to commemorate Robb and Ned’s safe return from war. Everyone was drinking and laughing, Robb had even spied Y/N slipping his three youngest siblings a taste of her wine, laughing as they had cringed away from it.

He had met her eyes at that point and raised his eyebrows, to which Y/N had responded to with a guilty grin and Robb had shaken his head.

Now, however, everyone was getting a little drowsy, Rickon, Bran and Arya having long gone to bed. Y/N was laughing giddily at something Jon and Theon had said and Robb thought that she had never looked so beautiful.

Or so drunk.

Robb approached his friends and offered his arm to Y/N.

“I think you need to go to bed,” he said gently. Y/N’s face lit up as she looked to him.

“Will you take me?” She asked and the table erupted into laughter. Robb’s smile remained soft and affectionate, however as he nodded. Y/N leapt up eagerly and took Robb’s arm, bidding the room farewell and allowing Robb to lead her away from the party. “I was really worried about you,” Y/N admitted, leaning heavily against him. “And I missed Grey Wind,”

Grey Wind padded at their feet, looking at Y/N with what seemed to be the wolf’s version of concern as she stumbled down the hallway.

“He missed you too,” Robb promised, heart fluttering with love as he listened to her drunken ramblings about how much he missed him and worried over him. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m safe,” he whispered as Y/N pushed the door to her room open.

“You’ll stay with me?” She asked, suddenly serious. It seemed as though the effects of the wine had worn off, though Robb was unsure of how that had happened.

“I’m staying in Winterfell, you know that, Y/N,” Robb murmured, stepping closer. Y/N shook her head and closed the distance between them, cupping his jaw in her hands gently.

“That’s not what I meant - you’ll stay with me now, tonight, and... and always?” She whispered, stepping up on her toes. Robb nudged their noses together oh-so-gently.

“Is that what you want?” He breathed into her mouth. Y/N’s lips curved up into a content grin.

“More than anything.” Robb pressed their lips together and felt the sparks fly.

[merakiaes]

Don’t Leave - Podrick Payne

Pairing: Podrick Payne x reader

Requested: By @captainsbestgal 

Prompts: None

Warnings/notes: None that I can think off, mentions of death maybe

Wordcount: 1601

Description: Being with Podrick after the battle, fluff-ish, I changed the request up a bit so that it’s him finding you instead of the other way around (although I think I’m going to make one like that, as well), I hope that’s okay. I really suck at writing emotions but I hope this is what you wanted

The battle of Winterfell was finally over. 

You and the people closest to you had made it to the end, but countless of other people had not been as lucky, and were now gone for good. 

Some of the fallen included people you had held very close to your heart, and you could still not quite grasp that they were gone. 

But you were still relieved to your core that Brienne, Podrick, Jaime and Arya were alright, those four being the people you cared more for than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms.

You didn’t come from a big and important house like Jaime or Arya, but when the battle had hit you, you had been just as important nonetheless, being a great asset with your surprising battle strategies and fighting techniques. 

You had been taught by your sisters at an early age how to fight. Originally being from Dorne, it was just as normal for girls to learn fighting as it was boys. 

And you were proud to say you were good. Very good. But of course, no one would ever be able to top Brienne of Tarth, a fierce woman you had come to look up to during your time of knowing her. 

Of course, with knowing her, also came knowing Podrick and Jaime, as you had been with them during the time Jaime was Brienne’s prisoner, and when she had gotten Podrick as her squire. 

But despite your ability to hold your ground and put on a brave face, you were in reality, heartbroken and terrified during the whole battle. 

Heartbroken to see all of your friends dying around you, terrified that closest ones would. 

It had gotten too much for you to handle when you had caught sight of your reflection in a puddle right after the battle, the face staring back at you covered in grime and blood and death. 

You had been so desperate to get it off that you had only looked around for a minute to see that everyone you knew were okay, confirming each of them alive from afar, before stumbling off to your assigned chambers. 

You couldn’t take all of the death, all of the pain and all of the heartbreak and sorrow. It was too much, and you feared that you would have broken down had you stayed another minute out there. 

You felt selfish, like a coward, for running away and leaving the others to deal with the mess that you couldn’t bare. But you couldn’t take it. You simply couldn’t take it. 

