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itsgameofthronesimagines · 4 years

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A Brother’s Vow (Part One)

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Ship: Jaime Lannister x Female!Reader (Past Tyrion Lannister x Female!Reader)

Background ships: SanSan (let’s be honest, all of my Game of Thrones fics have SanSan somewhere in it, sue me) and Gendrya.

Tags: a brothers vow got

Summary: The war is over, but at what cost? Jaime is trying to find a place in this new world without falling apart and in order to right some wrongs, he tries to take care of you. But is it for selfish or selfless reasons?

Author’s Note: The Reader is the eldest daughter of the Stark siblings who was trapped alongside Sansa in King’s Landing before forced to escape after Joffrey’s murder. Unable to escape with Sansa, she was tossed in a cell with Tyrion but later goes to Meereen with him after Jaime and Varys snuck them away before their execution. This will most likely not be mentioned in the story but I figured I should touch a bit of that information before you dive into the fic. I’m trying to avoid plot holes and past tense so forgive me in advance if you ever get lost or confused. Also, this does not follow the plot of Season 8. You’re welcome!

Warnings: (Does it really need warnings? It’s Game of Thrones) Major Character Death, gruesome, depression, self-hate, cursing (I will add on more the further down I write)

Word Count: 2,000+

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

~~~~~~~~~

She heard the bells of the city ring out and she knew they had won. She let her shoulders rest while breathing out a sigh of relief. From on top of her horse, Y/n looked on either side of her and exchanged looks of joy and solace with Varys, Sansa, Clegane, and Missandei from their horsebacks as well. The five of them had hung back outside the gates of King’s Landing while Daenerys and Jon’s armies took control of the city. Sandor would have been among this siege hadn’t he volunteered to stay and guard the others who could not fight. But Y/n knew better. She knew by the way he would occasionally glance over at her fire-kissed sister. The last time she caught him staring at Sansa, she managed to make eye contact with the Hound and flashed a smug smile at him. He glared right back and looked away.

With the bells now ringing, Y/n and the others gently kick the sides of their horses and inch towards the opened gates with Sandor taking the lead to make sure it was safe. There shouldn’t be any wandering Lannister soldiers running about in their path towards the Red Keep, but it was better to be cautious than anything.

It appeared as though their plan had worked beautifully. While their armies had noisily made their approach to the city, no one had ever noticed Jaime, Tyrion, and Arya sneaking into the Red Keep along with a crowd of city folk trying to find shelter under their blessed queen’s protection. While the three of them tear out Cersei’s roots from the inside, Jon, Daenerys, and their allies would bring the fight to them on the outskirts of King’s Landing. Making sure that the attention was always on their soldiers and their dragons, the heroes had left an opening for Arya and the Lannister brothers to reach the Queen. They must have succeeded in apprehending her else the bells would not be ringing.

They trot through the stone-paved streets, looking around at the bodies of soldiers and made note of any civilians lurking about. Some soldiers they noticed to be theirs but the majority of the bodies appeared to be all fitting Lannister armor, and not a single body of a woman or child, thankfully. No harm had come to the innocents this time, unlike the poor women and children who were killed in the crypts of Winterfell during the Long Night.

When they finally make it to the Red Keep, Ser Davos is standing there, waiting for them. His armor is bloodied and he looked exhausted but appeared unharmed otherwise. His sword was missing and so his hands were kept busy by being folded behind his back as he stared up at his allies approaching on horseback, unable to control his smile, withered as it may be, “Took you all long enough. Did ya hear the bells?”

“You’re one to talk,” Clegane grumbles, “What took you so long to ring the bloody bells in the first place?”

“I’m not sure. I reckon capturing Cersei had something to do with it. Maybe it was a bit more difficult than we thought.”

“My fucking brother is the one guarding her. Of course, it was going to be difficult.”

“Well, then. Why didn’t YOU go with the others to ambush her?”

“Because he wouldn’t have been able to sneak through the Red Keep unnoticed,” Y/n sighs as though she was growing tired of explaining this. It did take some persuading to convince Sandor not to take his revenge on his brother after all, “With his height and his face, it wouldn’t take long for someone to recognize him and the element of surprise would no longer be on our side.”

“Honestly, Ser Davos,” Varys smirked, amused, “And Lord Tyrion calls you the greatest smuggler alive.”

“I’m retired. Give me a morsel.”

“Where is our Queen?” Missandei changes the subject, worried for her friend and Grey Worm since neither was anywhere to be found.

“A group of them stormed the castle once the bells were rung. No doubt going to help the others take Cersei into custody.”

Y/n dismounts her horse and walks past Davos to make it inside the keep, the others doing the same and following slowly behind her. Sansa lingered in the back and placed a gloved hand on Davos’ shoulder, “Get some rest, Ser Davos. You’ve earned it.”

They leave the Onion Knight outside and walk into the castle, ignoring the throne room, and instead, they head up the stairs towards the Queen’s chambers where they knew Cersei would have been hiding in during the battle. It was a long and steep walk, their legs already aching from the horseback riding and now their knees protest as they push on up the staircase.

It was Sansa who heard it first; the faint whimpers and cries of anguish coming from further up the staircase, “Do any of you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Her sister asked.

Sansa didn’t even bother to answer Y/n and instead marched past her to race up the stairs, hiking her skirt up to cover more ground.

“Sansa-!”

“It’s not safe, little bird,” Sandor called after her and so he and Y/n follow far behind Sansa.

By the time they also heard the crying, Sansa’s scream of horror had followed suit and Clegane had drawn his sword before Y/n could even blink. She stays right at his heels with the others trying to catch up behind her. The Hound and the Stark woman get to the top of the stairs and run through the courtyard of Holdfast to find a shocking sight.

Sansa was unharmed but uncontrollably sobbing as Jon and Arya, also unharmed, hold her close for comfort. For someone who had spent his entire life searching for revenge, Sandor barely blinks in the direction of the Mountain’s body scattered into pieces all over the floor with the map of Westeros painted on it. He instead, hovers over the Stark siblings consoling one another with the exception of Y/n.

Her eyes were set on a different scene.

She noticed the back of Daenerys’ braided silver hair first, slightly in a disarray from the battle as the Targaryen queen knelt on the floor of stone, hovering over something she and a mortified Jaime were tending to. Y/n noticed that it was the pair of them behind the source of the crying.

When Jon looked up to notice his older siste- cousin step towards Dany and Jaime, he breaks away from Sansa and Arya to stop her, “Wait, Y/n. It’s not a sight you want to see-”

With a warning like that, Y/n could feel her blood instantly freeze as she makes the final steps over to the Kingslayer and the Mother of Dragons.

The thing lying in between Daenerys and Jaime was the body of Tyrion… or what was left of it.

Y/n lost her will to breathe or control her blurring vision of tears within a span of two seconds when her eyes first caught sight of the body. She all but collapsed to her knees just above the youngest Lannister’s head, losing control of her hands as they lift his head and place it on her lap on their own accord. She had managed to pull one of the hands away to inspect her now bloodied palm that once lay on the back of Tyrion’s skull. When she looked back down, she noticed his eyes were still open and looking out to the sky, distant and far away from her and this world.

Daenerys had placed a shaking hand on Y/n’s shoulder but she did not feel it. Sansa’s and Jaime’s cries echoed in her ears but she did not hear them. Her heart was breaking…

But she could barely feel it.

She had lost all sense of time after that. When she wakes up in an unfamiliar bed-chamber, they told her she had screamed until the blood rushed to her head and she passed out. That was two days ago.

Y/n barely even blinked as Jon regrettably tells her everything. From what he was told from Arya, the young Stark girl along with Jaime and Tyrion had managed to make it into Holdfast using old passageways and secret tunnels the Lannister brothers knew of, but they didn’t make it very far. Once entering the courtyard with the battle map painted on the floor, Cersei was seated at the table waiting for them there… with the Mountain ready to attack.

Neither Jaime nor Arya were quick enough to draw their swords before Gregor Clegane swung his newly appointed Warhammer and bashed Tyrion over the head with it, sending the dwarf flying across the floor. With a loud crack, it was over in a matter of seconds. When Samwell Tarly later inspected the body, he clarified that the death was quick. Tyrion did not feel any pain. When Jon relayed this to Y/n, she didn’t react, and so he continued to catch her up on the following events with an even heavier heart.

Driven by grief and maddened by the obnoxious laughter coming from Cersei, Jaime had charged the Mountain by himself and nearly lost his head for it, both literally and figuratively. Arya had managed to shove him out of the way and after that, the two focused on working together to bring the Mountain down. They must have stabbed him several times before realizing that the only way to bring down an undead Gregor was to chop him up to pieces, leaving the head for last.

Once Arya finished Clegane off, Jaime marched over to Cersei and blindly choked the life out of her. She was still laughing even to her dying breath.

And that’s how Jon and Daenerys had found them after the bells of surrender rung. Dany had joined Jaime in mourning over Tyrion’s body, her wails of anguish filling up the room alongside the Kingslayer’s. It wasn’t long after that did Sansa find the horrific scene, screaming and alerting those who had following her into the castle. After Y/n had fainted from screaming, Grey Worm and the rest of the Unsullied moved back out the castle to clean up the mess of the battlefield as his way of giving everyone else their privacy after such a heavy loss. Varys promised to stay with Tyrion’s body if Daenerys and Jaime went to rest and grieve among themselves. And in a way, it was for the Spider to grieve the loss of his friend alone as well. Jon had Arya and Sandor take a distraught Sansa away from the scene while he carried Y/n out. For the next couple of days, while Y/n and the others rested, the Unsullied took control of the city and for once, King’s Landing was dead silent.

Jon didn’t appear as though he had rested. None of them did once Y/n was allowed to leave her room to see them. He stayed with her the whole time, however, almost as if he was afraid of what would happen if he did. Y/n couldn’t blame him for thinking that way. She had thought of it, too.

Daenerys and Sansa busied themselves with their duties in order to keep themselves from thinking about their loss for too long. Dany had dark rings under her eyes while her silver hair remained unruly. The Dragon Queen would tend to her children or plan the reconstruction of the city from her place on the Iron Throne, refusing to do much else as she desperately tried helping any of the women and children who needed shelter until their homes were rebuilt. It was her own way of honoring her Hand’s life.

Sansa appeared to be keeping her appearance in check compared to Daenerys. Keeping herself busy meant brushing her hair for twice as long and sending out letters to all the houses and clans who aided them in the battle, either to thank them or inform them of a loved ones’ death. It’s not like she would be able to sleep under the Red Keep’s ceiling again anyway. There were too many painful memories here, what’s to add one more?

Jaime wouldn’t see anyone. He had locked himself away in Tyrion’s old room, refusing to take food or water.

Last Y/n heard, Arya took Gendry Baratheon and a handful of men back up to the direction of Winterfell to meet halfway with anyone from the North heading down the Kingsroad. They were doing this to exchange supplies, as both Winterfell and King’s Landing were in dire need of them, and winter was just getting started.

But Y/n barely noticed the cold. For the remaining days following up to Tyrion’s funeral, she had not breathed a word to anyone. She helped her sister send ravens out to all of the remaining houses of Westeros and helped write a peace treaty between the North and the South. Tyrion’s death took a heavier toll on Daenerys than the others originally thought because she barely protested against Sansa asking her to make the North an independent kingdom. They compromised and signed a treaty that proclaimed the North as such, but in return, Daenerys had asked for Sansa to always answer the call should the South ever need aid. Both women agreed to these terms, and Y/n’s heart squeezed ever so painful knowing that Tyrion was not alive to see the North and South finally get along.

Jon and Daenerys put their romantic and family relations in the past and tried to forget it ever happened. Daenerys is crowned Queen -even though there was no ceremony. She had forbidden it- and she officially announces her nephew, Aegon Targaryen as her Hand. He doesn’t want it, knowing that the Hand’s position is what got his fathe- Ned Stark killed. Along with any other Lord Hand that came before him, given the most recent events. But at the same time, as Varys pointed out, maybe he was the best for the job because he didn’t want it.

Y/n didn’t attend to this announcement. She wouldn’t be able to bear watching Dany pin the Hand’s sigil onto her brothe- cousin’s vest.

After Jon’s little ceremony, the crowd moves outside to the funeral pyre. Daenerys wanted to hurry up and burn the body, not willing to wait for everyone from far and wide to come to attend the funeral. She wanted to just get this over with, for her own sake and others.

Jon didn’t disagree with his Queen. He barely flinches when Sam starts talking to the crowd, addressing Daenerys and Aegon Targaryen at the beginning of his speech. In the public’s eye, Jon will be forever known as Aegon Targaryen but remains to be Jon Snow to those closest to him. He just wishes Tyrion was still one of those people. He’d give anything to hear the dwarf call him the Bastard of Winterfell again.

As Sam continued the eulogy, Jon glances over at the two people standing opposite of him and Dany, on the other side of the funeral pyre, behind Sam.

His cousin Y/n was wearing all black and still remains to look unresponsive. Jaime stood beside her having finally shown his face since the death of his brother. He looked older than he was, and his beard and the bags under his eyes were darker than before.

Sam closes off his words by asking for Tyrion’s brother and consort to step forward and place the torch onto the pyre. Jaime and Y/n hesitantly do what they’re told, holding the ignited torch between them as if to help each other support its weight. Daenerys had earlier offered to have Drogon be their source of fire for the funeral, but it didn’t feel right.

They lower the torch onto the piled up wood and stepped away. They waited until the pyre ignites and slowly, they watched the body wrapped up in Lannister cloths be engulfed and set aflame.

Y/n resists holding her flat stomach by reaching out and holding Jaime’s only hand, silently threatening to never let go.

~~~

Part Two!

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sepedarodatiga · 3 years

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Symbolic marriage in the story only serve to disappoints, why would they give us that

I’m just going to put it out there, I ship jonsa and reylo. Even though there are people who ships both just like me, I think there aren’t very many. Most people, if they ship one, don’t ship the other and even leaning towards a different ship. So I apologize in advance if this post found the wrong people. I will try to tag appropriately.

I have recently came across a hero archetype defined by Lord Raglan, an anthropologist who studies folklore. This simple discovery has led me to a revelation on why this is the two stories that I am invested in, because they are essentially the same story, following the hero archetype that Lord Raglan had defined. Here is how Jon Snow fits into the archetype and here is how Kylo Ren fits into the archetype.

And the ship.. well the shipping part occurs because of the tension built by the story between the two characters with their respective love interest. That is also why I got involved shipping two ships that are... controversial? problematic?... I mean, yes exactly, the tension is what making it interesting. Jon and Sansa are siblings but secretly they are cousins who can marry? OH MY GOD. Kylo and Rey are attracted to each other but they are on opposite sides? OH YES, gimme.

Anyway, following Raglan’s archetype, the two protagonists (Kylo Ren is a villain protagonist), would have married their love interest, before they become King (or Supreme Leader). And (shippers had found) that it DID happen in the story, BUT ONLY SYMBOLICALLY.

I mean, yeah, thanks very much for giving the tension relieve symbolically. No wonder non-shippers totally missed that and accused shippers as delusional. And moreover, we are STILL waiting for the actual relieve. We are STILL waiting for an ending and resolve that NEVER CAME because the story just move forward with its trajectories and leave us shippers behind.

I felt like now I owe an explanation on what I mean with symbolic marriage. In Raglan’s archetype, the protagonist “marries a princess, often daughter of predecessors” before they becomes King. I will break it down one by one starting with reylo.

Rey is not a princess, but she an equivalent of a princess in this story, being the main female protagonist and a jedi knight. Kylo’s “kingship” is being the Supreme Leader that he took from Snoke, and Rey is also not Snoke’s daughter, but she is Luke Skywalker’s apprentice, another patriarchal figure in Kylo’s story. Maybe I’m pushing it a little, but I do think it still fits. You are of course free to think otherwise.

I have read meta from reylo shippers that the hand touch scene during the force bond seems to emulate Hindu marriage rituals where the bride and groom will clasp their hands around a sacred fire and say their vows. Kylo and Rey did this. Their hand touches near the fire and they say their vows: you are not alone/neither are you.

What follows after this they slay Snoke together (so actually the sequence is a bit messed up, but not by a lot) and then Kylo becomes “King”. And of course after that the story moved on to which he lost favour of his followers and driven away followed by death. So the marriage, the slaying of the beast and the ascension to the throne was the story’s climax, there was no happy ending to look forward to, only a tragic ending. And the marriage, which is the culmination of the story, was only done symbolically. I don’t know why they think that will ever going to satisfy viewers?

Now on to jonsa.

Jon’s kingdom is the North; he has become the King in the North in the story, and therefore the princess, daughter of predecessor, is a Northern princess. Sansa Stark fits into this as the daughter of Ned Stark whom Jon met before he is hailed as King in the North. And just like reylo, their marriage only happened symbolically.

Jonsa shippers had noticed that Sansa was given Jon’s cloak after her arrival at Castle Black when they were eating their soup by the fire reminiscing about the past and asking forgiveness. In Westeros, a wedding ceremony would involve the groom covering the bride in his cloak. And then after they were talking about the past, they drank ale from the same cup which is a common wedding ritual practice from around the world, including from Scotland where The North in Westeros is sort of based upon (cmiiw). Followed after that is their vow for the future: “where will you go/where will we go”, and “if I don’t watch over you father’s ghost will come back and murder me”, effectively taking over Sansa’s protection from his father. In return, Sansa gave Jon a cloak just like the one Ned Stark used to wear, as a form of blessing for Jon to become Ned’s successor.

And then they continue slaying the wild beast Ramsay and Jon becomes the King in the North, with Sansa by his side.

Then the story move on with Jon reigning uneventfully for a time and then he decided to make alliance with Daenerys and so on to his tragic ending. Jonsa shippers weren’t given an actual romantic relationship between them, only in the subtext.

At least reylos was finally given a confirmation in the last minute, but jonsas are being kept in the delulu land, while the books are not out yet which gave us only another source of frustration. But for both, the UST stays unresolved, because the marriage is only symbolic.

So I just want to say....I don’t know, thank you for the double disappointment I guess? I do hope other people had it better than I did.

#jonsa #reylo #symbolic marriage #lord raglan archetype hero

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bibliocratic · 4 years

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Been thinking about Martin being sad about/hating the way he looks bc he looks like his dad, and he tries to talk to Jon abt it, but he's Too Vague so Jon thinks he's worried that Jon doesn't like that he's fat and consequently comforts him about the wrong thing

This took so long, anon, sorry!

