#it's next to that queenly figure statue in the back there

[giantkillerjack]

good news everyone I found a quick and easy way to clearly communicate which chest belongs to which character

(The sign in front of Wes's chest is blank because his chest is empty and I am fucking hilarious.)

[badass-at-fandoming]

My Favorite Betrayal: Sevastian of the Winter

As one of the starter love interests for Lovestruck's popular Reigning Passions series, Sevastian of the Winter is a tumblr favorite. When I finally got around to reading his route, I enjoyed the stunning art and intricate writing--but this one moment really knocked me off my feet. I gotta post about it. Major spoilers ahoy.

One of the major themes in Sevastian's route is betrayal (which works so well in conversation with the theme of duty in Amara's route. The two routes are truly two sides of the same coin. But that's another post). From the plot to the art, betrayal, and its consequences, are everywhere. The decapitated statue in the Winter Quarter. Sevastian's nickname as "The Betrayer Prince." Heck, the Mark of the Betrayer Sevastian receives is mirrored on MC's sword-esque wedding dress.

[[Image ID 1, Sevastian pulls back his shirt to reveal a gleaming blue sword tattoo. The text reads, "Lines of twisting flame trace the shape of a stylized sword."]]

[[Image ID 2, MC and Sevastian stand side-by-side in their wedding clothes. MC's white dress has an incredibly deep and narrow neckline, with silver chain keeping it in the shape of sword. MC says, "Today marks the beginning of our life together."]]

As the plot goes on, Sevastian betrays, or contemplates betraying, various people and causes. Under the Silver Dagger persona, Sevastian betrays the other nobles by stealing their wealth. He betrays Lyris' trust and friendship by not talking to him after the wing debacle. He thinks about betraying his morals by murdering his father. You get the picture.

But there's one that stood out to me by a mile. It's this scene in s5:

[[Image ID 3, With weeping willows and fireflies behind them, Sevastian and MC stand distressed. MC has hold of Sevastian's forearm, while he leans slightly away from her. They both have anguished expressions on their faces]]

Let's re-orient. MC figures out she's the lost heir to Altadellys' throne. Lord Ubel, Sevastian's father, is salty about it, and MC and Sevastian flee his wrath and the capitol city. They hook up with the rebels, who oppose Ubel because he's an uber-rich dillweed. Led by General Nisse, the rebels task MC and Sevastian to convince the neighboring nation of Rovdyr to send troops and supplies. Our duo is on their way, but an ally betrays them. The situation devolves into a fight. A poisoned blade stabs Sevastian. Only MC's great-grandmother Edera pulling Sevastian into the hidden land of Fortrylle saves him. In this land infused with magical energy, time "stops" for Sevastian, and there's time to find the antidote for his ailment. Which is great, except the rebel cause is pressed for time. They need those Rovdyr allies. As illustrated in the above CG, Sevastian has the brilliant plan of leaving Fortrylle, letting himself die, and thereby forcing MC to get on with her royal future.

And I saw red.

My reaction was as searing as it was visceral. As a queer person, it's a very special experience to feel seen and represented in a work, but this was the first time I felt seen and absolutely hated it. This time, Sevastian was betraying MC and all they had fought for to be together. By throwing away his life, he was throwing all the choices MC had made to be with him right back in her face.

Part of the strength of my reaction stemmed from the fact that I had the 1980s AIDS epidemic on the brain. I'd recently watched Netflix's Circus of Books documentary. In it, a monogamous cishet couple recalled the epidemic and how it affected their lives and bookstore, which was a gay hot spot. Overnight, it seemed, their employees and customers started dying. They added hospital runs to their weekly errands. They called homophobic parents to inform them of their son's death.