The second you had entered your room you had slammed the door shut, sliding down against the wood and buried your face in your knees, unable to hold your emotions in any longer. 

You could have died. 

Podrick could have died. 

Jaime could have died. 

Brienne could have died. 

Arya could have died. 

You all could have died. 

And you had all been close more times than you could count on two hands. 

You had been so focused on surviving and protecting your loved ones during the battle that you had not fully been able to realize how panicked you had been, until now. 

Everything came crashing down on you as you filled up a bath with steaming hot water, silent tears streaming down your face as you scrubbed yourself raw to get rid of the blood. 

The wounds that littered your whole body stung, but you couldn’t feel a thing. You only felt the panic and the fear that only seemed to grow stronger inside you for every passing second. 

After many minutes of painful scrubbing and endless crying, the water had turned cold and your eyes dry. 

You had reluctantly gotten out of the bathtub and dried off, not bothering to put clothes on since you were not planning to leave the room anytime soon and therefor not caring about looking decent. 

After brushing your hair and tending to your wounds, you had slid under your furs and been lying there since. 

By this point, you weren’t able to cry anymore. Your body was screaming at you to drink, eat, but you couldn’t do anything else than lie there.

Looking out the window to your left, you noticed it now being pitch black outside, the only thing lighting up the sky being the torches on the castle walls.

You could hear the wind whistling through the small cracks of the window frame, causing you to pull the furs closer to your body. If you listened close enough, you were able to hear the chatter and cheering from the feast, where someone was probably holding a speech by now. 

Having been so caught up in your own mind, you hadn’t noticed the footsteps outside your door like you usually would have, resulting in you jumping in fright at the sound of a fist knocking on the wood.

You adjusted yourself in the bed, sitting up slightly and pulling the furs up to cover your body. “Who is it?” You called out, but barely any sound came out. 

Luckily, the person outside seemed to have heard you. The door slowly slid open to reveal Podrick peeking inside. “Can I come inside?” 

You nodded, giving him the biggest smile you could manage which in truth wasn’t much, but still enough for him to smile back. 

You fell back into your previous position, only this time so that you were facing the door, and watched as Podrick opened the door wider, revealing a plate of food in his hand. 

“I didn’t find you after the battle, and I didn’t see you at the feast, so I saved you some food.” He spoke, closing the door behind him and walking over to you with careful steps, putting the plate down on your bed. 

You frowned. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you. I needed to be alone.” You whispered. 

Podrick smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright. I got worried at first when I couldn’t find you, but Brienne told me she had seen you before you went inside. I’ll leave you to it.”

“No.” You called out as he turned to leave, causing him to turn back. You pulled your furs up to your chin, your brows furrowed together as you watched the crackling fire at the other side of the room. “Don’t leave, please. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Podrick nodded, proceeding to kick off his boots and remove his fresh leather armor before lying down beside you, careful not to shift your furs or spill your food. 

He gazed at you with sad eyes as you watched the fire, the bright flames reflecting in your eyes, making it evident that you had been crying. 

He pushed the plate closer to you. “You should eat.”

You turned your eyes from the fire to look at him. “I don’t think I can.” Yes, you can! Your body screamed at you, but you only felt sick at the thought of eating while there were thousands of dead bodies outside your window. 

Podrick frowned worriedly. “You need to eat, m’lady.” 

You stayed quiet for a moment, before managing a chuckle. “Only you would lie in bed with a naked girl and still call her m’lady.” You paused. “I’ll eat if you stay with me.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” Podrick answered.

You nodded, letting a moment of silent linger in the air before responding. “Good, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

And with that, you lifted your furs for him to scoot closer to you. Podrick wasted no time in moving under the covers, the situation you were in leaving both of you completely unbothered by the fact that you were naked. 

True to your word, you started picking at the food and finally eating it once Podrick had let his arms wrap around your waist. 

He lied there watching you eat for a few minutes until you had had enough, then proceeding to put the plate at the table beside the bed. 

A few moments passed. 

Your eyes were closed and Podrick’s hand was gingerly running through your still drying hair, his fingers scratching your scalp once in a while in a soothing manner. 

“Your hair is really soft after you wash it.” Podrick whispered, watching as a smile graced your features at his words. He smiled at the sight, letting his hand leave your hair to trace your cheek. 