Because of the subject matter, there are content warnings in the tags

The first time Martin sees his own face, limp-eyed, flat and drained in the feeble straining light of the bathroom, he starts shaking. A stretching in his chest, like he's swallowed a swelling balloon that is pushing all the air out of him, bunging up his lungs and throat and mouth. That's how Jon finds him, tears sprung to his eyes as he sucks in scant and skittish breathes, his fingers clenching the lip of the sink and wondering why he can't be stronger than all this.

After that, Martin takes to avoiding mirrors while he's in the safehouse.

It's not hard. He's had lots of practise recently. The Lonely had displayed many double-edged poisons in its folds disguised as furtive blessings. His reflection had been one of them. Martin had counted it as a grateful novelty, to walk past glass shop fronts and the over-stark bathroom mirrors in the staff toilets and see the refusal of light to grant his image returned to him. Even his exile to the seafront, the rock-pools vacant of crawling life or stubborn salt-encrusted fronds of lichen, had shown him only the eddy of tide, the ripples that his steps barely disturbed in the landscape.

It had been a kindness of sorts, to take his image from him. The mirror had never shown Martin anything but things he hadn't cared to see, his own neurosis writ large and backwards.

The morning is not unusual. The birds had woken him, piping shrill even through the double glazing, and Jon, still dozy and drooling his words into his pillow, had cursed and moaned indignant at the vocal wildlife. Martin had dropped back off for another twenty or so minutes, a smirk raising the sleep-dry corners of his lips, waking up when the bed creaked and Jon had stood and stretched and made all sorts of horrendous cracking noises like some sort of human castanet.

This morning though, Jon is in the bathroom, shaving, and making a worrying racket doing so, and Martin is still in that sort of headachy realm of not quite awake yet, where he still gathering the components than make him functional as he shuffles around in his boxers and waits for the shower to be free. Martin's not sure why today, but he finds himself opening the wardrobe. Inside, on the back of the left-hand side door, there's a full length mirror, pocked a little with age and smeared with dust.

Martin's not sure why he feels strong enough today to look.

The thing he expects to see first: his hair shorn down, just shy of a buzz cut. Martin's been doing it himself for years, every month or so hunching over the sink and bathroom mirror in his old flat in Stockwell and uniformly mowing his hair down to a prickly ginger fuzz.

His mum never liked his hair when he grew it out. Snapped and sniped about how long it was getting whenever it started to bend in a curl, encroaching over his ears, and he'd not always had the money or time to go into town and go to the barber's. When he got his first job, scrimping aside the little he'd left over at the end of the month, he'd bought clippers from the nearest Boots, attached the first guard he'd picked up and ran it over his scalp until the up-scrub was spiky and even. The first time was a bit of a hack-job, lopsided and uneven, but he's improved his technique with time. The method and cut was cheap and basic and he wasn't fond of the way it made his ears look stuck out, but it was one less thing he had to worry about, one less thing his mum could disapprove of.

His hair now hangs, uninspired, slightly greasy and knotted over his ears. Shaggy-dog over his forehead until he swipes it back, a small curl down to the nape of his neck.

He looks like his dad. Sees the man he barely knew staring back, the image lost that Elias had so viciously returned. Studies his snubnose struck centre, a wide jaw that rounds out his face, ruddy cheeks with sparse and spotting freckles. Some of the hairs of his eyebrows are starting to grey. His eyes seem suspicious, washed out, unhappy. He wonders if this is what Jon sees, a man whose closed-off expression does not appear to trust the world nor its motives.

The sort of man who might just up and leave if the going gets tough.

Jon pads into the room, though Martin doesn't turn round. He puts all his weight on the front of his feet, always has; even in the Archives, Martin could place Jon's footsteps next to Sasha's sturdier stride, Tim's faster tread.

Jon plants his face against Martin's back, grumbles through a good morning. He's smooth jawed again, his skin baking from the shower, his hair not quite towelled off properly, still dripping.

“Lookin' handsome,” Jon mumbles, throwing out a hand to gesture at the mirror, at the twin men standing awkward and self-conscious opposite each other.

Martin observes at his own hands cast back at him through the mirror. His thick arms, the round and pasty pale of them. He has big hands, he thinks to himself. Broad, weathered palms, the skin cracking dry, short and stubby fingers. Hair starts to grow sparse on the back of his hand close to his wrist and only gets thicker and denser up his arms. Jon slumped standing immediately behind him isn't visible in the reflection; Martin's body takes up too much room, wide and solid, even when he wants to secrete himself smaller. He's tall, like Dad was, he guesses, though he stoops and hunches in his shoulders to try and negate it. Martin thinks he looks like the sort of man that plays rugby and drinks too much. When he's walking home, trudging through the residential streets between the tube station and his flat, people passing him sometimes scrunch their body in away from him, and every time that hurts. In the dark, without his stumbling words and over-eager expression and his clumsiness, something about him looks like it could turn nasty, and Martin doesn't know how to take that.

He went drinking with Tim and Sasha once in Lambeth. They'd had four or five and Sasha had bought them obnoxiously coloured and overpriced cocktails before dragging Tim over to the pool table, Martin sitting out to the side amiably, sipping his sugar-heavy drink and tapping his feet to the music someone put on the jukebox. Two men came over ten minutes later, drunker than them, arguing that they'd been there first, and Sasha had been fired up enough to snap back. It had looked like a scrap brewing, so Martin had put his drink down and stood up, anxiously ready and willing to urge Tim and Sasha away just to keep the peace. The two had looked at him, eyes roving up before they held up their hands, backing off, saying they'd come back when they'd finish.

“No bother, ey, big lad?” they'd slurred at Martin. “Didn't mean anything by it.”

Sasha had beamed as they left, and called Martin a lucky charm. He hadn't felt very lucky. He'd felt sick at the reminder.

The problem as he sees it, is that everything about him is big.

Inside: too big heart and too raw-open soul. A great vast reservoir where he keeps every bubbling expression of fear and grief and rage that he's never expressed with his body.

Outside: big stocky arms, an over-hanging stomach matched with a tall spine and the sort of footsteps that announce his arrival well before he enters a room.

Martin's dad never hit his mum. He assumes that's something Elias would have glibly enjoyed sharing. But sometimes he'd stood too close when they'd been fighting, looming, deliberately crowding in her space, and she'd noticed how much taller he was, how much stronger. She'd thought she saw something mean and nasty in his eyes, the way he clenched his fists that meant he wanted to.

She'd imagined she saw that look in her son sometimes too.

Martin worries about that. Worries what other poisoned legacies his dad left him with.

“Mart'n?” Jon says. He's encircled his arms as far as he can around him, though they don't link up, scratching his nails through the hair on his chest. His hands long-boned but smaller, slighter.

Jon is not a small man nor a tall one, average in appearance in most ways if not for the scars, if not for the way the composite of his image makes Martin's heart something stronger in his chest. But Martin is bigger than him when they lie together, Jon's side of the bed made less by default, shunting him further over to the corners. Martin is stronger than him, because Martin has lifted him bodily to hear Jon's laughing protestations as Martin manhandled him onto the sofa and kissed the veins down his throat, the blush risen in his cheeks.

And Martin's angrier than he used to be. Or angrier than he used to admit to being. His mood pinballing from flat to frustrated as everything the Lonely dulled ploughs back into him, all of Martin's mechanisms, the checks-and-balances he built within himself gone ruinous. Martin can be so angry these days, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Martin doesn't like the way that worry fizzes under his tongue.

“My dad had big hands,” he says out of nowhere. “He wore some rings, I think, and he had to get them resized to fit his fingers.”

“You making plans to get us rings already?”

Jon's joke is shy and nudging, but Martin doesn't feel like raising the corners of his mouth in a smile.

Martin moves a hand to squeeze the flesh that bunches around his upper arms, pats his stomach.

“I've definitely got his belly,” he says. “His arms. Prob'ly end up with his hair to boot, he was receding a bit.”

Jon's hands stroke palm down over what stomach he can reach.

“I like your stomach,” he says, and it's not that Martin doesn't believe him, because he's getting better at not doubting people, at allowing himself to trust they might like something about him. It's that that wasn't the point.

“Hmm,” Martin says noncommittally, and glances at his own hands again. Square chewed nails and the small bumps of veins.

“You don't look happy,” Jon says.

“What? No, I mean, it – it's fine, it's...”

“Do you... not like looking in the mirror?”

Martin sighs.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you have a problem with how you look?”

“You don't have to spell it out like that, Jon.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're a – my therapist or something. I don't want to – to be questioned o-or psychoanalysed about it. I just, no – I don't like looking at myself. That's all.”

Jon's arms don't unhook from around him. Martin exhales and feels the frustration like sediment build up.

“I look exactly like my dad,” Martin says finally, bitterly.

“You don't,” Jon replies quietly, into the meat of Martin's shoulder.

“You can't know that,” Martin says, although the words are empty of meaning and they both know it. Jon both can and does, whether he means to or not.

Feeling his Adam's apple bob, he continues: “Elias, he showed me. When I was – er, when we needed him distracted.”

Jon's arms clench around him.

“Elias showed you what he wanted you to see,” he says after a careful moment.

Martin shakes his head, because he saw what he'd known already, what his mum had seen, the trickle of memory gushing torrential. That he has his dad's big fingers, big hands and big anger, and he is frightened of what sort of a man that makes him.

“I could....” Jon's fingers flex and skate over the skin where Martin's stretch marks root down to his hips. “I could look? If you wanted? Tell you if Elias was... if what he showed you was true.”

Martin thinks about it, but Jon feels the silence of his refusal and presses his nose against the freckled handful of skin where Martin's shoulder blades are.

“I'll tell you what I see then?”

“See see, you mean?”

“No. Normal seeing. With my own two eyeballs.”

“I am being blessed with the originals today, what a gift.”

Jon headbutts him with his forehead, and the small laugh and a 'Jon!' is pushed out of him as a scarred palm is held up near his face, an eyelid opening in the skin to leer at Martin.

“Put your bloody Pan's Labyrinth eyeball away,” Martin grouches, and he can feel Jon grinning mischievous as the disconcerting eyeball winks before being sunk closed back into the skin.

“Better?”

“I am never going to get used to that.”

Jon makes a noise of agreement. He unplasters himself from Martin's back, and takes a tugging hold of his wrist.

“Look at me?”

Martin lets himself be turned round. Weak-willed, soft-spined to the last wherever Jon is concerned.

Jon looking up at him now, fringed with damp locks seaweeding down his face. Martin brushes them back out of the way, and Jon captures his hand, meshes their fingers together slowly and precisely.

“Tell me?” he asks quietly. “What you've been thinking about? And I'll tell you what I see.”

“My hands,” Martin says after a moment and Jon nods and hums and holds Martin's captured palm in front of him.

“Bigger than mine,” Jon says, demonstrating, holding the two of them as imperfect reflections of each other. “You've got short nails because you bite them. The cold's making the skin dry, but they're soft, usually. Sturdy. Even when – even when we were leaving the Lonely, I knew once you took my hand we wouldn't get separated.”

“My – er, my arms,” Martin says after a while, prodding with his free hand at the loose flesh at the undersides of his arms. “Well, my bingo wings.”

Jon frowns, reaches up to encircle his grip around them.

“You've got muscle under there,” he says. “You can lift me, no trouble. The first time you did, I, um, couldn't help but hope you'd do it again.”

Martin finds it in himself to meet Jon's gaze.

“Yeah?” he says, pleased.

Jon is starting to blotch with blush, but he carries on, fingers stroking Martin's upper arms.

“Even if you weren't strong,” he says. “You've got – your, um. Freckles. There's no pattern to them, of course, but I like seeing if I can find one anyway.”

“You're a big softie,” Martin chides roughly, dry-mouthed and watery eyed.

Jon doesn't deny it.

“What else?” he asks delicately.

“I'm – I'm heavy,” Martin says, the words shrivelling quiet on his tongue. “I-I don't mind – I'm not ashamed of being, you know, not the smallest guy, I've never had a-a problem with it, not exactly, but I-I'm bigger than you. I'm stronger than you and I take up more room and, my dad, I look so much like him s-s-so what if – ”

He trails off. Swallowing. Unable to finish.

Jon's arms embrace him and he allows himself to be bent down, the angle uncomfortable and Jon on tip-toe, his face mushed into the side of Jon's throat.

Jon rubs at the broad expanse of his back.

“You'd never hurt me,” Jon says, fiercely. “Whether you look like your father or not. You're not him, Martin. I can't, I know I can't convince you, but it doesn't matter if you've got his arms or his eyes or his hair. He's never been where you've been, or done what you've managed. I bet he doesn't – doesn't write poetry, or whistle the Archer's theme tune, or I dunno, is completely useless at catching things.” Martin gives a wet attempt at a laugh. Jon's hands move comfortingly up and down.

“You're not your dad,” Jon continues after a moment. “You aren't responsible for the man he was, or the man your mother thought she saw in you. That's not – it's not your burden to carry. Fuck whatever shadows Elias showed you. You're not him. It's – I can't make you like what you see in the mirror, but when I look at you, I don't see any of the things you're scared of.”

“You can really just, know all that, huh,” Martin says after a minute, lifting up his head, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“I don't need to,” Jon replies.

Martin's hugs are crushing and enveloping but Jon clings back as tightly.

Martin pulls back after a minute, wiping his eyes again though he knows they've gone red and puffy, already feeling the crimping heat of self-consciousness in his chest. Jon leans back in to kiss him, first his lips, and then his cheek, quick and affirming, as he trails his fingers through his hair.

“You'll be wanting this cut soon,” Jon says, although he seems disappointed at the thought, combing his fingers through the tangle self-indulgently.

“I might try growing it out.” Martin tests the water of the idea, and Jon looks approving at this, nods and hums and runs his fingers through again.

It's been a long time since his hair was longer. Martin thinks he might suit it.

“What would you say to a beard?” Martin follows up, just to see Jon try to valiantly quash his dissatisfaction and keep a neutral expression. He almost succeeds.

“If you... If you think it best,” Jon manages stiffly.

Martin's laugh is a free and booming thing in his chest.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw self esteem issues #cw discussions of domestic violence #cw body image #cw mild body horror #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #fic

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 3 years

Text

The Last Dragon | The Witcher

Chapter 14 | To Hunt a Monster

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5k

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also! My tag list is open! Double also! I took some liberties with the Alp, pls don’t hate me

Visenya swings her blade down, metal clanging against metal. A small bead of sweat runs down her forehead, falling from her brow bone and landing on the ground. She tosses her blade to the other hand, pulling it up just in time to block the incoming attack, their clashing swords forming a ‘T’. She nimbly moves to the side, and away from her opponent, breaking away from his sword. With otherworldly grace, Visenya whirls around in a half-circle, now standing behind him, pushing her blade forward to pierce through his back. He turns around, jumping back before the hit makes contact, pushing it out of the way with his own.

Metal rings in the clearing as they continue their deadly dance. Geralt kicks his leg out, centimeters away from hitting Visenya’s knees. She brings her blade down in a half crescent shape, smacking the side of his leg with the flat part of her blade. He grunts out a laugh, unbothered by the hit, but it allows Visenya to jump back from his assault.

“You’ll have to do better than that, White Wolf,” Visenya teases, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she awaits Geralt’s next move. He snorts and lunges towards her once more. She sidesteps him, using her smaller size to her advantage. She laughs, the sound blending yet also clashing with the sound of two blades meeting in a bind.

“You’re too arrogant,” Geralt says, pressing against her blade with more force.

He smiles, a smile that’s all teeth, nearly feral looking. Visenya's arm begins to shake, her strength quickly dwindling. But before she can attempt to pull back, Geralt suddenly drops his blade, the lack of resistance causing Visenya to stumble forward. At the same time, he sweeps his leg out, her stumble morphing into a fall.

Thud.

Visenya lands on her back, sword falling out of her hand. Without hesitation Geralt kicks it out of her reach, pointing his sword at her throat.

“It’ll get you killed.” His tone is grim, face set in a deep scowl. “--again,” he adds as an afterthought. Her confession from weeks ago is still fresh, pushed to the forefront of his mind every time he so much as glances at her.

“Well if you didn’t play cheap,” Visenya says, minor annoyance etching a deep scowl onto her face.

“There is no such thing as playing cheap when it comes to fighting. You either win or you don’t,” Geralt says, scolding her like a father would an unruly and stubborn child. But if he’s as old as Visenya thinks, she might as well be.

“Whatever,” Visenya mutters, not moving from her position on the ground, instead she moves her gaze upwards. Threads of dawn emboss the sky, rays of pink and orange tinting it, their vivid colors offset by opalescent clouds. It’s quiet, nearly too quiet, if not for her rapid inhale and exhale of breath.

“You’re good, but you’re too wild,” Geralt says. He tosses his blade aside, reaching a hand down to help her up. Her face flushes red from exerting too much energy, with breathes that're too quick, the spar taking more of her energy up than it should’ve. Then again, for years her only constant companion had been Jaskier, and he ended up pricking three of his fingers before even fully lifting a sword. That was the last time she attempted to arm him.

“Don’t patronize me,” Visenya says, blowing away the stray hairs that fell out of her ponytail and onto her face.

“I’m not. I’m giving advice. Besides--” Geralt looks over at her, the corners of his mouth slowly pulling into a grin. His slightly sharper teeth give his grin a wolfish appearance, predatory and mischievous in nature. “--when did you become such a sore loser?” Geralt teases.

“I don’t know, around the time you got slow,” Visenya responds, grabbing onto Geralt’s outstretched hand. But instead of using it to pull herself up, she yanks on it with all of her remaining strength, causing Geralt to tumble to the ground.

His eyes are wide with bewilderment and shock, a small giggle bubbling from Visenya’s mouth, taking special notice of the green grass that mingles with his tangled white hair. Geralt scoffs, but there’s a small smile on his face that betrays his amusement, small droplets of dew on his hair that glisten in the sun, like tiny beams of light.

Visenya sits up, repositioning herself to be more comfortable on the ground. Geralt follows suit, shaking his head like a dog. Brown twigs and emerald leaves fly in the air and disappear into the sea of green that’s now tinged with dark brown.

Geralt opens his mouth and laughs, it’s not overly loud and merry sounding, but it’s more than he normally gives. The sound echoes in the small clearing, dancing away in the wind to bless someone else’s ears with the soft sound. His eyes shine in the light, causing him to almost look ethereal. Visenya smiles, her heartbeat speeding up, ever so slightly, and for the life of her she can’t figure out why.