And here, in the distorted mirror of fiction, was another queer man dying. No, not dying, but killing himself, so his partner "didn't have to suffer." So they "wouldn't be held back." So she could "move on" with her life and her queenly destiny. I'd heard those reasons before. I spiraled into the hundreds of stories of queer people killing themselves so their straight-passing partner could integrate into the heteronormative; into what others wanted them to be. The parallels drove me mad. Like these other deaths, his suicide felt so needless. Sevastian went on and on about how the rebels needed their queen, their rallying point.

The real kicker is: they don't. Like, no gamer wants to hear that their character is unnecessary to the story, but it's true in this case. MC and Sevastian don't bring anything particularly special to the rebel cause. They don't know military strategy or secret supply routes or a hitherto unknown access point to Altadellys. We learn later that Captain Amara and Queen Safir are around. With Amara's long history of service and Safir being the literal lost queen, they lend an equal, if not greater, sense of legitimacy to the revolt, and are excellent rallying points. Even securing Rovdyr forces don't require MC: General Nisse makes a war treaty with them on her own in Amara's route. The most MC and Sevastian contribute is Ubel's stolen funds. But once those are handed over, they're superfluous.

Just to nail this point home, MC has repeatedly said she doesn't have any particular inclination to be queen. It's more that the other options are terrible. Any destiny to be queen, any ultimate desire to wear the crown, is all in Sevastian's head. He's ignoring what she most wants, which is him, alive and by her side and loving her. I wanted to throttle him. In the midst of sickness and death, they had a chance to live in peace.

So, my God, was I impressed by this writing. For the low, low price of $0, I was absolutely knocked on my ass. Shit's GOOD, bro. I had to gush about it. Thank goodness the next scene gave us an affirming cuddle as a breather.

[[Image ID 4, MC and Sevastian stand close together in a grove of weeping willows. MC's eyes are closed. The text reads, "I lean into his chest as he curls his arms around me, half wishing I could crawl under his shirt and hide there."]]

This post is mega-long and has not real point besides LOOK AT THIS PRETTY, but ya know. Binge read Reigning Passions and you'll see what I mean. Thanks for reading!

[herpronuonsarefemslash]

Back Against the Wall - TEASER

Recent poll winner for the prompt: - Kara forgets to button the last button at CatCo event, gets swarmed by omegas.

Includes the following items in every box: * Cat Grant returns * Nia is flustered by Cat Grant * Andrea is thirsty * Lena is slightly devious * Kara doesn't "get" Earth taboos

https://www.patreon.com/posts/54179252

=====

"Well, well, well...aren't you all grown up, Kiera?"

Kara spins so fast that it has Nia coughing in a way that sounds suspiciously like 'secret identity'.

"Cat," she mumbles.

Elegant as ever, her old boss lifts her flute of champagne to her lips, her trademark platinum bracelet twinkling in the low lighting. Behind Cat is a strawberry blonde omega clad in a shimmering drape of green silk seemingly modeled after the chitons so popular on statues of Greek goddesses. It bares her legs to mid-thigh and the silver-plated clasps leave tantalizing glimpses of milky flesh between hips and ribs. The collar is turtleneck-high and crushed velvet, leading to a gold chain. The outline is tempting without being glued to her bust and her butt, and so like something at the National City University sculpture garden that no one would dare call it racy. Perhaps it's an in-joke between them about her very classical figure: all curves and heft in tribute to the ancient feminine from ages before anyone heard of 'thigh gap'. The omega's scent screams admiration and her hand never leaves the small of Cat's back. Kara spots a tiny scar on Cat's braceleted wrist. It's a better place for a businesswoman to have a bite, Kara supposes. Easier to conceal. Never let them know what the rules are, Cat once told her.

"Right," Kara finally manages. "Good point."

"Naturally," Cat retorts. "I made it. This is Vania."

Rao's mercy. The Amazon? Aella and Melanippe's daughter?

"Lovely to meet you, sister," Vania drawls. "For you it's Van, or just V."

"You haven't introduced me to your date, Kiera."

"This is Nia. Ah...a friend."

"My..." Nia pauses. "...partner is having a rough patch. We're trying to keep it low key for him. So when I go out, it's with Kara."