Suddenly you shuddered, the wind coming through the window managing to hit your bare back. You opened your eyes, moving to leave the bed to get another fur. “I’m freezing.” 

“No.” Podrick pushed you back gently before getting up himself. “Don’t get up, I’ll get it.”

He left the bed as gracefully as he could, which wasn’t very graceful at all but still good enough not to disturb you, and walked over to the stool at the other side of the room to grab the black and brown furs. 

He shuddered at the feeling of the cold stone under his feet, and moved to put another piece of wood into the fireplace before returning to the bed. 

He got back to his spot under your furs and put the additional ones on top of you so every inch of your skin was covered and not exposed to the chilly air, before letting his head fall to the pillow next to yours. 

Your moved closer to his body to get as much warmth as you could, and nuzzled your head into his chest, the two of not speaking another word as you soon enough dozed off into a calm slumber.

[gizkasparadise]

1,500 miles (Sandor + Arya, Gendrya)

Day One.

There’s 1,500 miles between them and King’s Landing. He bites down on an apple as he rides, sending her a side glance.

“Can still turn around,” he comments.

“Fuck off,” she replies, looking ahead.

He raises his eyebrows, takes another bite of apple. “Suit yourself.”

Day Three.

They stop at an inn because his balls have retreated into his fucking stomach and he’s tired of pissing in the snow. Arya wordlessly drops coins onto the counter in a way that speaks to little rich girl, and then they sit at a long table. They get looks, him more so than her. He always gets looks. That’s what happens when half your face is burned off.

A serving girl drops off two bowls of meat and two tankards of ale.

She raises an eyebrow from her seat across from him. “Really?”

“What.”

“Chicken.”

Sandor glares as he picks a tiny sliver of bone out of his teeth. “What’s it matter? All tastes like goat shit.”

She lets out a short scoff, then tears off a leg and bites down.

Day Five.

“You still got your stupid little list of names, then?”

“Yes.”

“Half the bloody kingdom’s dead. Who the fuck’s left?”

“Cersei.”

“You got bigger balls than a bull.”

“Thanks.”

Day Six.

They’re leading the horses to water when she speaks for the first time in a few hours.

“You think you’ll like it?”

“Like what?”

“Killing him.”

He doesn’t answer right away, patting the side of his horse’s neck as it bends down to drink. Would he like it? Sandor remembers what it meant to cower like a kicked dog. Remembers the face of his brother as his hand wrapped around his head, shoving it down.

“Like’s got nothing to do with it,” he states. “Dead’s dead, that’s what matters.”

Arya stares at her horse, looking thoughtful. It’s a few minutes before she speaks.

“I think I’ll very much like killing Cersei.”

“‘Course you will.” He fills a skin of water, tosses it to her. “You sick little fuck.”

Day Eight.

It’s finally getting warm enough for them to camp. She hunts for game as he starts fire and tends to the horses. Two hours later the sun’s setting and they’re eating fucking squirrels.

“And you give me shit for chicken,” he mutters. The meat is gamey as all hell, and there’s too many little bones.

“It’s what was around.”

“Bring back some bloody rocks next time. Rather chew on that.”

“Piss off.”

“Hunt better.”

After they’re done eating, he lays by the fire, one of his elbows propping him up into a lean. Across from, Arya sits, her elbows on her knees and thoughts somewhere else. She’s a right shit, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing she’s young. Not that it matters, out here. No one’s young in Westeros.

Sandor’s face screws into a frown. His thoughts drift to that stupid twat in Winterfell. Who just wanted to thank Arya fucking Stark. Sandor doesn’t need to know anything about that, where it went, where it didn’t went.

But it’s fucking boring out here. So he asks.

“Whatever happened to staying away from miserable old shits?”

She doesn’t even look up. “Miserable old shit, now.”

He lifts his eyebrows, her point made. “Miserable old shit, then.”

Fucking Beric Dondarrion. His corpse had been heavy as hell lifting onto that shit pyre. If he were still alive, he’d probably gotten off on it, what with his hard-on for fire.

He’d died for her. Sandor didn’t realize until after it was over that that’s what he was doing, too. He was just a little faster, is all.

“I thought that was our last night alive,” she says flatly. “It’s different.”

“Fucking how?”

She glances up at that. “What do you mean, how?”