“I meant it, you're improving,” Geralt says, placing his arms on his knees and staring at the trees that surround them.

“Are you saying I was a bad swordsman before?” Visenya teases, the smile on her face quickly evaporates, however, when Geralt doesn’t return the mirth. She scoffs and smacks his arm. “You are saying I was a bad swordsman!” she exclaims, disbelief causing a small laugh to escape her mouth. Ser Rodrik trained her himself and before him, Jon. Two of the best swordsmen in the North trained her, a bad fighter is the absolute last thing Visenya would label herself as.

“No, just...chaotic,” Geralt says, seemingly unbothered by her assault.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Visenya asks, raising a brow at him.

“No, but it’s the truth. You fight well, but you fight without control or discipline.” Geralt says.

“So I’m unruly?”

“Like a tornado or a wild animal,” Geralt says, a smirk on his face. Visenya rolls her eyes, smacking him once again - just for good measure. With a huff, she tightens her ponytail, pushing away the sweat coated baby hairs that stick to her forehead. She stands from the floor, walking towards the edge of the clearing where her leather bag is haphazardly resting against a tree. Crouching down and opening the main pouch, she pulls out two apples - one red and the other green. She tosses the red one in the air once, then launches it at Geralt as soon as it grazes her palm. He catches it with ease, not even bothering to look in her direction. Visenya smirks, taking a bite out of the remaining apple.

“Would you believe me if I said I was raised by wolves?” Visenya asks. There’s a smirk on her lips, a gleam in her eyes that says she’s in on a joke that no one else knows. And she revels in it.

“Yes,” Geralt simply replies, eyes wandering towards the sky, basking in the calm that seems so fleeting when on the road with a monster hunter.

“Well, I choose to take both of those answers as a compliment. It just means I’m a force to be reckoned with in - and out - of combat. I think my ancestor and namesake would come back from the dead just to murder me if I wasn’t a half-decent fighter,” Visenya says, staring up at the thick canopy above her. She inches closer into the forest, not committing to entering it completely, but getting close enough. The singing of birds in the distance soothing to her ringing ears, allowing her thoughts to pause if only for a moment.

“Hmm,” is Geralt’s only reply.

“She was a warrior queen, as comfortable in ringmail as she was in silks, as they say. She was legendary” Visenya says, wistfully staring into the trees, getting lost in the melancholy that usually follows when she thinks of her family.

She remembers the stories her Septa would tell her, and the old dusty books she’d find in the library. She can nearly taste the old stale dust that coated the books, flying into the air once her fingers made contact. But she also remembers her eyes desperately drinking in each word, fantasizing that she was the one flying on a dragon, so high in the sky no one could touch her.

Not Robert Baratheon, nor Tywin Lannister, not even The Mountain. But those were foolish daydreams of a child, who didn’t fully understand the nuances of things, nor how horrible some of her family truly had been.

“And I was named after her. Sometimes I feel like I’m not worthy of it. It’s not like there are a dozen other idiots with the same name - who are more foolish than the last, not like Aegon or Viserys,” Visenya mutters to herself, hardly even registering that Geralt is still keenly listening to her ramblings.

“I didn’t realize Jane was a family name,” Geralt says, his red apple still in hand, untouched. Visenya breathes out a laugh, the sound being swallowed by a strong gust of wind.

“No of course not, it’s Vise--” Visenya starts, but closes her mouth, turning to face Geralt who watches her with a curious gaze. She coughs, glancing at the trees one last time before returning her gaze to Geralt. “How do you know it wasn’t my ancestors that made the name popular?”

Geralt raises a brow, his expression showing how little he’s buying her pathetic save, but he doesn’t press the issue, thank the gods. Visenya continues biting into her apple, savoring not only each sweet bite but also the silence surrounding them.

“You’re light on your feet,” Geralt says after a moment. Visenya turns to look at him, a question on her face with raised ashen eyebrows. “Use that to your advantage. Most of your enemies will be much larger than you, bulkier. Which means they’re slower. Tire them out and run circles around them. You’ll never be able to beat them with brute force.” Geralt says, still looking towards the sky, eyes focusing on a particular bird.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

o0o0o

“So an alp?” Visenya says, tapping her fingers against the wooden surface of the table she sits at. Her posture is relaxed, languidly sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair. The room they’re renting is tiny, unbearably claustrophobic with the stench of stale air lingering in her nose at all hours. But it’s the only one in the small village, their size and lack of constant travelers not allowing for them to sink too much money in the rooms, opting to spend their coin on ale and food. At this point Visenya would rather stay in a brothel than here, at least they try to sell the idea of luxury and comfort - no matter how off the mark they may be.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts, tossing his leather bag across the room. Visenya watches as it glides through the air like a cannonball before landing with a loud thump on the bed. She returns her gaze to Geralt, who moves across the room, towards her, a pitcher of ale in hand. He sets it on the table, the force of it causing small droplets of ale to splatter onto the table. The fire in the corner of the room crackles, forcing itself into their conversation like a bothersome sibling.

“Oh don’t tell me, I know this one. Let me see...alps are the ones who take humanoid forms to lure their victims and then they drink their blood until there’s nothing left, right? They also have the whole ‘saliva that puts its victims to sleep and can cause horrible nightmares’,” Visenya says, a slight smirk on her lips, eyes glowing with pride and self-satisfaction.

“You already know you’re right,” Geralt says, a lilt of amusement in his otherwise deadpan tone. Visenya smirks, grabbing a mug and pouring ale into it, careful to not spill any. She sets the jug back down, throwing her cup back and downing nearly all of it. The amber liquid is bitter, not as smooth and sweet as Cintran ale. It burns and not in a pleasant way. Her face scrunches up, lips puckering and eyes firmly shut, forcing the remaining liquid to go down her throat and not out her mouth.

“I know, doesn’t mean I don’t like receiving validation,” Visenya remarks after managing to swallow the swill disguised as ale, glancing towards the sole window in the room. The sun is starting to set, and swiftly, night time will come before either of them have a chance to blink. Visenya pushes back her chair, the wood screeching against the floors.

“Hmm,” Geralt simply replies, pouring a cup of ale for himself, and drinking it similarly as Visenya. However, he manages to keep any unpleasant expressions off his attractive face. Her eyes rest on his lips, gaze focusing on a droplet of ale that hangs precariously on his lips, nearly falling to the ground. A part of her wants to place her lips on his, to test if maybe the ale would be sweeter coming from his lips. But she snaps her eyes away quickly and banishes the thought, not wanting to linger on it for too long.

“So where are we off to,” Visenya asks. She turns away from the table, grabbing her pack and beginning to shuffle around in it. “I can’t remember where they take residence, so I can’t be help there but--” Visenya starts to ramble, but Geralt cuts her short.

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, standing from his chair as well. Visenya turns around, her cloak in hand.

“I mean, where are we going? We are planning on killing this alp aren’t we?” Visenya asks, raising a brow at Geralt.

“I am going to kill the alp. You’re staying here,” Geralt says. His voice is stern, his mind set, leaving no room for argument. But Visenya has never been good at just sitting down and letting other people make decisions for her.

“Are you serious? You’re trying to keep me out of this?” Visenya says, disbelief lacing every word. She laughs, a mocking one that lacks any warmth or humor.

“You’re not ready for an alp,” Geralt says, maintaining his cool and unattached demeanor. Yet Visenya notices a faint twitch in his eye, annoyance with her constant need to question every choice he makes.

“Not for a nightwraith either, apparently. Yet I helped kill that too,” Visenya says, her temper flaring, fire lacing her words.

“And almost died in the process,” Geralt says, his voice rising just a hair. Visenya scoffs, rolling her eyes, staring at the ceiling for a second before returning her gaze to Geralt.

“Every situation that involves fighting also involves almost dying. That’s how fighting works, there’s always a chance you won’t come out alive,” Visenya says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So you throw yourself into every fight, even the ones you don’t have the capabilities to win?” Geralt asks, sarcasm distorting his question.

“Precisely,” Visenya says, turning away from Geralt and throwing her traveling cloak over her shoulder, clasping it so it’ll stay on properly. She grabs her bag and sword, slinging the bag over her shoulder and attaching her sheath to her hip.

“You can throw yourself into suicide battles with someone else, you aren’t coming,” Geralt says, the volume of his voice continuing to rise.

“Yes, I am. What’s the point of me being around if I’m not being useful?” Visenya exclaims, stepping towards Geralt. She feels like a child again, being scolded for wanting to learn how to fight rather than perfecting her needlepoint or sewing skills.

“You can come on the next hunt,” Geralt says.

“That’s what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that!” Visenya yells, waving her arm in Geralt’s direction, emphasizing her anger and frustration.

“You weren’t ready any of those times!” Geralt counters. Visenya slams her fist against the wooden table, the impact causing the ale to nearly tip over. Pain blossoms on the spot that made contact with the table, but Visenya can’t be bothered by it at the moment.

“Damn it Geralt! Apparently, I’ll never be ready according to you,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. The candles in the room wildly flicker, nearly going out as the temperature in the room drops, subtly at first, until it’s nearly as cold in the room as the outside. Heat rises in Visenya, growing stronger with each passing moment. The smell of burning fills the room, light smoke wafting from the table into the air.

Like suddenly falling into ice, Visenya removes her hands from the table. There’s a clear burn mark in the vague shape of her fist, the wood lightly charred. She sighs, loudly, closing her eyes and relaxing her clenched fists. The warmth in the room returns, the candles flickering with life once more. Her heart pounds, mind completely blank.

Silence.

“I need air,” she mutters after a moment, not bothering to glance at Geralt. And before he can react, she flies out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

o0o0o

Night cloaks Visenya, hiding her from any prying eyes and wandering gazes that hold no good intentions. She pulls the cloak closer to her body, hood up and head down, eager to be free from this stifling small village. The air is cool, but it’s refreshing, easily tempering the fire in her.

“Get it together, Visenya!” she whispers, smacking a hand against her forehead, hoping the sting from the pain might smack some reason into her.

A child. That’s what she’s acting like. Screaming and throwing a tantrum when she doesn’t get what she wants. It’s irrational. And pathetic. Whining and crying won’t get Geralt to agree to let her come, but that doesn’t temper the frustration she feels when he won’t. She’s not a child, she’s a woman, who can make her own decisions. Why should Visenya need a keeper to tell her what battles to and not to get involved in?

She continues marching forward, quickly leaving the village and all her anger behind. The grass is longer, instead of brushing against her ankles, it reaches the middle of her calves in certain spots. The trees are thick, their lush canopy of leaves acting like a guardian protecting her in their beauty. It’s almost like the Godswood, but not nearly as beautiful, yet it evokes similar feelings in her. She deeply inhales, releasing it a moment later, allowing her tense body to melt and fly off with the breeze. Subconsciously, her hand grazes the embroidered direwolf, lightly tracing it with the tip of her finger.

Snap.

A twig cracks, echoing in the silence. Visenya pauses, head snapping up, eyes raking the surrounding area. Nothing but towering trees with shadows acting as cloaks. She turns around, hand ghosting over her sheathed blade. Her breathing is quick and uneven, hands shaking ever so slightly. Her lip trembles and she bites down on it, unwilling to show signs of fear or weakness.

“Who’s there?” she calls out. “Reveal yourself, now!” she demands, eyes scanning the path behind her.

Silence.

She lets out a breath, watching as it appears only to dissipate into the cold air. She lowers her hand from her weapon, moving down the path she came from, eager for the warmth and light the tavern offers.

Snap.

She world around, gold eyes blazing like a fire in the thick of night. The forest seems endless, shadows dancing at the corner of Visenya’s vision, mocking her with deafening silence and blinding loneliness.

“I said, who is there.” Her voice is stone, not allowing even a glimmer of fear to seep into it. It cuts through the darkness like a freshly sharpened knife, her voice echoing far beyond what vision can perceive.

Snap.

Another twig, this time closer than the previous two. Like she’s made of air, Visenya quickly turns, but instead of stifling nothingness, a figure stands a few inches away. It’s a woman, with blood-like hair flows over her bare shoulders, the tips of it resting on its stomach. Her skin is pale, nearly grey in hue, but what’s most alarming isn’t her lack of clothing nor the murder in her eyes, but the blood splattered all over her. Some of it is dry, coating parts of her body like armor, while a few splatters appear to be fresh, still dripping off its body and splashing onto the ground.

It smiles a twisted smile that perfectly displays all her sharp teeth, tinted crimson from the blood.

An alp.

“Fuck.”

They move in unison, Visenya unsheathing her blade as the woman - or creature - lunges forward. It proves to be faster, body-slamming her to the ground. Its hands grab a hold of Visenya’s nails digging into her flesh. She screams but clamps her mouth shut, not willing to feed the lust for blood and pain in the creature’s eyes. It snarls, pushing against Visenya’s arms with inhuman strength, pressing them onto the damp ground. It hisses, droplets of drool tainted with blood falling onto Visenya’s face. She thrashes, attempting to force the beast off of her.

Her eyes feel heavy, suddenly, the desire to sleep and never wake up washing over her like a tsunami. But she fights against it.

‘If I sleep now, I’m dead. Stay. Awake,’ she keeps repeating in her head, willing the words to manifest into reality.

It hisses once more, almost mockingly. It leans down, inches away from sinking her teeth in Visenya’s throat. Visenya lifts her head, siphoning all the strength she can manage and smashes her forehead against the beast. It wails, falling back in pain, allowing Visenya to scramble out from under it. The creature continues to scream, the noise deafening. The sound causes her insides to twist and her head pound, to the point that she fears it might burst. She grabs the sides of her face with both hands, hoping to muffle the sound and make the pain stop. She closes her eyes, thoughts blurring together, as memories she only sees in her dreams fare to life in her head.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Visenya of House Targaryen, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jaime Lannister’s face appears in her vision, a much younger version than the one she’d last seen. His gold hair is soft and thick, falling perfectly into place. He holds a wooden sword in one of his hands, resting the flat part of it on her shoulder.

Visenya giggles, the noise hazy and unclear. She stands from her kneeling position, curtseying to Jaime, stumbling forward, and nearly face planting.

“Thank you, good ser,” she replies, a beaming smile on her childish face. He kneels, so his eyes meet hers. He holds out the small wooden sword, the size suited for a child of five.

“Now go, protect your mother Queen. It is your duty as a sworn member of her Queensguard,” he says.

“Fuck!” she screams. She rapidly blinks, attempting to force the images away. There’s too much danger, too much at stake to lose focus for even a second. The creature prowls towards Visenya, grabbing onto her leg and pulling her body towards it. Like a sack of grain, her body drags in the mud towards the monster. Visenya is powerless to fight back, only able to pray that the pain in her mind and body will go away. The creature flips her body: back against the ground and face looking towards the sky. She kicks her legs, managing to miss the alp each time. Its hands continue to move up Visenya’s body as it pulls her closer.

“Where are we going, Ser Jaime? Shouldn’t you be protecting my grandfather?” Visenya asks, rushing to keep up with Jaime’s longer strides.

“I need to show you something,” he says, voice grim but not harsh, yet it lacks the mirth normally present. He stops outside a door, and in her desperation to catch up, she nearly smacks into his legs, but narrowly avoids it since Jaime stops her body. He opens the door, which creaks loudly as it swings fully open. They’re in a room Visenya is all too familiar with, her mother’s chambers.

“Why are we--” Visenya begins, but cuts herself off as Jaime moves into the room. He strides through it, eyes focusing on one wall in particular. She rushes after him, eyes alight with curiosity she needs to sate.

He stops in front of a wall, crouching down. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge Visenya, even as her smaller feet patter against the stone floor, getting closer to him. She pauses only when she stands beside Jaime, grabbing his arm with one hand, placing her small head on his armored shoulder. A wall, there’s nothing else there but a wall; yet his eyes trace it intently, searching for something she can’t see.

“A wall?” Visenya asks brows furrowed with a small pout on her lips.

“It’s not just a wall, look.” Jaime runs his hand down the wall, pausing on one spot. He digs his fingers into it, grasping onto… something. Visenya watches with wide eyes as a portion of the wall slides open, revealing a small opening in the wall - large enough to fit a child and no more. “A crawlspace.”

“Why’d you show me this? I don’t need to hide?” Visenya asks, tilting her head to the side in confusion. She turns and looks at Jaime, her nose twitching slightly as she looks up at him.

“You will. The war isn’t going well, and if the city is attacked I need you to promise you’ll hide here?” Jaime pleads, speaking in a hushed tone, keeping the words hidden in her mother’s chamber.

“I don’t--” Visenya starts, but is cut off before she can argue further.

“Promise me,” Jaime says again, his voice more pleading and desperate. It’s a funny sight thinking back on it with adult eyes and a jaded mine: the lion begging for something, throwing aside all pride and appearances of regalness.

Visenya hesitates, watching him carefully for a moment, eyes too sharp for a child of five.

“I promise.”

Visenya slams her head against the dirt ground, trying to get the distant memories out of her head, hoping to force her body to stay awake and not succumb to sleep. Long, sharp, dirtied nails grab a hold of her shirt, pulling up her upper body. It snarls, lunging its face towards Visenya’s neck.

Searing hot pain spreads through her body. Yet it doesn’t leave her on fire, instead, it’s numbing like ice. Momentarily, the pain it’s screech caused is soothed, only to return tenfold. It’s like a million daggers are stabbing into her body, over and over again, in the dead of winter. She begins convulsing, screaming, louder than before.

“Well, if it isn’t little Visenya. Look at you, you’re not a child anymore, no, you’re fully grown, fighting Robb Stark’s little war,” Jaime Lannister says, sarcasm and mocking lacing every word. He lifts his dirt-caked face, looking up at Visenya with wide green eyes that somehow manage to still sparkle, even in all the filth that surrounds them.

“Shut up. I didn’t come here to talk to you,” Visenya says, keeping her voice as cool and calm as the winter winds. Her voice is low as to not alert any nearby guards, allowing the heavy wind to obscure most of her words.

“Really? Come to just see the spectacle then? See the state of the man who killed your grandfather and ruined your life?” Jaime spits, but he lacks any real venom. He’s like a lion, trying to make himself appear as large as possible in hopes of avoiding real conflict. Visenya ignores him, however, moving closer into his cell without fear.

