#and then he pauses and says ‘or maybe it does’ and then arya is what causes jon to abandon his vows!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cellsshapedlikestars · 1 year

Note

I'm more of a draw-er than a writer so just shooting you a prompt idea if you ever feel inclined. With all the warging I keep thinking about the idea of a Freaky Friday/Body Switch theme with Arya and Sansa. Maybe it lets Sansa get to know another side of Jon && maybe Arya gets to meet Gendry because of it, but mostly cute sister bonding which you are so so so good at. Anywho do with this what you will, I love your writing and thanks for being awesome <3

First of all, I'm so jealous of people who can draw! My mom is an artist but the drawing gene skipped me (& my sister).

Second, this was a fun prompt! I wrote it in about an hour last night before going to bed, so please ignore any grammar/continuity errors.

Third, I made it take place in the 90s for some reason? Also, as a note, "Sansa-Arya" means Sansa in Arya's body, and "Arya-Sansa" means Arya in Sansa's body. Hope it doesn't get too confusing?

read it on ao3 here: ephemera, chapter 33

Sansa wakes in Arya's bed.

She frowns, confused, unsure how she got here.

Last night, they'd had a massive fight about... honestly, Sansa can't even remember how it started. But then again, they'd never needed a real reason to start fighting. All it ever took was one wrong word, one wrong look, and it would start. Maybe it was about Sansa trying to make everyone go outside to see the shooting star that was supposed to happen.

What Sansa does remember is storming off, her mother following her while dad went after Arya. She remembers bursting into hysterical tears and screeching, “she has no idea what it's like to be me!” A bit overdramatic, Sansa realizes now with a wince.

But that doesn't answer why she's in Arya's room. She sits up and rubs at her eyes which are... Sansa blinks, because she can see perfectly fine. Did she sleep in her contacts? She's usually so good about not doing that.

She swings her legs off the bed and she looks down and blanches at the state of her feet. She swore she just repainted her nails, but now they aren't, they're bluntly cut, and there's callouses on her big toes that Sansa would never allow.

She's also wearing Arya's pajamas.

Well, they aren't pajamas, really. Arya sleeps in sweatpants or shorts and a tee, it's Sansa who buys pajama sets, usually with a cute pattern. Her newest is little ice cream cones in various pastel colors.

There's a slam from the direction of her room, through their shared bathroom, and Sansa frowns. Who's in her room?

She stands from the bed just as she hears the door to the bathroom open on her side, the light goes on under the door, and there's a shriek. Then the door to Arya's room bursts open and-

Sansa's mind is blank for a long time, as she stares at... herself.

…

“Stop doing that,” Sansa snaps as Arya keeps flinching away from the mascara wand.

“This is ridiculous,” Arya mutters. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Because I like it,” Sansa huffs, grabbing Arya's chin – her chin – and holding her head steady. “It makes me feel pretty.”

“You're pretty already,” Arya mutters again, eyes shifting to the side, and Sansa pauses. She debates telling Arya that she's pretty, too, but she doesn't think Arya would like that. She'd just say something mean, so Sansa keeps her mouth shut.

Finally, she finishes up the makeup, but she can't even tell if it's good or not. Not when she's looking at her face that isn't her face, because Arya's wearing it.

They tried to tell Robb what happened, he was the first person they found after they woke up in each other's bodies, and he'd only rolled his eyes and said, “well, at least you're getting along, but I'm not falling for that. Find someone more gullible.”

That's when they'd decided to keep this a secret – to pretend like they're normal, until they can figure out what happened. Which means they have to go to school as each other. Which means Arya-Sansa needs to wear makeup, and Sansa-Arya needs to dress in ratty old jeans and even rattier sneakers and carry around a skateboard.

Sansa prides herself on being able to handle any social situation, but going to their school as a freshman again as Arya makes her want to throw up. There's a scuffle over who should drive – Arya doesn't have her license yet – but when Sansa-Arya tries to get into the driver's seat, mom comes out shouting at them, so Arya-Sansa takes the keys with a grin and gets behind the wheel.

The drive to school nearly kills them, but Arya is cackling with glee the entire time as Sansa clings onto the door handle for dear life.

Then they have to part ways, and as Jeyne approaches, she watches Arya-Sansa's face shift into an expression of something akin to terror.

Sansa watches them go, hoping Arya doesn't tank her reputation.

…

Arya walks through the halls with Jeyne and Beth chattering in her ear. She can barely keep up with their gossip, she has no idea how Sansa handles it. When they get to their lockers, she quickly checks the numbers Sansa had written on a post-it, and puts in the code, thankful when the lock clicks open.

“I hear Joff's gonna be at the party this weekend,” Beth says, suggestion heavy in her voice.

Arya feels her lip curl, and she lets out a disgusted noise, which surprises both of Sansa's friends.

Stupid, Arya chides herself. Sansa would probably be over the moon about that.

“I know you said you weren't going to date him,” Jeyne sighs, “but why not? He's so dreamy.”

“I said that?” Arya asks, completely confused. Jeyne looks at her curiously, so Arya tries to recover. “Well, duh,” she gives what she hopes is a perfect Sansa eye-roll. “He's majorly gross.” There. That sounds like something Sansa might say. Majorly is her new favorite word.

“I can't believe you think he's gross,” Beth shakes her head. “He's gorgeous, and rich, and he's into you! I can't believe you wouldn't even go to the movies with him.”

That makes Arya pause getting her books out (trying to remember the classes Sansa wrote down. She could look, but she might have actually lost that post-it). Sansa turned down a date with Joffrey Baratheon? He rules the junior class, and Arya can already guess he'll be Junior Prom King, and next year, Senior Prom King. Being his queen seems right up Sansa's alley.