Sandor gestures around. “Bear could be out there. One of your fucking wolves. Rapers.” He tilts his head. “A fucking cough. Any of it could be your last night alive.”

He watches as she shifts, as her hands fold in front of her. Arya’s not the same girl she was before she left him to die, but he can still tell when she’s uncomfortable.

“It’s different,” she repeats, quieter this time.

Day 10.

They have to kill a few men in the morning. There’s little fanfare about it-- just his sword, her stupid little toothpick. The sun rises, and seven fucks are dead.

He presses his foot against one of the men’s backs to pull his sword out of him. It slides and he frowns as he wipes the blood off on the dead man’s tunic.

“How many you get?” He calls out.

“Three.”

“So that’s, what? Seventeen for me, eleven for you?”

“Mine were harder to kill.”

He gestures to the dead men on the ground. “Doesn’t matter to them.”

Arya’s face remains flat as she stares at him and pointedly sheaths her small, little sword.

“It’s just six more,” she says coolly, hoping back on her horse.

“Seven,” he corrects.

Day Twelve.

“Bet it’s not as fun anymore, is it?”

They’re both on bedrolls, staring up at the stars.

“What isn’t?”

“Your list. Haven’t even said it anymore. One day you won’t be able to say it at all.”

She’s quiet.

“Listen to me, girl,” Sandor says, suddenly feeling tired. “It never gets better.”

Arya rolls onto her side, facing away from him as she pulls a blanket over her shoulder.

Day Fifteen.

They’re passing an inn when Arya’s horse pulls into a stop.

“What?” He barks over his shoulder.

She’s staring at a sign. “I want to stop here.”

He looks at the inn again, eyes squinting. Then it clicks. “See your little fat friend?”

Arya’s eyes widen. “You remember that?”

“Think I’m a fucking moron?”

“Yes.”

“Bitch.”

They both tie their horses.

--

“Arry!” The baker says, wiping his hands on an apron as he comes out from behind a kitchen. “They said you were here, and-”

Sandor stares down at him, unimpressed. The baker’s eyes widen in recognition.

“-and I’ll go get you supper,” he says.

The baker, Hot Pie because why the fuck not, and Arya sit. He gives her bread shaped like a wolf, and when he leaves Sandor snorts.

Arya frowns at him. “What?”

“All your stupid friends.” He shakes his head. “Thanking you all the time.”

“Thanking me for what?”

Sandor watches as the boy drops an entire tray of ale.

“Hopefully not the same thing.” He grabs her bread and bites the head off it.

Day Sixteen.

“Why don’t you just turn around?” He asks, annoyed.

Arya glares at him. He glares back.

“Or keep on whingeing.”

“I’m not whingeing.”

“Fine. Sulking.”

“What are you talking about?”

He sighs, looking up. “Go back to that inn. Or Winterfell. Or the fucking Vale.”

Sandor half expects her to tell him to fuck off again. When all she does is frown, then snap her reins, that’s when he realizes that’s what she actually wants to do.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself.

Day Nineteen.

They swap their furs for leathers. King’s Landing gets closer by the day.

And Sandor has something eating at him. Taking small little bites, all up and down his skin. He doesn’t know what it is, only that he looks at Arya and her stupid little sword and her tired horse and it makes him frown more often than not.

“He ever find you?” He asks, and wonders why the fuck he’s asking.

“Who?”

“The twat with the hammer.”

She tenses, the hand sharpening her sword stilling. Her words are carefully flat. “You mean Gendry.”

“Is there another twat with a hammer?”

Arya looks up. “What do you mean, find?”

“At the feast. Bloody moron was wandering up and down the hall like he’d forgotten how to walk.” He raises his brows. “Mooning.”

She visibly swallows, then looks down at her sword again.

Sandor leans against a tree, watching her expression, her body language. And he sighs.

“What’d you do to that poor fuck?”

The whetstone makes a long, scraping sound.

“He found me,” is all she offers.

Day 20.

He sees more and more of those Southern birds. It won’t be long, now, until they reach where they’re heading.

Sandor can’t stop that gnawing feeling. “Your sister’s probably wondering where you are.”

“She’ll figure it out.”

He grinds his teeth together. “Or that crippled god boy you were all so fucking concerned over.”