“Or maybe you want to laugh?” Jaime mutters, banging his head against the post he’s chained to

Silence is his only response. Visenya moves further into his cell, holding something cold and metal in her hands that glints in the moonlight. Once she’s within arm's length from Jaime, she crouches onto the ground, purple meeting green.

“Well come one, don’t leave--” Jaime begins, but promptly shut his mouth, tightly clenching his jaw with furrowed brows.

Thud.

The metal chains fall to the ground, inches away from Jaime. His eyes follow the chains that no longer bound him, lines of confusion appearing on his forehead underneath the dirt and blood on it.

“Thank you, for my life,” Visenya mutters. Jaime moves his gaze back to her, and in her glossy eyes, he softens his armor - if only for a moment. Visenya begins to shake, like a leaf in a storm, remembering the simpler times that she ran around The Red Keep like a wild animal, and when Jaime Lannister wasn’t enemy number one to her family. Then like the wind, Visenya turns, quickly disappearing into the night.

She tries to headbutt the creature again, but she can’t move her head far enough to attempt it.

‘Fire, use fire!’ Visenya yells at herself, willing the flames that usually dance under her skin to flare to life. But nothing happens. She closes her eyes, focusing harder this time, trying to replicate the feelings swirling in her mind when she argued with Geralt. Tries to reign in the adrenaline from the Cintran Betrothal Feast or even the anger and grief she was drowning in at Blaviken.

Nothing, not even a flicker of heat.

She lets out a cry of frustration as the alp continues to drain her of blood. The world becomes dark, eyes heavier than previously. She continues to shake, trying to fight off the beast, even when her limbs feel like dead weight. Moments later, everything begins to feel light, the pain and fear slowly slipping away until she feels nothing at all. Eventually, her eyes flutter closed, the world turning black.

o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you.

#geralt fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt of rivia fanfic #the witcher crossover #game of thrones crossover #game of thrones #Crossovers #fanfiction #the last dragon #Sami talks #sami writes #sami writes the witcher

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bigdaddib · 4 years

Text

Gendry Who? pt2

So, lol, this is from like so so long ago and I didn’t update it cause it started getting so much longer than I ever intended it to. I did make a part 2 though, from Gendry’s pov. If anyone’s still interested, here ya go

“Arya’s recital is next week, you coming?”

Gendry had long since conditioned himself to not respond too dramatically when her name was mentioned. Instead, he withdrawals so deep within himself even he couldn’t tell you where to find him. “Wouldn’t you be bringing Ygritte?” Gendry asked, not pausing as he shoveled down cereal and scrolled through his phone.

“Yeah, but she invited you too, she just has to know so she can reserve us a seat.”

This, however, Gendry did not prepare himself for. His spoon, just as it was about to enter his mouth, became so still not even a drop of milk spilled over the sides. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, eyes unblinking but not seeing anything around him.

Sure, she had said she had forgiven him. And, sure, he had believed her because she was Arya. If she didn’t forgive you, if she harbored any negative emotions toward you, you knew about it. But he didn’t think her forgiveness would change anything, as much as he had hoped it might. He had played multiple scenarios in his head on how it might, he had no choice in the matter. Letting his mind wander meant fantasizing about seeing Arya again, eyes soft and caring as she opened her arms so they could simply pick up where they left off two years ago. Thinking of what it would be like to kiss her again, even if it were just for a second…

Even if it were just on the cheek.

Those cheek kisses were what he had lived on. He’d be anxious for the end of the night because he knew he had a kiss on the cheek waiting for him. He’d need that kiss, since it was all he had to carry him through until the next time he saw her, then the cycle would continue. It was so easy to get caught up in that routine again, just one kiss on the cheek from her and he was left pressing his fingers to that spot dreamily an entire month after. He was fully prepared to rely on that last kiss for the rest of his fucking life. Forgiving him didn’t mean taking him back, and he had no right to ask for her back, he barely had the right to ask for forgiveness. It was a blessing that he managed that, especially with the way he had went about it. Jerking her around, stuttering his stupid arse off, it was a wonder she understood him at all, he sure as hell didn’t understand himself. He never understood himself when he was dealing with her, never knew what the right thing to do was.

Seeing her through the rain on the side of the road, angrily kicking her flat tire, the right thing to do was to help her out. When it turned out she was Arya Stark, famous rebellious daughter to Ned and Catelyn Stark, openly defying their wishes by pursuing ballet, the right thing to do was help her out and not expect anything in return. People must do things for her all the time, expecting some sort of favor in exchange. He wanted to show the small girl with wide grey eyes and soaked through dark clothes that he didn’t want anything from her, didn’t expect anything.

Then she had kissed him on the cheek.

“She…invited me?” was all he was able to say.

Jon raised a brow. “Did something happen between you two?”

Gendry’s overwhelming first instinct was to say “no!” Of course not! Why would he even think that?! Arya and him…they were nothing, he had helped her out with her car and her wifi and one time with her mysteriously broken bed frame and that was all they had to do with each other…

But that sort of thinking was what had gotten him into this situation, wasn’t it?

If he had simply answered these types of questions honestly, where would he be now? With Arya? Waiting outside her dorm room to take her to a quick lunch between classes? Walking hand in hand with her down the street, feeling her tucked into his side?

Embarrassing her?

He winced. He had to stop that. She wasn’t embarrassed by things like he was, she didn’t care, so why should he? If she was willing to let Gendry drag her down to his level, then he should be too. Whatever people said, whatever their questions and whatever their jokes, they shouldn’t bother him because he had her. He had her tucked in next to him, hand in hand, getting a sandwich before she had to head back to practice…

Except he wasn’t, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself have her without thinking she would one day wake up and realize she had been wasting herself away on him. Realize all the shit and jokes she would have to take for him weren’t worth it and she would leave. So he had to leave first, he had to make sure no one would know what sort of loser Arya was running around with so that maybe Arya wouldn’t figure it out either.

That wasn’t quite how things worked out though.

“What do you mean?” Gendry said, finally putting the spoon into his mouth.

“I mean…you guys never talk anymore, and you got kind of weird just a second ago.”

Gendry cleared his throat, set his phone down. “No…I just…you know she knows ballet’s not my sort of thing. But, uh, yeah, I’ll go. If she wants me to.” Honestly, he’d go anywhere if she wanted him to.

Jon nodded, grabbed his jacket and keys. He’d come over this morning to give Gendry his flat keys, but Gendry had said he didn’t need them. He trusted Jon enough to live with him for two years, he trusted him enough to keep a spare set of keys.

“Then I’ll meet you there, yeah?” Jon turned to look at Gendry as he opened the door to leave.

Gendry only nodded and didn’t move after Jon left.

Did this mean she wanted to be friends? Or was she only being polite?

No. If Arya didn’t want him there she wouldn’t invite him. That’s the way she was, she was blunt and straight forward. Which is why what he did to her was so difficult all around. The lying and sneaking around may have been fun for her the first month or two, but when they started getting into the “I love you’s” and holding each other all night, it probably got a bit redundant. He could feel it, he could feel her frustration with him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Numerous times he found himself at her door with full intentions to simply give up and be with her, to not think about it so much. But then she’d open the door and he’d be struck by her smile and by her eyes and know deep, deep down, with everything in him, that he didn’t deserve her. He never would. No one did, but especially not him.

He’d never seen her dance before. Of course, he knew she did it professionally. The entire bloody world knew that. He assumed she was good at it. With her passion for it and the way she blatantly disregarded her parent’s wishes for her in order to do it, her skill was the last thing to questioned. He never felt he needed to watch her in action, he already knew everything he needed to know. Ballet, though he never took the time to watch anyone do it, was boring anyway. It must be, or else more people would say otherwise.

Obviously, he was wrong.

Although, he was biased. If it had been anyone else besides Arya dancing on that stage, he probably wouldn’t have been nearly as interested. But she was, and he couldn’t even find the time to blink. He had to watch the almost liquid way her body moved across the stage. Bent and twirled, leaped and stretched. Gendry knew Arya’s body well, probably better than he knew his own, and he liked to think he knew its limitations, but he never truly grasped its potential. What had he been doing, throwing her legs over his shoulders? Watching her back arch against a wall? What did any of that prove? He should’ve been driving her to practice, watch her dance every damn day. Not doing so was a fucking waste of time.

He was confused when it was intermission, even more so when he saw Jon snoring peacefully next to him. Angrily, Gendry shoved at his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” he barked.

Jon blinked dazedly. “Sorry, you won’t tell her, will you?”

Gendry rolled his eyes, feeling genuinely angry. How in all seven hells had Jon managed to fall asleep? Was he even watching? If Arya asked and Jon said she was wonderful, he would set the record straight. Besides, Arya was the one person he couldn’t lie to, not really. He could lie to Jon, he could even lie to himself, but not to her. Not to those big grey eyes.

Gendry found he was too angry to hold up conversation with Jon, so he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

The second half of the ballet seemed to be going just as good, if not better, than the first half. Gendry found himself leaning as far forward as he was able, watching as Arya’s body flowed just as easily and languidly as the silken dress they had put her in, knowing her very skin felt just as smooth.

When she fell onto her right ankle it took everything in him not to climb onto that stage and carry her off.

It took her two attempts to get back up, everyone around her kept up with the routine but it was all a bit awkward considering she was the lead dancer.

Gendry’s knuckles turned white as he saw her wince for the first time since knowing her. It stirred something different in him, something protective and fierce. He’d felt something similar to it once before, seeing her cry for the first time.

He hadn’t registered it at first, the single tear glistening down her cheek. He thought it was a trick of the light, a reflection off the window, anything but a genuine tear. Anything but a tear coming from Arya Stark’s eye. That simply wasn’t possible, Arya Stark didn’t cry, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself. But she was, and it was because of him. Fuck, if everything in him didn’t crumble into dust.

Arya wasn’t crying now. She was getting back up, dancing on that ankle he was sure he heard crack. And she kept dancing, right up to the very end. Gendry hadn’t taken a solid breath the rest of the performance, holding it for something horrible to happen, and when it was finally over he stood up in an immediate search for her.

Eventually, he found her in the dressing room, foot elevated and head in her hands. It was swollen an angry read, an ice pack rested on top of it. There was a man whispering in her ear, hand rubbing up and down her back. Gendry paused at the sight, Jon halting just behind his shoulder.

“Arya?” Jon called out.

Dejectedly, Arya lifted her head. Only her tired grey eyes visible. Gendry’s feet started walking toward her.

“You’re Arya’s family?” The man straightened up, back straight and shoulders broad. If Gendry was making assumptions, he’d say he was one of Arya’s dance teachers.

“We are,” Jon answered and Gendry’s chest tightened. He added nothing to contradict him.

“She should be fine. We had the doctor come in and—”

“I can speak for myself Jaqen,” Arya snapped. Jaqen’s only response was a sigh, brought his hand back to her bare shoulder.

“I’ll check up on you later,” he whispered and Arya’s only response was to rest her head back into her hands. Jaqen smiled tensely toward Jon and Gendry before leaving.

“Are you alright?” Jon was the first to ask, walking around Gendry and kneeling in front of her.

“No. I fucking blew it,” she bit out. “No company will hire me now, its fucking over.”

No one knew what to say, it was quiet for a moment. Then Jon tried, “You were beautiful up until then, Arya, I’m sure they’ll see that.”

Gendry let him say it, she didn’t need to hear that Jon had actually been napping the whole time.

“It’s fucking whatever,” her voice was violent, yet very tired. “I’ll just go to real college or something. The world is at my fingertips and all that. This is a sign I shouldn’t throw it all away,” she made it obvious she wasn’t serious about any of the words she was saying.

Gendry wanted nothing more than to go over and hold her as tightly. Maybe even let her cry on his shoulder, if she felt comfortable enough. He could feel it, her warmth pressed into him, her head nestled into his neck. Maybe it wouldn’t make her feel better, but he would.

“Can you…can you just bring the car around or something?” Arya spoke up. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Right. Right, Gendry, stay with her. I’ll text you when I’m out front,”

Jon left and Gendry promised he wouldn’t be the first to speak. He wouldn’t push her.

“Can you leave?” she whispered.

His heart shattered. “…Wh—why?”

“Because…because…” her voice cracked. She paused to release a heavy, shaky breath. “I can’t hold myself together around you.”

Something close to hope warmed him, and he let that propel him to kneel beside her as Jon did. It was a reflex to smooth a hand over her temple. “What are you holding yourself together for?” he whispered.

Arya shrugged in response.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re upset if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Arya shook her head. “It’s not everyone else…I don’t wanna know.”

Gendry took a second to collect her meaning. “You don’t want to know you’re upset?” he clarified.

Slowly, Arya nodded.

“Alright, I won’t tell you either,” he agreed easily.

Arya’s shoulders shook in a dry laugh, revealing a dark, glistening grey eye. On the verge of tears. He rubbed a thumb over her brow bone. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispered. In movement a similar to the leaps she made on stage, she was in his arms. Head buried into his neck and fingers clawing at his back, she clutched him to her desperately.

Her entire body shook with her sobs and he felt his shirt absorb her hot tears, he was proud to hold her through it. It’s what he should’ve done that first time. He should’ve held her, all night if that’s how long it lasted. How long had she cried? He wondered that often. Was it all night? Did it carry into the morning? Was it no more than a second?

He himself found himself crying through an entire month. Alone in his room, often in the middle of his dreams. He’d wake up sniffling, laying on a wet pillow. That was different, though. He deserved it, she didn’t.

He had cried into that voicemail.

He wanted to ask about it, during the party. He wanted to know if she had gotten it, half hoping she hadn’t. He had immediately regretted it, once it was sent. A month later and he was still staring anxiously at his phone for a response, any response. A fuck off, an lol, anything at all, anything but that horrible silence. Because Arya Stark was never silent on things she cared about, and didn’t she care about him?

He hadn’t brought it up, obviously, because what would she say? What could she say to make him feel better? That she hadn’t gotten it? Maybe, but in retrospect her knowing his pain was a different sort of comfort. He wanted her to know he had truly cared for her, wanted to be with her, he wasn’t simply jerking her around. Whether or not that changed anything between them didn’t matter, as long as she knew that.

And if she had listened to it? What then? What more was there to say? She had heard him break and decided to leave him there and that was that. No response told him all he needed to know, no use in opening old wounds.

Except now, holding her, all of his wounds were open and pulsing and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Gendry’s phone buzzed which was probably Jon telling them he was out front. They didn’t move.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me carry you?” He tried, dreading watching her limp all the way to Jon’s car.

“Actually,” her voice was breathless and ragged, voice raw from sobbing. “I really don’t think I can walk on it. I already overworked it.”

Gendry was oddly excited. “I could…is there a back door or something? We could sneak out front.”

Arya pulled back enough to gift him a small smile. Nodding, she said, “I’ll tell you where to go.”

#gendrya #Gendry Waters #Gendrya fanfiction #gendrya ff #Arya Stark #arya x gendry #gendrya au

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deathordesire · 4 years

Text

Sunlight (4/?)

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: Daenerys’ Death, angst, hurt/comfort, gore, violence, Smut between women in later chapters.

Summary: You arrive in Winterfell, and the time has come for Daenerys' meeting with the Queen in the North.

Notes: Due to what happened in the TV show, this is how I believe Dany would have reacted. Please dont send hate, I very much love the Starks. (There is no death.)

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3

After the dining was over, the tables were being cleared for the true reason for Daenerys' visit.

Sansa's blue eyes meet yours, and with a nod she stands, "Your Grace, shall we-"

The Hall doors jolts open—voices rendered silent as the Princess Arianne strides into the room.

Behind her were at least a dozen sellswords, the gold of their armor emulating the designs of her gown.

You stand in surprise, kneeling to greet her. "Princess,"

Arianne joins you at the table, smiling at your greeting,"Y/N," she says softly.

"Khaleesi," she says, nodding to Daenerys before sitting beside her.

All but Daemon move to join Danys soldiers at the tables, he moves to join you at the other side of Arianne.

"Princess," Sansa nods, continuing her greeting to the Northern Ladies and Lords.

"Her Grace has come to ask for peace between us, and take away the North's Independence."

Many voices from Northerners spoke up at once, all of the mumbling about her motive and reasons—but Daenerys holds up her hand and slowly the Hall quiets.

Sansas jaw sharpens at her silence, "What is it you need of us, Your Grace?" She speaks through cold lips.

Aryas face was impassive, the only movement she made was to look at Sansa for her reasoning. Trying to gauge what her sister was doing.

But Sansa gave her no hint or emotion, only meeting her eyes before turning back to Daenerys.

"Jon is your family, and as a sign of peace—I have come to ask for your blessing to take my revenge." Dany's face was cold as she spoke, her body trained to not portray and weakness or vulnerability.

But you saw the tensing of her shoulders as she spoke of her revenge, the deep breath she had taken at the pain in her chest.

And you grit your teeth at the fact that she was forced to relive her death for court politics. A part of you wanted her to slaughter the rest of those who had betrayed her, then they would see her true wrath. But the days of glory and vanity had passed, and Daenerys once again was left with only herself to believe in.

At Daenerys' words— Sansa was silent, both her and Arya held no surprise at the queens demands.

But at the actual statement spoken aloud, half the room erupts in shouts. Lords and ladies howling in rage.

"What of the innocents?" "The children dead!" "Jon saved us all!" Simultaneous shouts of anger shouted from the Lords, your own soldiers silent.

It made you want to scream at them, to call on your soldiers and have them thrown outside for behaving like children.

"Kill the bitch again!"

You jerk at the Lord’s words—picking up your spear and pointing it at the heavy lord who had shouted.

The man sneers as he looks at the spear—eyes flashing back to meet yours with a flushed face.

Sansa lifts her hand—silencing them. "Calm yourselves, do not act like feral hounds in this Hall."

Daenerys' lips press tight as she turns to you—her hand curling around the crook of your elbow.

The soldiers on your side were also tense, the Unsullied in the corners gripping their weapons silently.

Arianne was quiet, her hands wound together as she tries to hold her tongue. But she held no surprise at your actions, in fact you were merciful at what she would have done to him.

Dany coaxes you down with soft touches and fire in her eyes as she lowers your arm.

The hall was silent for a few moments before Daenerys turns back toward the Northerners,"I admit my transgression of Burning Kinds Landing. "

"I had no knowledge of the Wildfire beneath the city, for such loss and devastation—I am sorry." Fingertips pressing into the wooden table.

"But my remorse will not bring back innocent lives."