"Nia Nal."

"I'm Cat Grant. Obviously."

The handshake is brief and jerky and meant to show a burst of strength but also respect. Nia is making Kara's alpha feel foolish and inadequate tonight.

"The pieces on fashion, expression, and gender," Cat recalls, tapping a long finger against her wine glass. "And the op-ed on status-body divergence. I'm guessing those were yours?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ma'am," Cat huffs. "Ma'am is my mother. An association you do not want me to make. Those articles were tolerable. I thought you seemed familiar."

Nia shivers. Cat turns her all-seeing gaze back on Kara. Pale blue, almost green. Knife-sharp and intense enough to spear Kara to the spot, bracing for a verbal beat-down.

"I recommended to Ms. Luthor that she assign Nia to you, Kara."

"You did? You personally?" Nia all but squeals.

"Mmm. But I wanted you to teach her how to show some spine, Kara. Not donate yours," she teases.

Van slides her arm in Cat's and gestures towards the banquet table.

"Let Kara be, my heart."

She turns her ocean-blue eyes on Nia and waves a hand idly at the food.

"Come, little oracle. I do love a good story of Cat's handpicked proteges," she purrs.

As the trio passes by, Kara feels blunt nails scrape across her abs.

"Missed a button," one of her tormentors hisses.

=====

The 'crisis' turns out to be Lena and Andrea next door in the omega's ladies, still dressed to the nines, with the alpha waiter that they'd hijacked held between them. Andrea's long fingers are curled around the waiter's cock. Each pump is slow. Deliberate. Controlling. Lena's tongue traces the poor woman's ear--pink, puffy, and perfect--dragging strangled sounds from deep in her ribs. Andrea's bending over more than she needs to, making sure Kara has a good view of her golden skin. Up and down she strokes, up and down goes the mind-melting glimpse of her cleavage.

"Nice of you to join us," Lena purrs. "I knew I could count on Supergirl."

There's something about the waiter, too. Something familiar.

"You're the vigilante that I had to save six months ago."

The woman was good, and obviously had excellent training. Batman-level moves but no Batsuit. Bruce won't admit it, but the fifty million dollars of bulletproof armor matters.

"Answer her, love."

=====

Kara's too hasty in setting them down on Lena's balcony, making Andrea tumble out of her grip into a heap. Thankfully, she landed on one of Lena's chairs for sunbathing.

"Whatcha think?" Kara whispers to Stephanie, nodding at the tangle of golden skin, ruined designer silk and embarrassed slash horny scent. One of Andrea's Givenchy heels is dangling on snapped straps and the other probably went over the edge of the balcony. A quick glance with X-Ray vision finds it embedded in a planter. Since the falling stiletto didn't smash anyone's brains, she decides it's not Supergirl's problem.

"I think you should fuck her."

Kara nearly jumps back into the sky at the sound of Lena's voice.

Lena toes off her own shoes and walks over to the deck chair. She gathers Andrea's silky mane into a fist and yanks.

"Lee," Andrea moans. "Please."

"Please what, Andrea? Please, Lena! Protect me from a pair of alphas? Please, Lena! Let you pay me back for the way I betrayed you by letting them fuck me sore? Please, Lena! Let me earn your trust by taking their knots?"

"All of it," Andrea mumbles. "Except the first bit."

=====

Lena claps appreciatively and disappears inside, soon returning with baby wipes, paper towels and an energy drink for Andrea. Someone's phone goes off and the three of them--Andrea is working hard just to keep track of a straw--hunt through the pile of clothes until they find it.

"Fuck," Stephanie hisses. "I have to go."

Lena glances over her shoulder.

"He does not call it the Bat-ification. Does he?"

"I tried to trick him into calling the alerts 'bush', for Bat-push, but Batwoman caught me."

Andrea wheeze-laughs.

"Kate Kane knows her way around a bush, I'll give her that."