“...he probably already knows,” Arya says, and for a moment he sees discomfort on her face.

“That bastard brother of yours, then. Or the bastard you’re fuck-”

“I know what you’re doing,” she cuts in calmly. Arya narrows her eyes. “What I can’t figure out is why you’re doing it.”

He doesn’t fucking know, either.

They stare at each other for awhile, at a standstill. Tension between them.

“This is what you’re doing, then?” He finally asks.

There’s a few seconds of hesitation, but she nods.

“Yeah,” she states quietly. “This is what I’m doing.”

Sandor frowns. Then he nods.

“Then stop being so slow. Or the mad dragon bitch will get to her first.”

Arya doesn’t look relieved. But she moves her horse into a gallop, and he can’t do nothing else but follow after.

Day 23.

They’re a day out from the city. She doesn’t want to stop, but he makes her.

“So,” he begins, speaking while chewing with his mouth open. She got rabbit tonight. Better than fucking squirrel.  “You kill the queen. Then what?”

“There isn’t a then.”

He snorts. “You don’t plan to outlive a Lannister cunt?”

Arya’s eyebrows draw down, so he presses.

“You kill her. Her people kill you. Sounds like a draw.” He spits out a bone. “Does it count if it’s a draw?”

Arya takes a long drink of wine, passing it to him as she rubs the back of her arm across her mouth. “Dead is dead, right?”

Sandor brings the wineskin up. “Dead is dead,” he agrees, tilting his head back and emptying it out.

Day 24.

“How many you get?” He asks, stabbing one that’s still kicking through the neck.

“Five.”

“27 and 27,” he notes.

“Guess that makes us even.”

“Guess it does.”

Day 25.

He wakes before she does. It’s still too early for the sun, and so he just watches her. She curls into a ball when she sleeps, like she’s trying to make herself a small target. There’s no whimpering, no kicking out. Arya’s trained herself better than that. It makes the stillness of it all more noticeable.

His throat works.

Then he throws her pack at her head. She’s up just before it connects, grabbing it before she’s even fully awake.

“Get your shit,” he orders. “You’ve got a queen to kill.”

Day 26.

“Sandor.”

He hasn’t heard his name in so long that that alone is enough to make him stop. So stop he does, looking over his shoulder.

Arya stares at him, lips parted and fear in her eyes. “Thank you.”

He takes a long breath. The gnawing feeling is gone.

He can’t find anything to say, and so he doesn’t. His hand goes to the hilt of his sword and he makes himself move.

Dead is dead, after all.

[alicenttully]

Justice

notes: inspired by the idea of what Sansa do in such a situation after a similar experience in the Vale. Her children are ten and seven, respectively.

I.

As she sat on the high table with her husband and children cloaked in the warmth and laughter of the Great Hall, Sansa Stark felt at peace. It had been fourteen years since the North had risen itself from their knees for the last time and freed themselves of their southern chains. Fourteen years since they had taken back what once was theirs. It had not been easy, to get to this moment. Castles were easy to build in one’s mind but harder to come to life. However, Sansa knew the North had enjoyed the greater advantage than much of the South in terms of rebuilding; after the smoking ruin Daenerys Targaryen had made of Kingslanding. All those people. 

The thought made Sansa shiver, and then grow cold with renewed anger when she remembered how Arya had almost died in Kingslanding because of that wretched woman.

“Are you well, Mother?” Jocelyn’s anxious voice pulled Sansa from her thoughts. “You look like you were somewhere else, for a moment.”  

Sansa smiled and gently squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Of course, darling.”

Brynden smiled and took a sip of wine. “. ���It’s all well, Joyce,” he said, using his pet name for her. He only ever called her Jocelyn when he was wroth with her.   "Sometimes your mother just needs the quiet peace of her thoughts sometimes." 

He paused and winked at Sansa. “Especially when the gods have seen fit to give her you troublesome three.”

“We’re not troublesome.” Forgetting her courtesies, came her youngest Branda’s quick retort. 

“If there’s anyone who’s troublesome, is our dearest brother.”  Jocelyn smiled, planting an affectionate kiss on her twin brother.

Ned gave the easy grin which reminded Sansa so much of Robb that it cut sometimes. “I cannot help it if trouble finds me,” he replied, duelling with his sister’s words.