She meets Sansas gaze with fire in her eyes, "Have you not done the same to those who have betrayed you? Even when you loved them."

The eldest Stark fixes her eyes on her like a wolf zeroing in on its prey. "The North did not ask Jon for murder, nor did we plan in your demise at The Red Keep. You are denying them the Queen they chose."

Arianne stands, her brightly painted gown burning like a beacon in the dim hall. "Were it another Queen, you—and your brother would have been killed for your actions."

"Daenerys Targaryen gave you mercy, especially when it was your tongue that spoke the whispers that broke the faith, was it not Lady Sansa?"

Sansa opens her mouth after a moment of thinking, but Arya cuts her off with quick words. "I love him—Jon,"

Her voice is strong as she meets Sansas eyes, standing to address the Northern Lords and Ladies.

Their posture softens at her words, it was clear they respected her as much as they did her sister.

"I do not want a war with more of our people dead. Jon has made his choice. Do not let him take you with him." She sat down in her chair, leaning back with a grim face.

You knew how much she loved Jon, and with her decision—she was forced to choose between The North and her own brother. She had chosen his death.

They quiet at her decision, a few nodding in silence.

"Your-My Lady," Brienne speaks to Sansa loud enough for all of you to hear.

"Her Grace could have killed us all for being in the council, she could have kept Lord Brandon as leverage. Yet, she brought him home to you without harm. I could not say the Lannisters would have done the same."

Minutes pass with tense mumbling and Sansa staring into the fire.

Finally she speaks, "The Lannisters are dead, and for that—you have my gratitude," she continues, "It is not an easy decision, Jon is our brother—and much more to others here. However Arya speaks true, he has made his choice. We will not interfere with your revenge." She affirms, clasping her hands together.

Ser Davos stands at her declaration, greeting both women in the room before turning to Princess Arianne. "Princess, what news of Dorne?"

She greets him with a smile, "Do you speak of Her Graces' betrayal, or of this alliance Ser Davos?"

"Forgive my boldness. We all wish to know what Dorne's plans are?" He sits back down.

You held back the snicker rising on your tongue.

"Dorne deposed the Prince because of his betrayal to Her Grace. I now hold Dorne." Her eyes pass over the room, "The seven Kingdoms never truly cared for us, and yet we are here."

"We have suffered." She throws her hands out with her words, "It is time that we are given the respect we deserve, and we will Aid Daenerys Targaryen with Fire and Blood."

Daenerys and Arianne share a mutual look of respect.

But Dany did not hide her anger, leaving the Hall with tight lips and a heavy stride. You watch her meet Drogon as he lands outside. He senses her distress, scales bristling and wings spreading against the unknown threat. But his eyes were on hers, and it brings a smile to your face at his love for her.

Princess Arianne curls her arm through yours, gaining your attention to speak as you walk through the halls.

➳ ➳ ➳

You knock gently at Daenerys door, opening it at the lack of protest. She stood by the window, her back to you—braid falling down her back.

"Y/N," she greets, voice almost a whisper.

"What is wrong?" You ask.

"A dragon has no remorse, no second thoughts for what they have done." She turns to you—eyes red with tears,"But a Mother weeps."

You rush to her side, cradling her face with gentleness you had forgotten you possessed. "We will find the sun," you whisper, "In a child's smile, in the stars that light the sky."

Dany pushes her face into the crook of your neck as a reply, although silent—you can still feel her chest shaking with her cries. You clutch at the back of her dress, your teeth gritting together at her pain.

"Will you speak to me of Naath, and the butterflies?" You ask, wiping her face with your sleeve.

She nods to you, a laugh on her lips. "Yes," her voice still wavering, "I will tell you of Naath, and the butterflies."

You kiss her cheek gently, pulling back to begin unlacing your gown. She watches you with her violet eyes, unweaving her braid and setting the dragon pin on the end-table.

She waits for you before getting into bed, her hand outstretching silently to join her. You take her hand, folding your arm underneath your head to face her.

Dany pulls the covers over you, her hand grasping yours, "The Naathi people were gentle, and kind. They took us in with warmth and we shared many meals. At night we watched the stars, and there was no talk of war or death."

Her pale hair was like a Halo around her head in the dim light. And you thought in that moment perhaps Daenerys was, the love that you had sought your whole life.

She blinks slowly, purple eyes crinkling as she imagines Naath. "The sun was warm, and there were so many different butterflies. Blues and purples, such was the beauty of the Naathi people themselves too." Her face lights up at the thought, and you smile at her sudden happiness.

You wanted to see her smile like this always, to experience life as she was meant too. Without pain and hate. But that was not a fate either of you had been given.

"Missandei spoke to me of Naath.. It was as beautiful as she said." she looks down, guilt weighing heavily on her mind, "I only wish to hear her voice one more time."

You reach for her curls, running your hands through her hair to comfort her, "And you will. When you are old and grey and surrounded by lemon trees."

Her eyes widen, then close with the rise of a sad smile on her lips. Soon after she was asleep, and you hoped her dreams were of Missandei and all those she had lost.

Enjoy my writing?

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys resurrection week #daenerys fanfiction #daenerys targaryen fanfiction #fanfic #dany x reader #fem!reader #writing #sunlight #part 4

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blacksunscorpio · 4 years

Note

Scorp you're a genius! So relatable and I love how you don't judge others or anyone who comes to you for help. Keep it up! I just had to ask since I see that you make pop culture references to make analogies with astrology. You've mentioned GoT a few times and im a huge fan! Can you do a quick post on Game of Thrones characters and their potential zodiac signs? I'd love to hear your input! Thank you so much!!

Game of Thrones Characters & Their Zodiac Signs

Aries

Khal Drogo- Impulsive. Warlike. Bloodthirsty. Alpha. Conqueror. Hardcore athlete [did you see him on that horse?] Extremely sexual. Forceful. When he first meets Daenerys, he forces himself on her. Afterward, however, he is the first to go to war if he feels the people around him have been disrespected.

Aerys Targaryen- Impulsive, sadistic. Boastful. imperial. He would be the Emperor [reversed] in Tarot, lol. Not as good with being a tactician as he ought to have been. Cruel. Rage problems. The need to be the first and the best. Fire and blood, anyone?

Taurus

Maergery Tyrell - Classy, wealthy, sexy, laid-back, frank but with an air of elegance. Highgardeners have a love for the finer things in life. A love of fine wines and foods. Beautiful clothing and aesthetics. RICH RICH. Get on their bad side and they will take their time finding a way to subvert your authority.

Robert Baratheon- Love of luxury, bullheaded, strong, takes no shit. Fixed in his opinions of others, highkey jealous. In his youth, he enjoyed the gifts of Venus: Charm, wealth coming from the noble house of Baratheon, widely considered handsome by almost all in the 7 kingdoms.

Gemini

Tyrion Lannister- Silver-tongued. HIGHKEY intelligent. Social. Charming. Great sense of humor. A freak [in the sheets]. Chatty. Always finds his way out of a sticky situation. Finds a way to use his intel to bolster diplomacy between his family and the families who hate them.

Little Finger- Cunning, quick-witted, works behind the scenes, manipulative, a snake, jack of all trades. Top dog in the social circles of the 7 Kingdoms. There wasn’t a person who didn’t know of him and his... reputation. He singlehandedly, through his Machiavellian tactics, caused the events of Game of Thrones to unfold.

Cancer

Cersei Lannister- Protective, moody, caring [to her kids], motherly, cantankerous, jealous. A savage. People don’t give Cancer’s the credit they deserve in terms of what they’re capable of. Cersei is a prime example of the type of person who can show unrivaled levels of devotion to the one’s they love. “No one matters but us.” She can be cruel because she lets her emotions rule her actions. When her safety is threatened, she makes sure no one else feels safe either. She loves with a ferocity only rivaled by...

Catelyn Stark- Another mother who would die [quite literally] for her children. Fierce, Protective. Doting. JEALOUS. Let’s not forget how she treated Jon all because she believed Ned’s lie about him being a bastard. Followed her son into battle. Damn near lost her hands fighting off Bran’s would-be assassin.

Leo

Jaime Lannister- Proud. Handsome. Princely. Funny. We seem him go from underdeveloped Leo [arrogant, selfish, bully, prideful, snob, loyal to no one but himself] to developed [Kind, helpful, warm, honest]. Fought bears for his friends. Skilled and proud fighter even without the use of both his hands. Unfortunately, his loyalty caused him to stay loyal to his twin towards the end, but such is the nature of a Leo. They’re hard-pressed to abandon those they truly care for.

Brienne of Tarth- LOYAL. Proud. Devoted. A bit of a flare for drama especially brandishing her sword. Brienne is the definition of Leonine traits. Hard to miss. Devoted to those who show her kindness, i.e Renly, Catelyn, Jaime, Sansa, etc. Always at the front lines in war screaming “STAND YOUR GROUND”. Unrivaled levels of bravery and courage. Not to be fucked with. A true Queen.

Virgo

Samwell Tarley- Intelligent. Scholarly. Methodical. Always with his nose in a book. Unproblematic king. Caught the things everyone else missed, especially when he was an apprentice in Old Towne. Figured out how to cure Jorah Mormont’s affliction on his OWN without any formal training. Genius.

Lord Varys- Remember, Virgo is also ruled by Mercury who is the most cunning of the planetary rulers. Varys always had a spy to collect intel on everyone. A tactician. Never lost his temper. Always had the scoop but didn’t partake in gossip for gossip's sake. Not afraid to be critical or tell those “in charge” his opinion. We can see this specifically when he critiques Aerys, Daenerys, and Robert.

Libra

Davos Seaworth- a skilled diplomat. Davos is always seen seeking balance and fairness in the situations he finds himself in. The minute you see this man in a scene you know he’s going to give a moving speech and get someone out fo a sticky situation. He convinced the Iron Bank to support Stannis. Convinced Daenerys to entertain Jon Snow when they traveled to Dragonstone. Always breaking up a fight. He is in full support of law and order, especially when he called for Melisandre’s head after discovering her part in Shireen’s death [RIP.]

Rhaegar Targaryen- Had a love of music. Harmony. Balance. He brought two families together [Stark and Targaryen]. He was also blessed by Venus in my opinion because he was said to be extremely handsome. A fabulous singer. A fighter yes, but a lover first. Very good with diplomacy but not the best with defending himself against his cousin sign, Taurus [Robert Baratheon].

Scorpio

Daenerys Targaryen- Many see her as an Aries but I have to respectfully disagree. Daenerys is a Scorpio in my opinion. Remember, Scorpio is honorary fire. She was literally “reborn from the ashes”. A Phoenix, Scorpio’s final form. She went from a silent and meek girl to a skilled and commanding Empress. Unlike Arians, she did not jump headfirst into battle. It took many arrows in her dragons, many slights to her ego, copious council from her advisors, dozens of her loved ones lost for her to go nuclear. Like her father, she hungered for power, a very Scorpionic trait. However she, unlike her father, listened to reason [Jorah, Tyrion, and Barristan Selmy]. She had a long fuse until she didn’t, and then that’s when she rained fire and blood on everyone in King’s Landing. She was skilled at retribution and was unapologetic with it *cough* the Tarleys *cough*.. Unlike Arians who pop off at the drop of a hat, she gave her enemies fair warning if/when they crossed her.

Arya Stark- You already know what it is with this one. Arya is pretty much death [Pluto], personified. Stealthy. A tactician. VENGEFUL. I think we all fist-pumped when she served Filch Walder Frey his sons in that pie. Never forgets a slight. Keeps a list of people who’ve wronged her [All Scorpios can probably relate]. You never see her coming. She is “no-one”. She is the assassin that slips through the back. She may seem calm at first but trust that she has been planning your downfall for a while. LOYAL. The definition of a Scorpio.

Melisandre- Dark. Mysterious. Unafraid of the occult. So much of her life is unknown and I’m sure that’s how she preferred it. Even her Lord of light was mysterious. Strong supernatural abilities and highkey psychic. Knew immediately how many “eyes” Arya would “close.” Had ties to the underworld which is demonstrated with her ability to resurrect the dead. Came through at the clutch in the last battle wielding fire [Mars] with her witchcraft. It’s no secret that Scorpios are some of the most skilled in sorcery.

Sagittarius

Missandei- Exotic. From Naath which is an island just above the mysterious continent of Sothoryos. A world traveler. Lucky enough to escape slavery [until the end]. Jupiter's influence is here in my opinion because she is so kind and friendly. Also a polyglot and gifted with the ability to speak 19 languages. Her fire is seen at the end of the series when she tells her best friend “Dracarys”-- meaning “fire” in High Valyrian. She isn’t afraid to call wrath down on others.

Olenna Tyrell- Loud, unapologetically blunt, zero-filter, feisty. Olenna to me is the definition of Sagittarius. Always speaks her mind. Clap back queen. Will call you out. Was also quite promiscuous in her younger years. Very charismatic and extremely likable despite her penchant for saying whatever was on her mind.

Capricorn

Tywin Lannister- I can’t see the patriarch of the most notorious family in Westeros being anything other than a Capricorn. Methodical. Structured. Business-minded. Karmic [A "Lannister always repays his debts"] Cold. Cruel. Unfeeling. Like Saturn, he is the father figure. Basically ran the 7 Kingdoms for Aerys, [which was probably why the latter was so salty towards him.] Always has a plan. The man you want in charge if we’re strictly talking about law and order. Vindictive [had the mountain kill Elia because Rhaegar rejected Cersei.] He’s the ultimate son-of-a-bitch.

Jon Snow- Brooding hero that he is, Bae Jon Snow is without a doubt a Capricorn in my eyes. Duty-bound. Serious. A leader in his own right. Could also be cold and unfeeling in terms of distributing karmic justice. Lest we forget the “fetch-me-a-block” situation with Janos Slynt. In addition, the moment he was resurrected he took vengeance against the black brothers who betrayed him. Saturn, Like Pluto, is all about karmic justice. The beating he put on Ramsey after The Battle of the Bastards was one thousand percent a karmic beating. A proper lover as well, according to Ygritte, Jon also knew how to handle himself in the bedroom, a trait very akin to Capricorns.

Aquarius

Bran Stark- I thought about making Bran a Pisces, but then I changed my mind. Remember Uranus rules sudden insights and hardcore psychic receptivity. It also rules sudden and unexpected catastrophes or surprises/ sudden breaks. Bran suffered a literal “tower” moment at the beginning of the series which resulted in his psychic powers developing. Once he became the three-eyed raven, he became very detached from the world.

Grey Worm- Aquarius is also androgynous. Grey Worm is a eunuch. He is always down to fight for a cause though, specifically his queen’s. Cares about others, specifically Missandei, and was seen towards the latter season speaking up for the Unsullied against the slavers. Fierce combatant but also very detached. His job is his job.

Pisces

Jaqen H’ghar- Much like Neptune, Pisces’ ruler Jaqen has a mysterious and illusive personality. He wears “many faces”. Skilled at illusion and very very intuitive. Has a soft side though which is clearly seen with how he treats Arya. Hardly ever flies off the handle. Calm. Cool. Collected.

Hodor- Sweet and gentle giant, Hodor is a Pisces to me. Affected by psychic trauma, it’s revealed why “Hodor” is the only thing he can say. Calm. A bit of a baby. Caring. Easily adaptable [think of all the terrain he carried Bran through]

Eddard Stark- I don't care what anyone says, Ned stark to me represents the most developed form of a Pisces. Like the Hanged-Man in Tarot that represents sacrifice and which Neptune Rules, he willingly sacrificed his reputation as honorable for his sister, Lyanna. He later sacrifices himself for his children when he died at Joffrey’s [little bitch] command. He is wise. Though appears cold, he is actually a well of feeling and caring. Unfortunately, he also suffered from the naivety of Neptunian influence which is why he wasn’t very skilled at the Game of Thrones, which calls for more tactical ruthlessness. Pisceans however also have the rage of Poseidon flowing through their veins [which people like to forget]. This was displayed when he pinned Petyr Baelish to the Wall in King’s Landing for daring to dishonor Cat by inviting her into a Brothel. RIP, King Stark.

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wishingupontheskyandstars · 3 years

Text

Our Secret This Holiday ❄️ Chp. 9

Fic Summary: As the Holidays approach, Arya and Gendry are a new couple spending a lot of time together before they reveal to everyone else that they are dating and what better day to reveal that than on Christmas…

This chapter is based on the Tumblr writing prompt: Wrapping Presents 🎁. Thanks for reading! :)

Chapter 9: Gift Wrapping Chat

"Did Mom really have these kissing mugs on the list for Robb and Talisa?" Sansa asked. She started to wrap them expertly as she sat across from Arya in the gift wrap room, filled with Christmas wrapping paper and lights strung all over the walls.

Arya just shrugged. "Just wait and find out what she got you."

Sansa shook her head at her younger sister then continued to wrap a present.

Arya sighed. “She should have done this ages ago.”

"It's been a busy time at the ski resort,” Sansa said in defense.

"Okay, she should have had somebody else do this ages ago," Arya muttered.

Sansa chuckled. "Okay, done with this one, what's next?"

Arya looked at Sansa's perfectly wrapped present and then looked at hers and groaned. Her wrapping had more tape, and the paper was more crinkled than it should be. "I'm awful at this!"

Sansa smiled. "That present is for Rickon, and I doubt he's going to care what it looks when he rips it off in less than a second."

"You're right."

"Ladies!" Ygritte yelled as she entered the room and closed the door with the back of her foot. "I have brought something to help cheer us up for Christmas Eve tomorrow." She carried a tray of three medium-sized glass goblets and a large bottle of whiskey and placed it on the counter.

"Ah, Bless," Sansa said as she poured whiskey in her glass.

Ygritte poured whiskey into Arya's and then her glass. "To getting through tomorrow," she said.

"Cheers!" All three women said together around the counter.

Ygritte raised her glass to Arya, "I'm happy for you, Arya—You have a good man!"

"Wait—you're seeing someone, Arya?" Sansa asked with raised brows.

Arya took a long drink of whiskey and sighed. She felt the alcohol flow within her body, making her feel warm all of a sudden. Fuck it. "Jon told you?"

Ygritte shook her head. “Jon didn't recognize him the other night, but I did." She grinned as she took another drink.

Arya nodded, then looked at Sansa. "I'm going to tell mom and dad on Christmas day, so don't say anything until then." She gave her intimidating stare.

Sansa looked back with a carefree look. "Okay, okay, who is it?"