=====

Kara is not a fan of capitalism in general.

But having Lena's fridge restocked to abundance in tidy rows by some white-gloved person every day makes a case for some aspects of it.

Lena on tiptoes in a loosely tied kimono of queenly purple, straining her pretty little fingers for the switch for the stove's exhaust fan? That can excuse any injustice.

"Little help?" her best friend whines, using her scent in a way Kara doesn't remember Nia ever using to make Kara reach something in the supply closet at work. Nia's probably just not as crafty. Who is, really?

Kara walks around the breakfast counter and curls her fingers around the omega's hips, thumbs pushing in just a bit so she can stroke the delicate arch that frames Lena's pelvis.

"You could just reach up and do it," Lena reminds her, but she's short of breath.

"Gotta teach billionaires to be self-sufficient," Kara teases before she lifts her up.

"Fuck," Lena pants, bracing her hand against the exhaust hood and scrambling madly for a switch with fingers shaking so hard she can barely work it.

[mka1098]

I Ask For Your Hand In Marriage - A PJO Fanfic

A Percy Jackson Royal AU Fanfiction 

Description: Percy is a prince, Annabeth is a royal overseer and they both are idiots who don’t realize they are in love. 

Hear it read aloud here ! - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LY0R0M8ZiE&t=17s 

Chapter One

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…” 

In fact, Percy was not doing ‘nothing’. He was basically planking on a wooden stool; he had stolen it from the kitchens. “This  isn’t nothing.” Annabeth said with a pointed tone. Percy looked at her with big innocent seal eyes. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

 Technically, he wasn’t. He was just laying on the wooden stool, swimming in the air like a normal person. Because normal people did that right? Yeahh… they totally did. 

“Where on earth did you get that?” She asked, walking over to him and crossing her arms. Her eyes were on the stool and Percy smirked up at her.

 “Oh this old thing? It’s always been here; nice to see you taking note in my decorations.” He said sarcastically. 

Annabeth frowned. “Why is this in your room.” She said tiredly. She muttered, ``I'm so tired of this, under her breath. Percy ignored it.

 “Kitchens. I wanted to teach the kids how to swim but since they have to stay by their parents, it has to be in the air. And I’ve never swam in the air so I’m practicing.” He explained.

 The corner of Annabeth’s lips raised; she was holding back a smile. “You’re a dork.” She said affectionately. Percy practically flopped around the stool; his abs were hurting from trying to stay up.

 “I’m doing good.” Percy defended himself. Annabeth ruffled his hair, making it more messy than it already was. 

“You’re always trying too.” She said with a smile. “But get up, you have other duties to perform; those that pertain to more than just the children in the kitchens.” Annabeth dragged him up and off of the stool by the front of his sleep shirt. 

“Awww.” He whined but stood up straight, reveling in the visible cringe on Annabeth's face as he stood taller than her. 

“Get that smirk off your face and get dressed. We’re meeting with the King and Queen.” Annabeth said, picking up the stool to probably go put it back. 

Percy rolled his eyes. “Those are my parents. They’ve seen me as a naked baby. I don’t think they care about me in Pjs.” He said snarkily. Annabeth narrowed her grey eyes at him. 

“It’s good to get ready anyways.” She told him, pinching the fabric of his seas themed fleece PJ pants. 

Percy stuck his tongue out at her. “Just for you.” Percy said sassily, tearing off his shirt and shrugging on a ‘nicer’ sweatshirt. It was nicer because unlike the former, it had no holes in it. Annabeth scoffed and turned around to leave the room. 

“You don’t wanna be here when I change into jeans?” Percy called after her with a devilish laugh. 

”You wish, Jackson.” Annabeth threw behind her shoulder.

Percy chuckled to himself. Not only was Annabeth his best friend, but she was also his royal overseer; it was an uproar when they announced it. The past 3 kings had the same royal overseer so it had been a shock to everyone when a randam, non-noble teenage girl had been chosen by the crown prince to take that role. But truly, she was the best option. 