Sansa exchanged fond looks with her husband as she drank in the scene of her three children.    Ned, Jocelyn, and Branda - the cornerstone of Winterfell as every stone used to build it.

II.

Later as she and Brynden prepared for bed, there came a knock on Sansa's door.

"Who is it?" Sansa asked as she combed her auburn hair. 

"It's Morgan, Your Grace."  The captain of her guards.  "There's been an incident in the Wintertown."

"Are you  sure this cannot wait until morning?" Brynden said abruptly. "Her Grace has held court all this afternoon and attended two council meetings. She is tired."

"I apologize, Prince Brynden."  Although the door was barred to them,  Sansa could picture the regretful smile on the man's weather-beaten face. "But her word is much needed right now."

Sansa smiled at her prince and touched his hand. "It's all right, Brynden." She said softly.  

III.

Seated in her throne, Sansa silently watched as two of her men brought forth another.  The man's hands were tied, and Sansa saw the way his eyes darted about - as though hoping to find a friendly face among a sea of grim faces.

"Your Grace, one of my men found this individual being inappropriate with one of the village girls in the Wintertown," Morgan said.

"Inappropriate?" Sansa questioned, although she had a strong feeling she knew Morgan's meaning.  

Morgan grimaced. "Yes. Maisie- that's the girl, was attempting to fight him off when they came upon them."

Sansa nodded, the break in her expression ever so slight and quick as the water that ran through one's fingers.  "And where is Maisie now?"

The girl stepped forward. She was hugging herself, and her expression was one of trepidation.  Sansa gave her an encouraging smile, to put her at ease. 

"Maisie, is what my captain says of you and this man true?"

Maisie gulped and nodded. "Yes, Your Grace.  It was just like they said. That man was trying to go where he wasn't wanted, and would have if yer men hadn't stepped in."

Sansa smiled at the young girl once more.  "Thank you, Maisie."  Sansa then turned to the accused. 

"What is your name?" She asked him coolly. 

"Myles, Your Grace." 

"Three people have spoken against you. Do you have anything to say in your defence?" 

Myles sneered at Maisie. "Why should I? She's a Snow, ain't she? Bastard girls are all wet for it."  Maisie burst in tears. 

"I remind you, you are speaking in the presence of your queen." Morgan cried.  Sansa raised a hand to quiet him.

"It's all right, Morgan. It's not me he insulted with his words."  Sansa said quietly, glancing over at Maisie. 

""My blood is stirred. And yours, I know . . . there's no wench half so lusty as one bastard born. Are you wet for me?"

"So tell me if I have heard this right, Myles.  Your justification for attacking Maisie is that she is a bastard, and as you say - all bastard girls are wet for it?"

Myles gulped. "Your Grace, I-"

"You would have done better to beg for forgiveness, then to say such a vile thing."  There was enough ice in Sansa's tone to give a man frostbite.  "Morgan, have this man taken to one of our cells.  I'll decide his fate in the morning.  For tonight, I want fear to be his bedfellow."  

"Yes, Your Grace." Morgan nodded at the two men, as they pulled Myles from the Great Hall, whose face had gone pale as milk.

Sansa watched them go before addressing Maisie.  "Maisie, as it is late- perhaps you would want to stay in the castle for the night? I can set you up in one of my serving girl's quarters. I am also happy to get my Maester to give you something to aid you sleep if you feel the need."

Maisie nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Your Grace."

III.

Brynden was waiting for her when she returned.

"What was needed of you?" He asked as he took her in his arms.

Sansa smiled absent-mindedly, as she thought of a castle high in the sky, a long-dead blonde singer, and a girl he believed was a Stone. 

"Justice."

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Good Wife

Request: Hi there! 😀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. Requested by @witch-of-letters

Warnings: death (but I think everyone who watched the first season knows who’s”, swearing?

Word Count: 1948.

Sansa was always the one who wanted to marry quickly and preferably a prince or a king. Arya wanted to be a warrior and hated being a lady. You were in the middle. You trained with Robb, Jon and Theon but also took ‘ladies’ courses like sewing, behaving etc. You were the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark so you had to be a role model for both your sisters and your brothers.