"Gendry."

"Oh!" Sansa nodded her head. "Seems right."

Arya looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You just seem right for each other."

Ygritte nodded. "And he's good looking."

Arya laughed then gave them both serious looks. "How did you know Jon and Theon were the...one?" Sometimes she couldn't believe she found the love of her life already. She knew she was lucky that he felt the same way she felt for him—it was surreal.

"I didn't know," Sansa started to say. She bag to wrap a small present. "Theon and Robb were friends since childhood. I thought he was arrogant, but once I started to work with him at the resort, I saw a different side to him. He was compassionate in the way he helped the guests." She shrugged as she finished wrapping. "I found him sexy and knew then he was different from anyone else I dated.” She smiled at her glass of whiskey, lost in thought. “During our first date, over warm soup, it's like there was a spark." She grinned, taking another sip of whiskey. "And we both knew where this was heading."

"His place?" Ygritte asked with a wink.

"Ygritte!" Sansa looked shocked but then gave the nod with a glint of mischief.

Both Arya and Ygritte laughed. Arya watched the other auburn-haired woman drink more whiskey. She licked her lips and said, "After Jon and I met at University in the North, I didn't know if I liked him. He always seemed broody. He said he got it from his father." She shrugged.

Arya and Sansa looked at each other and nodded in agreement before looking back at Ygritte.

“When we were away from others he seemed so carefree and different, smiling more than I thought he could." She smiled and looked past the Stark sisters as if remembering something important. “I thought I could get lost in his smile for the rest of my life."

"Aww..." Sansa said, staring at Ygritte with a knowing look.

"Wow," is all that Arya was able to say.

Later that evening, after Arya told Gendry others know about them, he laughed. "I just knew we couldn't keep this secret for too long. We've only been in Winterfell for over a day, and almost half your family knows."

Arya put her hand on his stomach and her head on his chest. "We have one more day. We'll make it."

Gendry scoffed. "Sure."

Arya lightly hit him on the stomach. "We will! At least my mom and dad haven't found out."

"Yet.”

Arya sighed and got up to climb on his lap. "I guess the only way to shut you up is—" She started to kiss him and felt him respond by moving his hips to meet hers. His hands gently caressed her skin on her shoulders, then down her back, and stopped at her hips. He entered her quickly, making Arya gasp. She smiled. "Oh, Gendry..."

She moved faster, keeping in pace with him. His eyes stared into hers, and she felt lost in the love she felt for him.

"I love you," she said, feeling the start of that sensation.

He grunted. "Arya," he whispered. He kissed her with a roughness but also gentleness. "I love you, too."

Arya held on to him while they stared into each other's eyes and came together. Gendry kissed her before she started to moan.

Arya fell against his chest and immediately felt his warmth and sweat mixed with hers. She felt his fingers run through her now loose hair, and she soaked in the feeling of what it’s like to love and be loved.

#gendrya #arya x gendry #ao3 #fanfic #multi chapter fic #inspired by Tumblr prompt #Holidays #Christmas #my fanfic

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 4 years

Text

Cream Puffs and Puppies Chapter 2

For TimKon week Prompt: Matchmaker. I went in a different direction with the prompt. I hope you enjoy. Pairings: Kon/Tim, Jason/Roy/Kory, Cass/Cassie, Dick/Wally, Diana/Bruce, and Jon/Damian You can also read it on AO3

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Jason Todd growled as he glared at his two lovers and then his little sister.

"Come on Jason, you have to admit that it is clear that Bruce, Dick, and even the little demon miss Tim, and Tim misses them greatly." Roy reminded the growling man.

"I know that! I just don't get why we have to do this at a stupid con or why we have to dress up!" Jason hissed back as he tugged at his costume, at least it wasn't something ridiculous. "And why the hell can't I wear a shirt?"

"Because Dante doesn't wear a shirt." Kory happily informed Jason stealing a quick kiss. "How do I look?" She asked twirling around in her cosplay outfit.

"You look amazing." Roy came to stand beside Kory they both ended up going as Neo Queen Serenity and Neo King Endymion both looked amazing as their characters.

Cass had decided to go as Sailor Mars and Jason had a feeling a big part of her choice had to do with the fact that Cassie was going as Sailor Venus.

"Just so you know the only reason I am doing this is because I want to see what Blondie and Babs picked for Bruce, Dickie, and the demon spawn," Jason informed them as he crossed his arms over his chest.

A wide grin appeared on Roy's face as he clapped Jason on the back, "Sure Jay whatever you say."

Jason glared at Roy then turned his attention to Elizabeth, who he ended up adopting after his fifth visit when Tim rolled his eyes and shoved the adoption papers in his hands and told him to just fill them out already, gave him a doggy grin full of love. "Fine, let's get this over with."

+*****+

"You look amazing my space husband." Tim beamed at Conner who had finished putting the final touches on his costume. In Tim's opinion, he made a very handsome Shiro.

Tim had decided to go as Keith Kogane when Conner surprised him with tickets to a comic con and every Keith needed his own Shiro.

Conner could only smile as he pressed his lips against Tim's he knew his lover was obsessed with Voltron and what he called the epic love story of Keith and Shiro, he refused to accept the ending that neither Keith and Shiro or Lance and Allura ended up together.

"How dare they deny them their happy ending." Tim hissed as he watched the final seasons.

Conner had kept a close on Tim after that, the last thing he wanted was for him to do something drastic like buy the studio and redo the entire last season himself.

"The last time I went..." Tim trailed off the last time he went Dick had been there, they even managed to get Bruce to come along with them.

"Come on we better get going to meet the others." Conner stole a kiss from Tim, he hated the pain in Tim's eyes, he knew that he still missed his family. 'Please let this plan work.'

+******+

Barbara Gordon wasn't someone you messed around with, she rolled into the Batcave with Alfred and Stephanie both behind her.

"If you want to win back Tim this is your chance," Barbra informed them as she passed them their outfits. "You have half an hour to get ready before I call in reinforcements in the form of Wally, Jon, and Diana." Grinning as her threat had the effect she wanted she rolled herself out of the Batcave, she had her costume to pack.

With Bruce having his own plane it was easy to get them to San Francisco in time. Of course, Barbra had left out the little fact that Wally, Jon, and Diana would still be joining them. She rather enjoyed watching Jon appear in front of Damian and hug him.

Barbra made sure to get photos she had no clue how Diana convinced Bruce that yes he had to dress up as Wesley from the Princess Bride to her Buttercup but she had managed to do so. She had a feeling the black outfit helped.

Jon had picked Sasuke for Damian and Naruto for himself. Damian's scowl matched Sasuke's perfectly while Jon was just as happy as his character was.

Wally and Dick, well Babs was impressed at how much Dick managed to look like Tony Stark while Wally looked like a stupidly in love Steve Rogers as he gazed at Dick. 'Perfect for them.'

Barbra had chosen to go as Captain Marvel (Carol) and she rather pleased with how her costume had turned out.

Stephanie looked amazing as Spider Gwen, she looked unrecognizable.

"Now remember that our goal is to talk to Tim and prove to him how much we miss him." Dick reminded them. Guilt had eaten at him when Jason returned Red Robin's suit and everything to them. He had failed his little brother.

"Indeed." Damian, after Jon, pointed out how he talked and treated Tim had been wrong, had come to realize that both he and Tim were loved and wanted. He needed to make amends for his past treatment of Tim.

+*****+

"Wow, you guys look amazing." Tim praised as he caught sight of everyone's costumes. Raven looked amazing as Gamora and Gar looked like he was having a blast as Star-Lord. Bart was hopping around as Spiderman and Cassie looked amazing as Sailor Venus.

"Let's go," Jason growled as he stalked towards the entrance.

Linking hands with Conner Tim pulled him to follow after his older brother.

+****+

They had been there for about an hour when Conner got the text he was waiting for.

We are here.

Giving the signal to the others they followed Cass who would easily find her family.

"Look," Tim whispered to Conner as he walked behind his sister and friend.

Conner grinned as he spotted the link hands between Cass and Cassie and the faint blush on both of their cheeks.

"Hey Spiderman, looking good." Spider Gwen appeared out of nowhere, nudging Bart in the side.

Tim blinked he would know that voice anywhere. "Steph?" He had been so focused on being happy for Cass and Cassie that he hadn't been paying attention to the fact that he had been lead into a room.

Tugging off her hood Stephanie grinned at Tim, "Hey, ex-boyfriend long time no see."

It took Tim one glance around the room to see who else was there and his chest clenched. "What are you all doing here?"

Dick took a step towards Tim, "We are here for you Tim. To ask for a second chance to make things right with you. To prove that we love you, that you are part of our family. I know I haven't been the best brother to you and I want to fix that."

Bruce followed Dick and came to stand next to his oldest, "You are my son and I am sorry that I should have never made sure you knew that."

Jon nudged Damian who rolled his eyes as he followed his family, "I owe you an apology, Drake... Timothy. I was wrong in how I treated you and I wish to get to know you as my brother."

Dick gave Tim a a pleading look, "I love you, Tim, we all do will you give us a second chance?"

Tim had missed them all so much, yes they had hurt him deeply but he couldn't deny them that he missed them and wanted them back in his life. "Okay, I missed you all and I want my family back."

Dick moved and engulfed Tim in a tight hug. "I have missed you, little brother. And I'm not going to lose you again."

Tim clung to Dick, he had missed his hugs, "I missed you too big brother."

Jason rolled his eyes as he spotted Bruce's hands twitching, "Oh hug him already." Jason wasn't in the mood to watch him brood.

Tim and Dick were engulfed in Bruce's warmth as he hugged them to his chest.

Jon looked at Damian, "I am not hugging them." Damian informed his boyfriend.

A sweet smile appeared on Jon's face, "You're here that is a good start."

Once the hug broke Tim turned to face Conner, "Was this your idea?" He asked.

Conner grinned sheepishly, "It was a joint effort. We could see how much you missed them. You weren't whole without them and from what Stephanie and Barbra said they were even more miserable than you. Besides, I figured you would want your father to walk you down the aisle."

The room went silent as everyone stared at Conner.

Tim's eyes were wide, "Are you asking me to marry you?"

Conner fell down to one knee and pulled out the ring box he had been carrying around with him for a month, "Timothy Drake-Wayne since the moment I met you my life was changed for the better. I couldn't imagine my life without you. The day I met you was the day I met my soulmate and I want to spend the rest of our lives together and be able to call you my husband. So will you marry me?"

Tim lunged at Conner, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.

"I think that is a yes," Bart commented.

Bruce let out a distress noise that had Diana linking their hands together, "I think this is wonderful a union blessed by the Gods. Their souls have always been meant to be one." She whispered to Bruce who could only grunt.

Wally shook his head as Dick looked torn between happy that Tim was getting married or upset that his baby brother was getting married. "Conner is good for him and he will treat Tim the way he deserves to be treated." Wally did his best to comfort Dick.

"Don't worry I already gave Conner a long and very detailed list of what will happen to him should he hurt baby bird." Jason drawled out.

"What! You knew?" Dick whirled around and glared at his brother who just let out a crackle than a curse as Dick tackled him.

While chaos broke out behind them Tim broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Conner's, "The answer, by the way, is yes. Thank you for bringing my family back to me."

"Anything for you my space husband."

#timkon week #timkon #kon x tim #birdflash #wonderbat #jason x roy x kory #sherri writes #my ficlets

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merakiaes · 5 years

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Hounds and Gingers - Sandor Clegane

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Requested: Yes

Prompts: No

Warnings/notes: A tiny bit of swearing maybe.

Wordcount: 1809

Description: A short fluffy imagine for anonymous!

Sandor was sitting on top of the castle walls, back against the cold stone wall, head hung low as he sipped from the leather bottle in his hand.

He had been sitting there for a while now, having been joined by Arya Stark for a short while before Beric had scared her off.

Sandor had silently cursed him for that, against his better judgement actually having missed the stubborn little girl that he long ago had been so eager to get off his hands.

But of course Sandor hadn’t voiced those thoughts, not wanting Beric to have another reason to tease him.

They had shared the beverage in his flask for a short while, before Beric, just like Arya, had gone off to do Gods know what, leaving Sandor in his lone.

He liked being alone, that much everyone knew. He had never been one to find pleasure in socializing. But at this night, the day before the battle, Sandor couldn’t help but feel bitter that everyone but him was off sharing their last moments with friends and loved ones.

Beric had noticed this, but of course this was also something Sandor would never admit.

You had been busy preparing the bows and arrows with Theon Greyjoy the entire day, so busy you had yet to eat.

Your father had came by with food at one point, but as you had been too slow, he had ended up eating it himself, which in turn resulted in you throwing him out of the armory.

He should know by now not to fuck with you when you were stressed and hungry. But that man had always been a bit slow in the brain.

You had gotten relieved from your duties by Jon just about ten minutes ago, and you had wasted no time in going for the kitchen to pick up the food Jon had saved for you, bless his heart.

But this was all very new to you. Having been born and raised beyond the wall, this was your second time ever stepping your foot inside a castle, the first one being Castle Black.

This meant you got confused, to say the least, by all of the different hallways and paths. So it was safe to say it had taken a while to find the kitchen area, but once you did find it and got your hands on the food, you were for the first time that day able to relax.

Well, as much as you could when you would be fighting the dead the next day.

But the kitchen was boring. You were used to wide landscapes and nature wherever you turned. These stonewalls were certainly not your cup of tea. You felt trapped and restless, so instead of sitting inside while eating, you opted to take your food with you outside.

But once again, you had no idea where to go.

As you munched on a piece of bread, you took a left, and a right, and a right again, walking up a set of stairs, only to come face to face with the long path that was the castle walls.

Stepping out of the doorway, you let your eyes wander over the view, instantly feeling more comfortable at the sight of the landscape and the smell of the much fresher air.

You smiled contently and slowly started walking the wall, taking in every single detail as well as you could seeing as this was where you would be standing during the battle.

As you began to reach that side of the castle, you noticed a man slumped against the wall, one leg down and one up, elbow propped on the latter, drinking in his lonesome.

You could easily make out his features thanks to the glowing torches on the walls, and instantly recognized him as one of the men who had gone with Jon and your father beyond the Wall a while ago.

He looked friendly enough, you thought, your legs then starting to walk the rest of your body his way.

Sandor hadn’t noticed you at first, deep in thought as he stared at the floor. But he soon caught sight of your movements out of the corner of his eyes, sparing you a single glance before going back to stare at the floor, figuring you were just passing through.

But then you stopped beside him.

“Is this seat taken?” You asked him as you reached him, pointing to the ground beside him despite the fact that he was in that moment not looking at you.

Your voice was soft to his ears, but still stern and superior. Sandor looked up at that, giving you a one-over before once again turning his stare back to its previous place.

“You don’t look like you would give two shits if I said it was.” He muttered, not wanting to give away that he was actually surprised you would want to be in his company.

You couldn’t help but snort at that. “You’re not wrong.” You agreed, plopping down on the ground beside him, keeping a bit of distance between the two of you as you noticed he seemed to be a naturally tense and uncomfortable man.

“You’re the one they call the Hound, aren’t you?” You voiced, proceeding to pluck a grape from its twig, putting it into your mouth.

“Aye.” Sandor seemed unfazed as he spoke back, not moving his gaze. “I was.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, still very much focused on your grapes. “Not anymore, then?”

“Not anymore.” He grumbled.

“Why did they call you the Hound? Do you bark or something? Were you raised in a kennel, is that it?” You had never had much of a filter to your thoughts, much thanks to your father, but luckily Sandor didn’t seem to care very much.

“No, that’s not it.” He snapped. “They called me the Hound because I come from House Clegane, our sigil is three dogs, and I used to serve as prince Joffrey’s guard dog.”

“Oh...” You opened your mouth in the shape of an O, folding your legs beneath you. “So you were a lapdog, then. His bitch.” You snickered.

Sandor whipped his head around to look at you at this, starting to feel a bit annoyed by all of your uncunning questions. “I’m not anyone’s bitch. What, did you skip your lessons with the Septa? Even lowborns know the history of the houses, and you don’t look like some lowborn scum.”

You rolled your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I’m a highborn.”

Sandor scoffed. “That’s real expensive leather you’re wearing, no lowborn would ever be able to afford something like that.”

You put down your plate of grapes, brushing your hands off on your pants before turning to look at him. “Do you want to know a secret, Clegane?” You asked, a mischievous grin growing on your lips as you leaned in closer. “I robbed these clothes of a dead Lord after I had put a sword through his cock.”

Sandor gave you a look. “You’re a weird bitch, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Every day of my life.” You smirked, picking up your plate again. You grabbed a chink of meat and offered it to him.

Sandor scanned your face for any sign of you trying to poison him, grabbing the piece of food when finding none.

You snickered quietly as he basically snatched it from your hand, finding the way he was trying to act tough amusing.

“So, Clegane.” You started. “You got a wife?”

He scoffed at that. Something he seemed to be doing quite often, you noticed. “Would you want to be married to this? There’s not many women out there who likes to look at fuckers with melted faces.” He answered bitterly, pointing to the scarred flesh on his face.

You shrugged, not being bothered in the slightest. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re handsome.”

He looked at you, scoffing again. “Is there something wrong with your eyes?”

“Well.” You started. “I am commanding the archers during the battle so I would say I’ve got to have quite a sharp eye.”

He didn’t say anything, only glanced at you as he picked at his meat.

“Don’t worry.” You said. “I’m not used getting attention from men either.”

At that he snorted. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

You just shook your head in amusement. “Not many lords like wildling girls like myself who are attracted to men with burnt faces.” You admitted, before continued. “Besides, I think you should look at it like you’ve been kissed by fire, rather than ruined by it.”

As that sentence left your lips, Sandor’s head shot up. He narrowed his eyes at you. “You don’t happen to be related to that ginger wildling? The one who’s in love with Brienne of Tarth.”

You laughed. “(Y/N) Giantsbane, nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself for the first time, holding out your hand for him to shake.

Although he didn’t take it, instead shaking his head in annoyance. “Should’ve known by the look of your hair, fucking gingers.”

Your teasing smile instantly fell, being replaced with a hard glare that would have any man shaking in their boots. “Well, then.” You snarled. “I guess my ginger ass should leave you up here to sulk alone on what might be your last night alive, then, have fun with that.”

Sandor watched as you turned to make your leave and he instantly regretted his choice of words. What was wrong with him? Here you were, a pretty girl, willing to talk to him on your last night before the battle, and he was pushing you away.