For one, Percy did not listen to anyone but Annabeth. There was no way even wise old Chiron could get him to follow the old traditions that he needed too. Annabeth was able to make Percy begrudgingly put on the formal suits and perform speeches. Not only that, she was responsible, smart and organized; all things a royal overseer needed to be. Percy was so happy to have her in his life. She was the best friend ever; she dealt with him and organized everything. And she was funny and caring and never let him get away with being an idiot. They had been friends for years, 12 to be exact. Annabeth knew him better than he knew himself. 

“That took far too long.” Annabeth deadpanned when Percy stepped out of his bedroom. He stuck his tongue out at her, as all adults do. 

“No big deal.” He said, throwing an arm around Annabeth's shoulders. She shoved it off with a frown. 

“You should still look your best and be on time. Nevermind the fact that they are your parents.” She chastised. 

Percy rolled his eyes but didn’t object or talk back. “Good morning!’ He chimed to the staff; they smiled widely and greeted him with optimistic remarks. Percy had always made it a goal to make all the staff feel welcome and seen. Maybe times in the past, they were regarded as tools and Percy resented that past. 

“I overheard your father has a huge proclamation for you.” One of the staff members said with a smirk.

 Percy tilted his head to the side? “Really? They just said they wanna talk to me.” He thought out loud. 

The staff member sent him a tense smile. “Hopefully you don’t mind his proclamation.” Percy’s eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. What? Why wouldn’t he like what his father had to say? At most, it would be oh add this class to your studies, retake this class, help the general with his plans, do more royal duties. He looked over to Annabeth who was scribbling in her journal; it held all her secrets, tasks and everything. He knew this because he had stolen it once and got judo flipped in return. 

“Do you know anything?” He asked curiously. She looked up to him. “No idea.” She said drily. 

Percy couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Either way, he had no time to figure it out because Annabeth had pushed open the throne room doors. “Ah, you’re up.” His father said with mirth in his eyes. Percy rolled his eyes like an angsty teenager. 

“No, dad I’m sleepwalking.” He replied. His father turned to his mother. 

“He gets the sass from you.” Poseidon said. 

Sally laughed. “Don’t act like you didn't contribute.” She said in a sing-song voice. Poseidon ignored that. 

“My king and queen.” Annabeth said solemnly, bowing her head

. The entire family rolled their eyes; it was ridiculous that Annabeth still felt as if she needed to bow to them or say your highness. She had practically grown up running around their halls and spoke casually to Percy. Despite all their efforts, she always used royalty manners. Poseidon cleared his throat and looked at Percy.

 “Son.” He said curtly. “Father.” Percy replied with snark; Poseidon stifled a laugh. “You are 18 now. You are an adult-” The king started. Annabeth snorted halfway through muttering, I beg to differ, your highness. Snickering, he continued. “You are going to begin to take more pressing and complex royal duties when you are 25. Starting now as a legal adult, it is important you begin to take on roles for the public to see.” Percy nodded. His parents exchanged a look. “You must find a queen.”

Percy stumbled backwards… what? He needed to what? “Now?” Percy asked in an incredulous manner. He was met with serious nods and stares. “Why now?” He practically whined. 

Percy knew he was being a brat but… they telling him he needed to find the person he’d rule next to, have children with and spend the rest of his life with… now. At age 18! He couldn’t even figure out his favorite movie, much less his permanently future wife. 

“Perseus, you of all people know how difficult it is for power exchanges to occur. Especially for Princesses from outer and different kingdom. They are deliberate and must take time. Lot’s of time, as we must start now. You need a queen. Our subjects must not be led to believe you’re underqualified to be their king.” Poseidon said strictly. He was definitely thinking of the gossiping nobles. 

Percy sighed but nodded. “I get that.” He moped. His father nodded. “But why do I need to find a queen now? I’m not taking the throne for years, I don’t need to have an heir anytime soon.” He protested.