After the ‘usurper’ king Robert Baratheon visited Winterfell, both his ‘son’ Joffrey and Sansa showed interest in e each other. He asked your father to become hand of the king and wanted to unify the two houses by marrying Joffrey to Sansa. Ned wasn’t pleased but he accepted because Robert was the king and he was his friend. Not to mention, he was an honorable man and never wanted to cause trouble. The other reason that made his accept is because he wanted to marry you to Jaime Lannister.

“Robb! Y/n, I need to talk to you” he interrupted your duel with Robb.

“Someone’s in trouble’ Robb teased.

“Shut up” you left with your father to your chamber where he told you to sit down and have a drink for this.

“What’s wrong, father?” You saw the discomfort on his eyes.

“I never forced anything on you, have I?”.

“Never”.

“Daughter, I need you to do something for our house. You are to marry Ser Jaime Lannister”.

“What? The queen’s brother? No, I don’t want to. He’s arrogant and I don’t want to leave the north. This is my home” you refused.

“Y/n, please. I’ve never asked you for anything. You have to do this for the greater good. If Sansa is to marry Joffrey, I need to make sure that she’s safe. That you’ll be with her”.

“But you’re hand of the king now, you’ll be there for her”.

“I won’t have the time. I will be busy attending meetings and dealing with the realm’s issues. Besides, who knows for how long I’ll serve and what about after I’m dead? She’ll be all alone in the south”.

“Don’t say that, please! You’re going to live a long and happy life. I will do as you say, but only for our house”.

“Thank you, it’s a great responsibility but I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling it. I knew I could count on you” he embraced you and kissed your forehead.

“And winter is coming!” He reminded you.

When Robert told Jaime, he refused. But Robert stripped him of his title and threatened to kill him if He doesn’t obey his command. He had to accept and went to tell Cersei. She tried to convince Robert, but to no use. Cersei hated you and from that day she treated you badly.

You requested that the wedding take place in Winterfell where your whole family was and could attend and Robert approved.

“So you’re really getting married” Robb entered your room as you were preparing.

“I wish I didn’t have to” you expressed.

“Leave us” Robb dismissed your ladies so you could have a private conversation.

“Then why did you agree to do it?” He asked.

“It was father’s wish. The king suggested it to unify our houses and father couldn’t refuse, you know him” you informed Robb.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll stop the wedding- I’ll convince him” Robb wanted to help you so bad.

“It’s too late, Robb. The wedding is in a few hours. Besides, I have already agreed” you put your hand on his upper arm to comfort him, even when you were the one who needed comforting.

“Is there something I can do?”.

“Just hold me” and so he wrapped his hands around you and rested his head on yours.

“I wish the queen had a sister. Maybe then, you’d have to marry her and I’d stay here” you joked.

“I can still do that”.

“What? Marry Jaime?”.

“Sure. He has long blond hair and kind of looks like his sister” he tried to cheer you up and it worked.

After the wedding, you waited in your chamber for Jaime to come. He eventually came… late when you almost fell asleep.

“My lord” you courtesied.

He ignored you and poured himself some wine, but he was already drunk. You could see that he was forced into this, so you wanted to ease the tension between you. You walked towards him and held his hand, taking the cup from it “let me”.

“I don’t know how you imagined this marriage to be. I do not want you. I will not touch you or sleep with you. We will have separate rooms when we get back to King’s landing. You are not to interfere with my business or ask me questions about my whereabouts. I will fuck whoever I want and I expect you to not get jealous. We will only see each other at feast and formal events, where we pretend to love and care for each other. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be” he rudely instructed and left the room.

You were in shock at first. You felt offended but then relieved that you didn’t have to sleep with him.

Months went by and you only saw Jaime a couple of times. You felt lonely and missed Winterfell and your family. Sansa was still here, but she wasn’t Robb and only talked about herself. Ned was also there, but he was too busy, that sometimes you even tried to help him out of boredom.

One night, someone knocked on your door. You weren’t sure if you should open it or not. After all, you were alone and nobody usually knocks at that time. But you decided to take the chances. To your surprise, it was Jaime… drunk.

“Are you going to invite me in or are we going to stand here all night?” He boldly asked.

“Come on in”.

“Do you have wine?”.

“You’re already drunk. What do you want, Jaime?” You crossed your arms.

“I- I just needed to talk to someone” tears were forming in his eyes.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” You sat next to him at the edge of the bed.