He adjusted himself on the ground, contemplating if he should let you walk away or if he should admit his defeat. Deciding for the latter, he called out. “Wait.”

You stopped in your tracks at the sound of his voice, only a few steps away from the doorway that would take you back into the castle.

Sandor’s voice was still gruff and moody, but from what you had been able to learn of him during this short conversation, you knew it must have taken a lot for him to actually call out for you.

Turning around, you saw him hold his flask out. He was quiet for a few seconds before he finally spoke. “You thirsty?"

You looked at him for a minute, before starting to walk back to him. Stopping front of him, you stared into each others’ eyes for a moment before you reached out and grabbed the flask.

"I’m a wildling.” You said, returning to your seat beside him. “I’m always thirsty.” And with that you took a long swig of whatever was inside, mentally preparing of what was to come the next day with the Hound by your side.

#game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor clegane imagine #sandor x reader #tormund giantsbane #jon snow #theon greyjoy x reader #beric dondarrion #wildlings

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brbaabs · 5 years

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The Dornish Bird - Chapter 5

Hello, dear readers! I’m finally back with this update, I’m sorry a took so long.

As I said in our last update, the story is getting darker with each passing chapter. As you already know, lady reader is going to King’s Landing, and we all know how angsty the journey will be, especially for the Stark girls. That being said, this will be the last part of the “calm before storm” mood we’ve been seeing so far. Prepare yourselves to say goodbye to the Stark Household for a loooong time.

So, you guys shared your thoughts and I made my decision: The Smut is coming! I’ll let my imagination go wild (in a good way, of course) very soon, so you’ll have a taste of our reader’s intimate life. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do, hahaha!

Today’s song is chill, but the lyrics are deep. Here you go!

Word count: 2.105

After her last dinner with the Stark family, (Y/n) felt numb.

She was happy to be with them, to dine with her friends and Lords one last time before her whole life changed for good. That last feast was a parting gift from her Lady, a token to be cherished in darker times. It was a memory (Y/n) would hold close from her heart and treasure for the rest of her life. She was thankful.

And yet, her heart yearned for one last thing before her departure.

She needed to see Jon.

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Her knuckles hit the wooden door three times. It was their signal. Every time the girl had a problem, she would knock on Jon’s door in the middle of the night. That way, no one would see them together, and rumors would not be falsely spread around the Stark’s home. (Y/n) needed her friend, not a dirty gossip to worry about.

However, it took longer to that friend to open the door for her this time. She cursed lightly, looking around nervously. She could not be caught at Jon’s chambers at night, now more than ever.

When the lad finally opened his door, (Y/n) rushed inside and closed the door behind her. Jon was quite used to that behavior after two years of friendship, but her actions bothered him this time. His head was pounding like a heart, and all he wanted was to lay down on his bed and sleep for a hundred years.

"I need to talk to you." The girl said. "It could not wait until tomorrow, I would perish if I had to wait that long."

Jon remained silent, watching the girl move around his chambers like she owned the place. (Y/n) took off her hood and sit on Jon's bed, breathing deeply to calm herself down. She looked about to explode, the boy knew that side of her too well. 'If I just listen, perhaps she'll be out soon.' He thought.

"I will go to King's Landing to be Sansa's handmaiden." She said. "When I come back... I think I'll marry your brother."

Jon nodded. He had heard the news from Theon earlier. Apparently, the Greyjoy wasn't too pleased with (Y/n)'s new status. Jon took the news like a punch in his guts.

"It's such a great honor, my father wouldn't believe it." The girl spoke again. "My mother always told me I would meet a good man, fall in love and live with him in a small cabin somewhere around Westeros. I never dreamed of becoming a lady. I admired House Stark for so long, and now I'm Robb's bride."

She took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. Her sigh was glued on the ground, but her mind was far away. Many thoughts crossed her mind, bringing old and new fears to the light as she wondered. Her delicate hand pressed her chest gently. Her teeth sank deep in her soft lip.

"It's such an honor." She mumbled. "Such an honor, and yet..."

She sighed, closing her eyes.

"I don't know if I can do it, Jon."

The lad's heart trembled. He stared at (Y/n)'s figure, carefully studying her form. Her shoulders were tense. She breathed slowly, moving her chest slightly. Her legs were shaking discreetly, but Jon could see it's movements. Her (E/c) eyes were shut tightly, and she was subtly retracting her form like a scared dog.

She was terrified.

"I should not be such a baby." She mumbled. "I should not hide like a coward, or complain like a spoiled brat. I'm so fortunate to be allowed to walk among these noble people, to sit at their table and speak to them as I was equally noble. The Gods blessed me with the biggest honor I could ever win. I shouldn't be scared."

She gulped hard.

"But I know I'm not worthy." (Y/n) spoke softly. "I can not do this, I should not do this."

Jon's heart ached with her words.

(Y/n) was the most fabulous girl in Winterfell in his eyes. He could not think of a single flaw in her. From her appearance to her character, she was extraordinary. Now his core ached with her hard words about herself. If he could just reveal what he truly felt about her... Everything would be different.

But, inside his weary heart, he knew it was impossible.

He could not love (Y/n).

She would never be his.

The young man sighed heavily. He closed his eyes for a second, thinking about his future. He did not tell her about his decision to go to The Wall. It would be easier to keep that from her and go without saying goodbye. She would return to Winterfell to marry Robb at some point, but Jon would not be there. They would never see each other again. She would be furious and hurt, but there would be nothing she could do. Her husband would be another man. It would be a sharp cut, but her heart would heal on Robb's hold.

But Jon couldn't do it. He couldn't reap her out of his heart like that. He needed to see her reaction. He needed to know what she felt about him. It wouldn't change anything, but it would make him feel slightly better.

"I need to tell you something." He muttered.

His voice sounded harsh, but (Y/n) heard his words. Immediately, she dried her eyes before any tear could fall, and smiled warmly to her friend.

"So you're finally going to tell me what's happening?" She asked.

Even with her playful speech, Jon could tell she was distressed. Hurting her as the last thing he wanted, but he was out of choice. Ending their relationship now would be easier.

"I'm going to The Wall with uncle Benjen." He stated. "I'll join the Night’s Watch."

The air left (Y/n)'s lungs.

She gasped, shocked. Her (E/c) eyes looked at Jon's face, searching for his brown ones. He avoided her gaze and turned around to face the wall.

"What?" She whined. "You can't be serious, this is madness, Jon! Why would you leave your family?"

He gulped hard but didn't turn around. He knew it would be impossible to hide his true feeling from her if he looked into her eyes.

"I know it." He said. "It was my decision."

Now staring at his back, (Y/n) felt her shock turning into rage. Jon could not do this, he could not abandon his siblings and his father simply as that. She knew he had always thought about visiting The Wall with Bran in the future, but it should be just a distant dream. Now Bran's life was at risk, and Jon wanted to leave him? That wasn't like him.

"Why?" She asked. "When did you made that decision?"

Jon sensed her body getting closer to him. He took a step forward to get away from her because he could not let her see his sad face, but (Y/n) took it as an act of refusal. In her troubled mind, Jon wanted to stay away from her.

"Jon, listen to me." She tried. "This isn't like you at all! Why are you avoiding me? Why are you leaving your home? Is this what you want? To never come back?"

"Don't do that." He mumbled.

Jon stepped away from her again, going to the other side of the room this time. He inhaled deeply, biting his lower lip for a second. What could he say to make her leave? He could not see suffer because of him any longer. The sooner he left, the better. She would be free from him.

"I know what it will cost me. I know exactly what I'll have to do." He said. "This was never my home, (Y/n). I don't belong here. They are not my family, they are my lords and ladies. And soon you'll be my lady too. You know I cannot stay here. The Wall is where I should be."

He sighed, shutting his eyes.

"I cannot be any woman's husband or any child's father." He said. "It is for the best, at least my life won't be a nuisance anymore. I can be useful to the Watch, but I have no meaning here."

His words crushed the girl's heart.

"This is not true, Jon! Are you saying this because of Lady Catelyn?" She mumbled. "Of course you have meaning, you're not a nuisance. How can you say these things about yourself? By The Seven, you're so important. Lady Catelyn may not like you, but your siblings do. And your father too!"

She stood up to go in his direction. Jon could hear her muffled footsteps but did nothing to avoid her approaching. He knew she was a stubborn girl. If she wanted to reach him, he was not capable of escaping her advances.

"I love my Lady with all my heart, but she is wrong about you. She has always been." Her voice reached him before her touch. She put her palm on his back in a light caress. Jon's body shivered with the contact. He could almost feel her hand's warmth through his clothes. He was familiar with the touch of her skin, but he never would be prepared to be touched by her.

"You're loved here, Jon. More than you can see." She muttered to him.

Jon's heart was beating so hard that the boy was sure (Y/n) was able to hear it. His eyes burned with tears he couldn't release. The only thing he wanted was to turn around and take that wonderful girl in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to take her face in his hands, look deep into her eyes and profess all the words he knew he should never dare to say. He could burn in hell for this, but he would never regret it.

But it would ruin (Y/n)'s life forever. He didn't deserve her.

"I really want to go, (Y/n)." He mumbled hoarsely. "Don't make it sound like a bad thing. It is what I wish, please respect my decision as I respect yours."

(Y/n) was broken by his words. She wasn't angry anymore. At that moment, all she could feel was her heart shattering inside her chest. The girl breathed deeply, feeling her eyes ache. Burning tears wet her cheeks as she silently absorbed her best friend's last words. Even with his insistence, she would never be able to understand. She knew the truth.

They would never see each other again.

Gulping hard, the girl stepped back. With the distance regained, Jon could breathe again. He could feel her gaze upon his back, burning through his flesh and bones to reach his very soul.

"I guess this is a farewell then." She said.

Jon wanted to answer, but words got lost in their way. Seeing his silence as a reply, (Y/n) nodded to herself before turning around an heading to the exit. Each movement of her body hurt like a stab in her chest, but she did not stop until her hand grabbed the door handle.

She hesitated, though. His last phrase spun in her mind, digging their way inside her brain. His wrong assumptions disturbed her more than his decision. If he believed she had anything to do with her Lady's command, he certainly didn't know her very well.

"I did not choose this." She said, her voice cold as ice. "I wish you good fortune on your future, Snow. I hope you find a real family there."

She opened the door and left. Hearing her moving away, Jon felt her last words falling upon shoulders. He let himself cry as his body collapsed in the cold ground. He could not feel his knees hurt. Nothing could possibly injure more than his heart.

(Y/n) was right as always. It hadn't been her choice or his. They could not choose their own destiny. Both of them would have to live over someone else's decision. He would be an invisible man, just another bastard supplying the Watch. And she would marry a man she didn't love, birt his children and live far from her homeland for the rest of her life. She was right, they would never meet again. In a couple of months, the Dornish girl would be only a distant memory. The future Jon wanted to build with her would be nothing more than a dream.

An unreachable fantasy.

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That’s it for today, thanks for reading! Reblog to help me, leave a comment if you liked this chapter.

Tag List: @evilunicorns4minions, @black-widow-fangirl, @aristocracy-y, @aspiring-fangirls-world, @thedeacywaltz, @riddlersriddlet, @nialeesato, @peachyblinderss, @psychosupernatural

I hope I’m not forgetting anyone. If you wish to be tagged as well, please tell me. Thank you all!

~ See ya!

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jonsateaparty · 5 years

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Let’s Analyse The Heck Outta This Playlist

I have listened to every single song in the Game of Thrones: The End Is Here playlist and hooo boy do I have shit to say.

Looking at all the songs, I found that I could seperate them into different categories. The categories were songs which fit certain characters or houses, or songs which fit the white walkers or war in general. There were also quite a few love songs, some of which could be easily interpreted as jonsa. Below the cut I’ve put together all the songs in their categories with some lyrics for each song and any notes I made while listening.

HOWEVER since that shit is loong, I’m gonna add a preemptive TL;DR for some categories of interest before the cut.

JONSA

Overall, there were six songs that I could recognize as jonsa. The themes of these songs were that of a passionate and loving romance, with the occasional tinge of forbidden love and having to wait for their lover. These songs were also very, very blatant in their connection to jonsa. With most of them, jonsa was honest to goodness the only GoT interpretation for this love song. I really was shocked listening to how blatantly jonsa this playlist is guys.

J0NERYS

There were three songs in the playlist which I could call j0nerys songs. One of these songs I could argue belongs elsewhere and only there was one jonsa song that was ambiguous enough that it could be attributed to j0nerys. My absolute favourite song of these three is the song Little Monster by Royal Blood. In this song, a man who refers to himself as a wolf is the lover of someone who he calls Little Monster and betrays her. Yeah. They really went there.

D4NY/TARGARYEN

Three songs that are definitely about her, but I suspect a few of the “general” war songs are about her as well. Why, you say? Because Dark D4ny LIVES in this playlist man. These songs, which are mainly about fire and “black wings” (Drogon, anyone), talk about someone mad with powerlust, a “bitch” coming to take you to hell, and being haunted by demons in the fire. DARK D4NY IS COMING AND MY BODY IS READY FOR HR GLORY

STARK

In contrast to songs about fire being full of madness, the four “wolf” Stark songs that we get are about being free and victorious. One song in particular talks about the “Wolves of Winter” getting the better of someone who has “fits of paranoia”, someone who sees themselves as an exception but without people supporting them, they’re going to lose. Like. Holy shit.

TARGBOWL

Now, most of the other songs are either about the Greyjoys/Lannisters, generic war songs, power or dead things. However there is ONE war song that I think heavily implies targbowl. This song is called Go to War by Nothing More and seems to be about two groups of people who were once on the same side going to war.

That’s it of particular interest, however if you want to see a list of all songs and all categories, plus some lyrics and notes, check out under the cut!

Potential Jonsa Songs

Girl from the North Country – Bob Dylan - If you go when the snowflakes storm/When the rivers freeze and summer ends/Please see if she's wearing a coat so warm/To keep her from the howlin' winds Note: This song is either about Arya or Sansa. I honestly cannot see this song being about Arya, this is about a traditionally feminine girl with long hair. I say this is jonsa because I literally cannot think of any other thing this could be about.

Howlin’ for You – The Black Keys - I must admit/I can't explain/Any of these thoughts/Racing through my brain Note: Can’t explain their reasons (maybe because they shouldn’t be having them), wolf references, bird references? Very jonsa. Also could be general stark or gendrya.

Sister – Prince - My sister never made love to anyone else but me/She's the reason for my, uh, sexuality Note: OMG this SONG. Although this could also be about Jaime/Cercei… but considering that’s over, I’m going with jonerys. Especially since there’s a song about wolves right after…

Devil’s Spoke – Laura Marling -I might be a part of this/Ripple on water from a lonesome drip/A fallen tree that witness me/I'm alone, him and me Note: Honestly the only concrete reason I put this here is because I ship jonsa. It could be any ship. Also the first verse makes me thing of the Winterfell Godswood.

Winterlong – Niel Young - I waited for you Winter long/You seem to be where I belong

Furr – Blitzen Trapper - I brushed the leaves off of my snout/And then I heard my mother shouting through the trees/You should have seen that girl go shaky at the knees/So I took her by the arm

Potential J0nerys Songs

Mama Kin – Aerosmith - Well you've always got your tail on the wag/Shootin' fire from your mouth just like a dragon Note: Those line, plus the whole “Mama” thing makes me think this is jonerys. It could also be jon? I guess?

Little Monster – Royal Blood - I'm your wolf, I'm your man/I say run little monster/Before you know who I am Note: A song about a “wolf” in a relationship with a “little monster” who plans to betray them? HMMMMMMMMMMM.

Be My Fire – The Blue Stones - Baby, be my conjurer/And I'll hold you dear/Baby, be the visions in the night/And wait till morning light for you/To disappear

Dany/Targ Songs:

Sleep Now In the Fire – Rage Against The Machine - The world is my expense/The cost of my desire/Jesus blessed me with its future/And I protect it with fire.

Her Black Wings – Danzig - Demoness calls/The bitch is come/For those who wait/Cross the breach in hell Notes: I’m guessing another Targ song, what with the “black wings”.

Fire – Barns Courtney - Ghosts and devils come a-calling/Calling my name oh, lost in the fire

Stark Songs

Wolf Like Me – TV On The Radio - Got a curse I cannot lift/Shines when the sunset shifts/When the moon is round and full/Gotta bust that box, gotta gut that fish

Wolves of Winter – Biffy Clyro - We are the wolves of winter/We live in a kingdom of blood Note: Holy fuck the implications of Dark!Dany in this song!!!

Dire Wolf – Grateful Dead - In the timbers to Fennario, the wolves are running round/The winter was so hard and cold, froze ten feet 'neath the ground.

Killer Wolf – Danzig - I'm the wolf/I'm the one you want/I'm the killer wolf

Potential Targbowl Songs

Go to War – Nothing More - I don't know what you had in mind/But here we stand on opposing sides/Let's go to war Note: Holy FUCK, this song seems to really foreshadow targbowl. It’s not a generic war song like some of the others, and it’s not about dead/evil/cold wars. This song seems to be about people who were on the same side then turned against each other.

White Walkers/war for the living songs

Immigrant Song – Led Zeppelin - How soft your fields so green/Can whisper tales of gore/Of how we calmed the tides of war/We are your overlords

The End – The Doors - Of our elaborate plans, the end/Of everything that stands, the end/No safety or surprise, the end/I’ll never look into your eyes again

Cold Cold Cold – Cage The Elephant - Doctor look into my eyes/I've been breathing air but there's no sign of life/Doctor the problem's in my chest/My heart feels cold as ice but it's anybody's guess

Burn the Fleet - Thrice - In this dark night we stand or fall/We are kings now, or nothing at all/Check your armor; Light up your torch

Dead Skin Mask – Slayer - Graze the skin with my finger tips/The brush of dead cold flesh pacifies the means

General songs

Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes - Don't want to hear about it/Every single one's got a story to tell/Everyone knows about it/From the Queen of England to the hounds of hell

War – Grandson - War up north/And war down south/Everywhere is war

Let Me Live / Let Me Die – Des Rocs - Tears don't stop the fire/It's killing time/Back from the dead/See your eyes, got nothing left/Kiss me, I am the colder Note: This is a song of ice and fire. This. Is A. Song. Of. Ice. And. Fire.