 This time, his mother spoke. “Percy, when you start managing all of your royal duties, you work in tandem with your future queen. It wouldn’t make sense to leave that space blank. A new king and queen won’t be able to handle an entire kingdom. You need to begin your interlocking duties in the next year, so that by the time you ascent; it’s as if you’ve been ruling for years. We can’t just thrust a new queen in the middle of that entire complicated and delicate situation. Your queen will be giving her input on most all of the pressing situations and you’ll have to work on covering each other's biases. You can’t do it all alone.” Sally said with a gentle smile. 

Still Percy frowned. 

“Can’t Annabeth take over the queen’s duties and input for the time being? I don’t want to rush a relationship. She already knows what to do. She knows me well and can cover the biases or my weak areas. The royal overseer already performs duties like this. We can do it until I find a queen.” Percy tried to convince his parents but they shook their heads. 

“No, Percy. That could cause a slew of drama. You’re not going to want that and nor will your future queen.” The king said. 

“She’s my best friend and she’s fit for the role!” Percy objected. 

This time, Annabeth told him to hush. “The future queen must never be a person to be deliberated over. She must be certain. Listen to what your father is saying, there was already an uproar when I became your overseer; I do not want to even imagine the outcome of me taking on queenly duties without taking that title in the future. And more so importantly than gossip… you must marry someone of Royal status. It would be beneficial for our kingdom to have another truce. No royal-blooded Princess would want a husband who has his ‘best friend’ take over her royal duties. Must less, a commoner.” Annabeth said firmly. 

The king nodded in agreement. Percy sighed in defeat. “I don’t like this. But fine. What am I even supposed to do though?” He asked. 

Sally smiled at Annabeth. “Annabeth has lovingly and painstakingly created a plan to help you.” Percy snorted. When did she not have a plan? “She has a list of Princesses from good reputation kingdoms and has invited them to spend a day with you.” Percy sputtered. 

“Whoa so this is like speed dating or something?” 

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “No, you idiot. It’s not speed dating; who do you think I am? Each week, you will meet with one Princess for a day. If you find that you’re extremely compatible with one of them; she will be your queen.” Annabeth explained, shoving her blonde curls behind her ears.

 Percy made a silent O with his mouth. Seaweed brain, she mouthed at him. “I’d say even though it’s rather untraditional; it is a plan that has a high probability of working.” His father said.

 Annabeth nodded. “It was created with Percy in mind, your highness. Which I will admit made it difficult.” She said with a smirk. Percy squawked offendedly. “And we thank you for the plan, Annabeth dear.” His mother said kindly.

 “No one else knows him well enough.” The blonde smiled politely and bowed her head. “That is all. You two can brief on it if you’d like.” Poseidon said. Percy left after telling his parents `I love you` and kissing his mother’s cheek; Annabeth bowed, said `thank you, my king and queen` and followed Percy out the door.

That’s Chapter One! I just had an idea and ran with it. 

[wendynerdwrites]

Sweet! Then I'm sending you one: when Jon tells Sansa he's going south to meet Dany (S7) she starts to learn self defense because she thinks she's all alone now... and somehow this leds to an intense argument about the current situation, the future and their feelings. Thanks;)

Enjoy!

The crypts are lit brighter than she’s ever seen them, the walls appearing more amber than charcoal for once. She’s not surprised to see Jon in the distance, standing right in front of the statue of Lyanna. She pauses by the entrance and watches him for a few seconds, observing his expression, searching for some type of sign… But the look in his eyes is inscrutable. Is he looking at the stone likeness of his mother as if for the first time, or is it because it may be his last?

No one can know how much this hurts. Hence why she’s been avoiding him so much since he announced he was traveling south to parlay with the Dragon Queen. A decision that has an extra layer of significance to just a few. For the lords, it’s simply their king going on a political mission. Seven Hells, some even suggested he send Sansa instead, since she is the one who handles most of the diplomatic matters. But no, it’s Jon who is going. He knows why. Sansa knows why. Bran knows why. Arya knows why.