“It’s uhm Cersei”.

“What about her?”.

“She- uh- she…I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’ll get in trouble if I told you”.

“Jaime, I know about your relationship with Cersei” you admitted.

“What? How?”.

“I have eyes and ears”.

“And you haven’t told anyone. Why?”.

“What kind of wife would I be if I did that?” You chuckled.

“Since you know, I can tell you. She refused me tonight and sent me away. I can’t bare to be apart from her” he confessed.

“It’s alright. I’m here for you” you wrapped your arm around him and he rested his head on your chest. There was silence in the room for a moment before he spoke “you’re a good wife, Y/n! Thank you” he lifted his head and kissed you.

You pulled back from surprise and asked “what are you doing?”.

“Treating you like a wife” he pushed you on the bed and was now on top of you kissing your lips and neck.

“Stop! We shouldn’t do this”.

“But we’re married”.

“That does not make it right. I don’t love you and you love your sister. You're drunk and you’re hurt. You’ll regret this in the morning. You just want a distraction and I can’t be it. If you want to forget, go fuck a whore” you pushed him and moved from beneath him, walking to the door and opening it for him.

“Now, leave, please!”.

The next day, you were walking with Sansa in the garden when he approached you.

“My lady! Y/n! Can I borrow your sister for a moment?” He asked Sansa.

“Of course” she left you two to talk.

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. Please forgive me. I promise, I’ll never come near your chambers again”.

“It’s alright, you were drunk. I forgive you. Don’t make such promises”.

“What does that mean?”.

“I’ve thought about it. If you want us to be really husband and wife, I will give you a chance. You can visit my chambers tonight” and with those words, your marriage truly began. You were happy for a time. You even fell in love with each other until the worst day came upon you. The king died, your father found the truth about Cersei and Jaime and the parentage of the sons and daughter of the queen. She imprisoned him and he was to be executed. You begged Jaime to do something, but it was to no use. Cersei and Joffrey told him to admit that what he said was a lie and confess his treason. And he did for your sake and Sansa’s, but Joffrey beheaded him to everyone’s shock. Sansa begged Cersei to spare her life and she did because she was still young and betrothed to Joffrey. The way she saw it was that she has the north in her grip, having Sansa as a hostage for them to not rebel against the throne. And she also had the chance to kill you, but Jaime defended you.“She’s her father’s daughter. She’s as much traitorous as he was”.

“No, she’s not and you know it. And if it were true, you would’ve executed Sansa too”.

“She’s just a child and she’s to be Joffrey’s wife”.

“And Y/n’s my wife!” He yelled at her.

“Only in name. You don’t love her, step aside”.

“I do love her! And she.is.my wife! Not in name only. She had nothing to do with what Ned Stark did. Now leave her be. She is a Lannister now! Just accept it”.

You were sitting by the door on the other end of the wall, listening. That’s when you remembered you are a Stark and you always will be no matter what or who you marry. It was time to go home. It was time to reunite with your family.

At night, you managed to pack a few things and sneaked snuck off to Sansa’s chamber.

“Wake up. Shhh! It’s only me. We have to go”.

“We can’t. They’ll kill us” Sansa was terrified.

“There is a chance, yes. But if we stay here, we’re as good as dead. Come with me, sister”.

“I can’t. If you- if you survive and get to Robb, don’t forget about me. Tell him to come and get me” Sansa refused to leave, so you had no other choice but to leave her behind. You said your goodbyes and were about to get on your horse when you heard his voice.

“So you’re going to abandon me?”.

“I have to go, Jaime. It’s not safe for me here”.

“I’ll protect you”.

“You can’t. Not when it comes to Cersei”.

“Please stay”.

“I have to go home. I’ve been here too long that I started to forget who I am”.

“You’re my wife”.

“I am a Stark and I always will be”.

“You’re a Lannister”.

“No. You are. Your sister is. Your bastard son who murdered my father is. I’ll never be a part of this hateful family”.

“You don’t mean that”.

“I do. Every word I said, I mean it” you tried to hurt him to make it easier for the both of you, but he knew better.

“I love you”.

“But I- I don’t” tears were forming in both of your eyes.

“You’re lying. I know you love me. You’re free! Go to your family! Be happy!” He didn't want you to feel guilty, so he pretended to be okay with you leaving.