POWER – Kanye West - Life is a trip, so sometimes we gonna stumble/You gotta go through pain in order to become you Note: I’d call this a general song but this came right after a song about wolves so make of that what you will 😉

Let’s Have A War – Fear - Let's have a war/So you can go and die!

Powa – Tune-Yards - Rebel, rebel, no/Lightening dances in my head

No One Knows – Queens of the Stone Age - We get some rules to follow/That and this/These and those/No one knows

The Time Is Now – Atreyu - Flying high above the world/It's a new life, it's a new mind/And I will never fall Note: A Time for Wolves anyone? Especially since this comes right after a wolf song…

Rise Above – Black Flag - Jealous cowards try to control/Rise above, we're gonna rise above

Alternative Ulster – Stiff Little Fingers - There's nothin' for us in Belfast/The Pound's old, and that's a pity/OK, so there's the Trident in Bangor Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Sickbed of Cuchulainn – The Pogues - And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone/Frank Ryan bought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid/And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was cursing all the Yids

Power – AJ Ghent [j-ent] - You wanna take me down/But I won’t bend

Toxicity – System of a Down - You, what do you own the world?/How do you own disorder, disorder

Here’s Your Future – The Thermals - God reached his hand down from the sky/He flooded the land then he set it on fire

Love is Blindess – U2 - A little death/Without mourning/No call/And no warning

Greyjoy Songs

Flugufrelsarinn – Sigur Rós - Ég næ ekki andanum og þyngist við hverja öldu/Mér vantar kraftaverk/Því ég er að drukkna – syndir (I can not breathe and I am heavier with every wave/I need a miracle/Because I am drowning- sins) Note: Lots of talk about the ocean/rivers/boats along with despairing over your sins and struggling to be better and repent. If that isn’t a fucking Theon song I don’t know what is.

Bottom Of The Deep Blue Sea – MISSIO - The sweet surrender of silence forces me to live alone/Locked and loaded, where the hell is peace of mind?/I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea

Wave of Mutilation – Pixies - You'll think I'm dead, but I sail away/On a wave of mutilation

Jon Songs

Born for Greatness – Papa Roach - No we’re not nameless, we’re not faceless/We were born for greatness Note: This could be generic, but this gives me heavy Jon vibes

EDIT: @ward--runa pointed out to me that this song suited Jon better.

Mother – The Amazons - Friends wanna kill me/But I give them all my loving anyway/If God won't forgive me/I'm not the only one to make amends

Lannister Songs

Listen to the Lion – Van Morrison - All my love come tumblin' down/Oh, listen listen/To the lion

Hot Blood – Kaleo - You wanna prove you're the better man/You wanna reach for the things that nobody can/Oh all you need is to break away, yeah/Just keep telling yourself there's no shame Note: This was either Jaime or Jon for me, but I settled on Jaime. Partly because this came after a string of what I think to be Cersei songs. Also The idea of being a better man, “love is gonna get ya”, “turn your back, you’re a broken man”, “shake your hand”.

Gold Lion – Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Gold lion's gonna tell me where the light is

Cersei Songs

Queen – Perfume Genius - Don't you know your queen/Gleaming/Wrapped in golden leaf/Don't you know me Note: This gives me Cercei vibes but I honestly don’t know…

Cruel – St. Vincent - So they took you, and they left you/How could they be casually cruel? Note: ??? Maybe another Cercei one?

Crown of the Ground – Sleigh Bells - Set, set that crown on the ground and-ah

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #game of thrones #anti-jonerys #anti-daenerys targaryen #dark dany #villain dany #jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa meta #sort of?

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cleganegirl · 5 years

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And So The Story Goes - Sandor Clegane/Reader

Hello! I absolutely LOVE your writings and I love Sandor Clegane so much! I'm so glad your blog is dedicated to him! Could I possibly request a writing where the reader is the eldest Stark sister, and she is in love with Sandor and they both admit their feelings for each other and consumate their love right before the Battle of Winterfell? Pretty please!!😁

Warning: Smutt and swearing....

The long night was drawing nearer, Winterfell your harm was up in arms, men and women preparing for another battle, saying bye to their loved ones, maybe for the last time, prepping the Castle for the oncoming attack, it was all bustle, yet, you stood at the top of the tower stairs, watching it all. Who would have thought you'd be back here. You younger brother Robb perished at the Red Wedding along with your mother, your fathers head was taken from his body at Kings Landing some months before your mothers' untimely death. Arya went missing for years, Rickon was murdered by Ramsey and Sansa, well, Sansa had seen horrors that no human should and yet she arose from those ashes, not a scared and timid rabbit as before but a burning and bright phoenix. You were the Eldest Stark daughter, you watched them over them all now they were back in Winterfell, even Jon whom your mother had detested, his heart was a Northman heart no matter where he was born. You watched as the Dragon Queen arrived with him, saw her beauty first hand but noticed the cruelty in her eyes, was she born with it or had she seen horrors too. Either way, your sympathy was with her. Her soldiers followed her through the gates, and with them a giant man upon a giant horse, you had recognised him immediately, the years hadn't been kind, he had more scars added to him and he seemed a little withered with age but he still made the air in your lungs escape, he still made the air seem incredibly dense, like you couldn't breathe no matter how hard you tried. Your hands would become clammy and no matter how confident you were you found yourself blushing like a child. Your memory of that day, of their arrival, was all that kept you going, the fact he was here, near you, somewhere made you feel safe but vulnerable at the same time. "Shouldn't you be down there with those clucking hens?" Sandor emerged from the shadows, he stood beside you, resting his hands on the fence in front of you both. "Clucking of hens," you repeated, "you assume I'll be wanting to help with their trivial tasks, I'm not one for cooking, sewing or whispering empty promises of safety." You turned to look at him, the side of his burnt face facing you as he carried on watching the people in the courtyard. "Aye, you were never good at that in Kings Landing little wolf, but you've grown since, grown very well." His head turned to look at you, his eyes trailing along the length of your body and back up to your face. "You've gotten older Dog but I'd still calm the war inside of you if you'd let me." Your voice was softer, you couldn't remain cold to him, no matter how hard you tried. "I thought that notion would have left your head a millennium ago, Little Wolf, this old dog can't learn new tricks now," he turned to leave, he wasn't used to maidens throwing themselves at him, and he couldn't process how to react without being a grumpy bastard. "Sandor!" Your voice cracked, your eyes watered with a distant memory of being left in Kings Landing by him many a year ago. "Don't leave, not tonight, don't leave me again!" He turned to look at you, his resolve dissolving at the pit of his stomach, the red-blooded male growing in his place, yet there was something else, something softer, something that wanted to push the strands of your hair behind your ears and whisper silly petty love songs into your ears. "Well, come here then little wolf," Sandor held his arms out for you. You took a run at him, a small jump at the end and he had carried you into the air, your legs locking around his hips as your lips crashed into his. His beard rubbed you raw and yet you didn't care, the swelling would ease all too quickly and tonight will be a distant memory, if you survived it that is. He carried you to your chambers, you didn't ask him how he knew where they were, it didn't seem to matter in the grand scheme of things, yet, here you were, lying on your fur throws, on your bed, your skirts pushed up against your hips as Sandor kissed your thighs gentle at first and then more vicious as he smelt the arousal from between them. "Sandor, I need to be honest, this... Is... My," you stopped, the embarrassment catching in your throat, Sandor looked up at you, over your skirts as he tried to figure out what you were saying. "My little wolf, you're a virgin? You haven't..." You nodded, "with another?" He added you nodded again, instead of carrying on with his mission between your legs he pushed himself up to face you. Inches away, his brown eyes searching yours, for a sign of some sort of practical joke, something to say that this was all at his expense, instead what he found was a teary look that told him all he needed to know, "You don't want me to be your first, I'm no lord or a Ser, I'm not even handsome, you get yourself dressed and find a pretty lad for a pretty lass." You shook your head, "That isn't what I'm after, Sandor, it's you and always has been, that's why I'm still intact, I waited, against all hope that I'd see you again so that I can say this to you." The air had gone dense again, there was nothing to inhale, you gulped, trying your best. It was tonight, tonight was your last chance, you'd never let him leave this room without knowing how you truly felt. "I love you, Sandor, and I always have." Your cheeks marooned with embarrassment as Sandor sighed, his cheeks mirroring your own red colour. "I love ya too, Little Wolf," and he wasted no more time, his lips claimed yours viciously. Teeth nipping at your lips, tongue dancing with your own in your mouth. His hand found the bunched up skirts again and dived in under them, he found your small clothes and pushed them to one side. His fingers all though they were thick and long were delicate and soft, his hands calloused and large knew exactly the amount of pressure to apply on to you. They rubbed small circles, left and then right, your back arched in pleasure, the electricity flowing through you made you jerk and your limbs to shake, his gently, he slipped one finger inside of you, your moistness slicked his digit enough to allow easy entry, he curled it towards the ceiling, finding a hidden spot you knew nothing of, he stroked it as he rubbed the outside with his thumb and soon you were moaning as the electricity still serged through your body. Quicker and quicker his fingers moved, deeper and deeper the current ran through your body, you watched his face, as his eyes never left yours, you came on his hand, moaning his name, not the brutal nickname he was given by a spiteful ruler but the name his mother blessed him with and the name that left your lips most nights whilst you were alone in this bed. He brought his hand up to his face, he licked and sucked his fingers clean, obscenely smacking his lips, "I didn't think anything other than wine could taste this fucking sweet, Little Wolf." He bent and kissed you hard, the taste of him and the taste of you mixed together, you were the sweet to the tang of the wine still soaked onto his lips. You sat up onto your knees, "undress me, Sandor, please." He didn't need to be told twice, his need to devour the sight of you naked was too much, with fumbling hands no longer nimble and quick as they were at your most intimate of places he struggled to untie the bindings of your dress. "Fuck, fucking fuck sake, you ladies and your fucking dresses." He panted, exasperated at the thought of not being up to untie your dress as quickly as he'd like, "fuck it!" He took a handful of fabric in both of his large hands and pulled hard, the dress fell apart in the most dramatic of sounding rips, beads flying across the room, it pooled around your waist, your breasts bounced free from the corset bussom. "Fuck me," Sandor whispered at the sight of your skin, his hands reached out immediately, cupping a breast in each one, allowing them to sit in the palm of his hands for a few moments before following the softness down to your puckered nipples, his finger and thumb caught the plump bulbs in his between them, twisting and pulling them gently, enough to peak your arousal again, your moans following moments later. His head bent down to claim them between his lips, tongue flicking out to lick at them, alternating with sucking at them, you brought your hand down on to his crotch, you palmed him through his breeches, the size of him worried you, he was thick and long, how could you fit that into you? He must have caught the worry in your eyes, he had started to undress himself as he spoke, "Don't worry Little Wolf, I won't hurt you, not tonight anyway." He winked at you cheekily, you took this opportunity to push your dress out of the way since he was now fully undressed it was only right you copied too. You crawled up to where he sat, you had wanted to try this since Theon Greyjoy had mentioned it, but you were uncertain Sandor would enjoy it. You dipped your head before he could reject the idea and took him into your mouth, slowly at first, getting used to his size, your tongue swirled across the head of his cock, his hands tangled in to your hair, "fuck, girl, where did you learn that!" You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue stroking the head as you got to the tip and then to swallow the length as best as you could again, Sandor was moaning almost consistently, it went from moaning to groaning and a few growls. His hands were still bunched into your hair, he pulled your head up and away quickly, "fuck, I'd have blown my load if you had of carried on, I don't want that to be our first together," he rolled you both over, him on top of you as his hands rubbed your nipples again. Sandor lay on top of you, your legs wrapped around his waist, he lay his forehead against yours, as he thrust slowly into you. You groaned, your back arched involuntarily, and Sandor stilled instinctively, "if I'm hurting you, I'll stop." You shook your head, "it doesn't hurt terribly, just fuck me like you this will be our last night." Sandor bottomed out entirely, pushing his full weight onto his hands that were at your side, using his knees to steady himself he picked up a good pace, his thrusts steady and even, his eyes not leaving yours the entire time. His name was on your lips more times than your own ever had been. You bucked back into him when his thrusts weren't fast enough, grinding yourself against his pubic bone, enough to cause friction, to give you more stimulation and add what you'd hope would be more pleasure to him. His thrusts became shorter, faster, harder, his head had dipped into the crook of your neck, he grunted with each thrust, his own orgasm close almost as close as yours. He pushed hard into you once more, and unravelled the knot that had tangled in the pit of your stomach, "Oh, Sandor! I love you! Sandor, Sandor, Sandor." You screamed his name as your orgasm claimed your body, his followed behind, with a series of grunts, "Y/N, fuck," there was no declaration of love from his lips but you didn't need it, he had said it once tonight. You both lay quietly, the furs pulled up over your bodies, his hands caressing your shoulders as you lay with your head on his chest, neither of you said a word to each other. The company was all you both needed, no words, no gestures, just this, this moment of two souls becoming one. There would be no sleep for you both tonight, you thought, the castle will sleep for you both and tomorrow you will sleep in the arms of Sandor when the war is over. However, the castle didn't sleep either as the howling of a Wolf and a Hound haunted the cold winters night air.

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cityoffireandblood · 5 years

Text

A city of fire and blood IV

This is the FOURTH part of the a City of Fire and blood fic!!! The first three parts can be found in my blog!! If you would like to be tagged so you don’t miss the next parts tell me in the comments.

@phoebe-victoria @mangomariano @birdandrose

Part IV: The two queens

It was time. Tyrion Lannister had faced the prospect of death a time too many, but he doubted he would have the pleasure of such experience ever again. This is it.

He would die for having own thoughts, as any thinking man does. Soon he would find himself in the company of his siblings and father in the seven hells, where all Lannisters went for well-paid deeds.

Daenerys was fixed on the mirror’s reflection. Practicing a smile, one that she ought to give Jon for all that he had hurt her, one that she ought to give Drogon for blessing them with his flames. It had been long since The Khaleesi had smiled truly, and even the corners of her mouth ached with every attempt. Had her last smile been to Jon? Daario? the she-wolf Sansa?

She tried no more as she remembered. Missandei. The purest soul she had known. She had raged for a lover before, but such rage had been nothing compared for the fires caused by losing her Missandei.

The Khaleesi showed her teeth to the mirror once more, but feared what stared back at her. Tired, angered, confused. Not broken. Targaryen don’t break. She saw Viserys, and she supposed she saw her father too. Even though she never had seen his face, but she knew it had to be him. All the madness that taken its toll on him was also marked in her own skin. She felt her lips fail her and tremble. She had no one. Yet, she smiled as tears ran down her face in fury.

Three Starks entered the dragon’s pit, all unaware of the others.

Jon and Tyrion were pushed in their chains towards the centre, for everyone to witness the spectacle, the burning. In the crowd sat the few survivors of King’s Landing, undoubtedly fearful to share the traitors’ fate if they hadn’t done so. Probably the whole city was present, and half of the seated men were Unsullied. Who would dare to attack after the burning?

Grey Worm gave Jon a push, and he fell to his knees. Valar morghulis, the eunuch whispered into his ear as he was aggressively pulled up by the same man. Would giving a fight be worth it? There was none that could kill a dragon.

Sansa Stark walked into the dragon’s pit, but refused to curtsy at the so called queen, but Daenerys Targaryen could not force her to do so. The slightest movement of arm, pushing of will, and Brienne of Tarth would cut any of her men in half.

“Let Jon go, free Tyrion,” Sansa Stark commanded, “give back the King of the North, or have the North rage upon the ashes of your ending reign.”

Daenerys didn’t flinch at her request. The audacity. Sansa was truly a fool to believe, even for a second, that she could be threatened.

“Please do so,” she challenged, “I would like to see the twenty northern men who have survived fight for a traitorous bastard and a dwarf. When will you understand, dear Sansa, that the dragon consumes the wolf.”

Daenerys Targaryen took a step towards Sansa, but Sansa remained still. She towered Daenerys, and she had encountered herself with monsters before. Jeoffrey, Ramsay, Littlefinger, Cersei...all those who had taken too much away from her, all those who had put her in ice and fire, constant fear and torture. What none of them had expected is that ice and fire forge blades, and she had become the unyielding blade whose song would pierce their hearts, make them draw a last breath, curse her name as they died. A song of ice and fire. So let Daenerys Targaryen take a step towards her, for there was nothing she feared.

She raised her voice for the whole pit to hear, “I would be more careful of your words, Khaleesi. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

Unsullied raised their spears in a second, but Brienne stepped forward, fulfilling her duty of protecting her queen.

For the first time in a while, a dragon roared inside the pit, and folk shuddered in response. Gendry Baratheon made the effort to remain composed. As lord of one of the major houses, he couldn’t decline any invitation from the queen. Even if it was for the execution of someone who had worn a crown before. He tapped his fingers against his leg, failing to seem relaxed. Could someone ever relax with a hidden warhammer?

Sansa Stark sat by his side as the prisoners approached.

“Good to see you, Lord Baratheon,” she said cooly. He nodded in response.

He responded absently minded, “Lady Stark, always a pleasure. How is your lady sister faring?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “ready to take responsibilities I hope. I do feel like a liability to her.” Gendry could see that she was tensing her fists, and laid a gentle hand on hers.

“No Stark is liable I am afraid, and your sister will do just fine.”

I hope she does.

Daenerys voice boomed, “people of Westeros, what I bring before you are two traitors, both of noble houses. Both married to their self interest, with no intention of devoting to the realm. Both betrayed their queen for self interest. Both condemned for their self interest. People of Westeros, I will not pardon those who only act of self interest.”

Hands tied behind him, Jon Snow was uncomfortable for how close Grey Worm was to him. Let it be over with.

“Spread your fingers,” Grey Worm spoke behind him.

Jon did as he was ordered, and felt a familiarly strange object be put in his hands.

Grey Worm spoke anew, “sitck them with the pointy end.”

“Bring the traitors forward, Grey Worm,” The Khaleesi ordered. Behind them unsullied banged the floor with their spears.

Grey Worm did not obey.

“BRING THEM FORWARD.” The Unsullied froze, to see what Grey Worm was to do, but he unsheathed a dagger and slit the throat of the guard that held Tyrion. The Unsullied watched as their brother fell, but remained frozen.

A second later they raised their spears as Daenerys Targaryen screamed DRACARYS in horror, for Grey Worm removed his face to reveal none other than Arya Stark.

Drogon remained still, as his eyes rolled back and turned all white.

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