But Sansa imagines even among the four of them, this circumstance means something very particular to her. Her unmarried, kingly cousin is going to meet his secret, powerful, rich, unmarried queenly aunt. Daenerys Targaryen, who is supposedly as beautiful as Queen Rhaenys and as fierce as Queen Visenya. The Mother of Dragons.

There will be controversy, if Jon bends the knee. She just hope he has enough sense to retain his title and independence. She hopes he thinks to preserve the line of succession as it is, as well. After all, where will her children, and Arya’s children go if everything is passed to the dragons?

She wishes Jon hadn’t summoned her here like this. It’s the first time he’s employed his status to make her do anything. She understands why he’s done it. What choice has she given him? But it hurts too much, seeing him now.

If and when he weds his aunt, the lords will erupt in fury. They declared him king because they want to be independent. And the Trident and Vale lords will be especially furious, with Jon potentially diverting sovereignty of the Three Realms from Catelyn Tully’s line.

They may insist on supplanting Jon and if that happens…

She doesn’t want to betray Jon. But Bran is underage and they only just got Arya back. If she is too loyal to the “Targaryen” king, she won’t be able to protect them, the North, or Winterfell. She may have to supplant him. She may have to become his enemy.

He will never know how much it will hurt her to do that. But if the choice comes to him or protecting her family, she has to protect her family.

She can’t bear to say that to him, though she knows she should. She tried to warn him, the night he announced he’d be leaving. But he wouldn’t listen. He actually refused her company. He drew away first. And now… Whatever courage she had that night failed her. She’s been acting the craven since.

I’m a Stark, she reminds herself, I must be brave.

Sansa clears her throat loudly enough to echo through the crypts, drawing Jon’s gaze. She even curtseys, eliciting a pained furrow of his brow.

“Please, Sansa,” he says, reaching out, “Come here and talk to me.”

He’s pleading, really, for her to close the gap. She can do that physically, but he’s the one who will widen it again. By thousands upon thousands of literal miles to complement the metaphorical ones.

She makes herself walk to him, though. Perhaps Jon thinks he’s doing this for only the right reasons. But if he thinks they can have an open conversation without her trying to talk him out of it, he’s mad. She has to guard herself.

Sansa moves close and turns her gaze to the stone face of Lyanna Stark. Looking at Lyanna’s son hurts too much at such close range. There’s an awkward silence as Jon faces his mother’s tomb as well.

“I have heard from Maester Daeron that you have taken up the study of poisons. And Arya has informed me that you now strap a dagger to your stockings during the day and hide it under your pillow at night.”

He’s smart to mention Arya. He wants her to know he hasn’t been spying on her. That people who love her and worry about her brought him this information. Still, this is the last thing Sansa expected to discuss with him.

“I am merely taking the steps to make sure I can protect myself,” she says quietly.

“From who?” He asks.

“Many people. Even within Winterfell’s walls, there could be enemies, and even as I gain one ally, it seems I lose another. Every day is more uncertain. Littlefinger alone—”

“—You think I’d let that man lay a hand on you?!” Jon snaps.

“You’re not going to be here before long,” she reminds him.

“I won’t be gone long!” He insists.

“I think we both know that’s not true.” Before he can protest, she turns to look at him again. “Besides, Jon, it’s not your responsibility to look after me anymore. It’s time I learn to do it myself. I need to stop expecting you to protect me.”

“Why?!” He demands, furious, “Because I’m not your brother?!”

“Because I’m an adult!” She insists, “And because I can’t—-”

“—You promised to trust me!”

“—You promised that you wouldn’t leave me alone!”

They glare at each other silently. Jon bows his head.

“I will always—”

“—Care? You think that’s going to matter after you’re married?!” She demands. “When all your vassals declare a revolt because you’ve handed our kingdom back to the Iron Throne and I will be forced to choose between you and literally everything else?!”

He steps back and gapes at her. “What are you talking about? Is that some Littlefinger nonsense?!”

“No, Jon!” She snaps, stung, “It’s reality! Do you honestly think that after Robb, after Lyanna, after the Red Wedding and the War of the Five Kings, that your subjects will let you marry a foreigner and reinstate southern rule?! Especially once they learn the truth? I’m going to be the one who has to handle that, Jon. I’m going to be the one here. Don’t you get it?! You may never get to come back! I’ll be lucky if Manderly and Ryswell don’t force a coup and use Bran to control the North through a regency!”

She stops and gasps. There. There it was.

“Sansa, I—”

She finds her words again. “I don’t want to do it, Jon! You have to believe me! I… I love you… But I have to do what’s right for Bran and Arya. And you… You’re the one leaving. And I want you to be happy, but I can’t promise to preserve your status. It’s not because I’m jealous, Jon, I swear. But you can’t run off and marry a foreign queen who wants to dominate us and expect me to keep your kingdom warm and waiting for you. I would if I could, I promise. I would! I would! I love you that much. But I can’t.”

There it is again. She’s told him. And the effort is so draining that she literally sinks to the ground and buries her face in her hands.What must he think of her? She’s supposed to be his sister…

She expects him to flee. To leave the sobbing mess she’s become.

Sansa doesn’t expect him to sink down beside her, grab her by the shoulders, and kiss her deep.

It’s a sweeter, deeper, warmer kiss than any she’s known. And against his lips, she discovers instincts she had no idea she possesses to part her lips, lean in, clutch his hair, and kiss him back. She isn’t even able to think until their lips part. Until she looks into his eyes again and realizes what this might mean.

“I’m such a fool…” he says, “I was leaving to protect you, Sansa. I intended to surrender myself to her in exchange for your safety and title. I had no idea…”

“What?!”

He’s red-faced and sputtering. “I was going to abdicate in your favor once I was gone and offer myself to Daenerys. She’d not have to worry about my claim competing with hers if she acknowledged and allied with you. I just wanted you to be safe, to put you on the throne like you deserve. You don’t think I know how much our vassals value our independence? I was counting on it! But simply abdicating would make it harder for you to assert your authority. So when we learned of my origins, I figured I’d throw myself to the dragons and pretend to take everyone with me so they’d overthrow me and put you in my place.”

“WHY?!”

“Because The North should be yours! Because it’s the only way to make sure you never have to be forced under anyone’s control again! Because I love you! More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone…”

He stops talking, looks at the ground, and shakes his head. “…If I had any idea that you felt the same way…”

Sansa gapes. “Jon, I… Marry me. Please. Don’t leave me.”

“I have to leave, Sansa, but…” He looks up again. “I’ll marry you. I’ll make an offer to Daenerys. But I’ll offer to sign away my rights to be your consort. Let me do that for you, please. And I promise I’ll come home to you. I’ll marry you tonight, if you wish. And I’ll return home to you as soon as possible.”

There’s a long silence. She can’t believe this. “Truly?”

“Truly, Sansa.” He smiles. “The only way I ever could have left you was by sacrificing myself, but now that I know the truth, I can’t even do that.” He takes her hands and the two rise to their feet, eyes locked. “You’re mine, Sansa Stark. And I’ll steal you, if I have to.”

Her lips curl. “Steal me? You couldn’t possibly.”

Jon smirks. Next thing Sansa knows, she’s over his shoulder, being carried out of the crypts.

The two say nothing, merely laugh as he makes his way out of the Keep, stopping only to throw a cloak over both of them, and carries her all the way to the godswood. When they finally arrive at the base of the Heart Tree, he lets her down, making sure to keep his cloak on her shoulders.

“There,” he says, “I stole you.”

“No,” she argues, wagging her finger in his face, “One cannot steal what is freely given.”