Maybe Robb talked to her, Arya muses, piling more books into her arm. Robb isn't a fan of Joffrey, maybe he made Sansa see sense.

Sansa being rational about boys, Arya scoffs to herself. There's something you don't see every day.

…

“Not skating today?” a boy asks, pulling up on his own and coming to an abrupt halt in front of where Sansa's sitting, and he steps on the edge of his skateboard so it flips up into his hand. He's massive and she has to squint up at him.

“I pulled a muscle,” Sansa says, trying to make herself sound as grumpy as Arya always sounds.

It's not hard, she's had a pretty bad day. While she was changing for gym, a couple girls had snickered behind their hands and told her she had the wrong locker room. “The boy's changing room is on the other side,” the one girl had sneered, eyeing Sansa-Arya with a disdain Sansa has never had directed at her.

Sansa had been so shocked, she hadn't known what to say, and the girls had gone out to start gym class.

And then the anger had started – does that happen often? And how dare they, she's the only one who's allowed to make fun of Arya. Well, her and their brothers. Sansa's going to find out who that girl is and ruin her social life.

“Sucks,” the boy says, bringing her back to the present, sitting next to Sansa on the bleachers. “I was hoping we could head to the skatepark today and try the new quarter pipe.”

Sansa blinks and stays silent, because she has no idea what half that sentence means. The boy's face goes a bit red and he rubs at the back of his neck with one hand.

“Or, I mean,” he says, nearly tripping over his words, “we don't have to.”

Huh, she thinks, some of her bad mood disappearing.

Sansa tilts her Arya-head at the boy and bats her eyelashes and the boy sputters even more, and Sansa has to physically keep herself from smiling.

“I've got to hang out with my dumb sister tonight,” she finally answers, making sure to put as much venom into the words as she can, though as she does, it makes her sad. She knows Arya hates her, that isn't new information. But still. If she didn't, maybe Sansa would know about this boy. Maybe she'd know his name.

Maybe she'd know about those girls in the locker room.

“Bummer,” the boy says. “Maybe some other time?”

The awkward way he's holding himself solidifies that this boy absolutely has a massive crush on her sister.

Interesting.

…

“Gendry?” Arya makes a face that Sansa does not like, because it's her face, and Arya's twisting it into something ugly.

“Is that his name?” Sansa asks innocently. “Well, whoever he is, I agreed to a date with him.”

“You what?” Arya jumps up, and it's strange to watch her own body pace the room.

It's a joke, Sansa wouldn't do that to her, but... well, Arya isn't reacting as poorly as she thought she would.

Oh.

Arya wants to go on a date with this Gendry boy.

Double interesting.

…

Arya storms down to the kitchen, and she can feel how hot her face is – Sansa's face is.

She can't believe she fell for Sansa's joke about the date with Gendry, and she's even more annoyed that Sansa thinks she'd even want to go on a date with him. He's a middling skateboarder, at best, and he's too calm all the time and he's too nice. Ugh. She'd never.

She pulls the pitcher of Kool-Aid out of the fridge and starts pouring herself a glass, when she hears the door to the basement open.

“Since when do you drink Kool-Aid?” a voice asks, and Arya-Sansa turns to see Jon standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a bemused look on his face. “You said it tastes like chemicals.”

When did Sansa say that, Arya wonders. It definitely sounds like something Sansa would say, but how in the world does Jon know that, or even remember it.

“I like the grape kind,” she makes herself shrug. To her annoyance, and surprise, Jon doesn't immediately leave at her cold tone.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into the kitchen and coming to stand at the counter next to her.

“I'm fine?” she says, but it comes out like a question, because Jon looks genuinely concerned.

Wait. Did Robb tell him about their body-swap? Does Jon believe it? Oh, thank god someone-

Jon looks around as if checking for anyone nearby, then he moves forward, and all of Arya's thoughts go blank as he slides his arm around her waist, and pulls her up against him. He's touching Sansa in a way he should not be touching Sansa.

“I heard Joffrey talking about some party this weekend and how he planned to...” Jon frowns, hard.

That's when Arya's brain finally kicks Sansa's body into gear, and she makes a strangled noise and places both hands on Jon's chest and pushes. “What are you doing?” she squeaks.

Jon looks confused. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, and there's that look he gets sometimes, like a kicked puppy. “What did I do?”

What is he talking about? Why would Sansa have any reason to be mad at Jon, and why would he even care?

“Is this because I didn't want to go see that Romeo and Juliet movie with you? Or is it because I said Leonardo DiCaprio is overrated? Because he is.”

Arya's brain is in full panic mode, so all she can do is squeak out, “yes,” before fleeing the kitchen, abandoning her Kool-Aid on the counter.

She runs back up to Sansa's room and slams open the door to find Sansa-Arya sitting on the bed reading a magazine, and she says, “you're dating Jon?” Her voice is too high-pitched, but she can't control herself right now.

She watches her own eyes go wide and panicked, and Sansa-Arya stands up abruptly, but she doesn't deny it.

She doesn't deny it.

…

Arya can't wrap her head around this.

Sansa had sat her down and told her some story – Joffrey trying to shove his hand up her skirt at Margaery Tyrell's party at the end of last year. Running all the way from Margaery's house to the nearest payphone. Calling home, only to have Jon answer because he was staying at their house that weekend while his mom was on a work trip. Jon coming to pick her up. Them sitting in his truck and talking late into the night. It had �� in Sansa's words, which sounded utterly ridiculous coming out of Arya's mouth – turned into something more within the next few months.

The weird part is, Sansa and Jon dating isn't the thing she can't make her mind process.

It's the idea that Sansa had almost been assaulted at a party. She'd gone through this whole thing and Arya had no idea.

Because why would Sansa tell her? They don't tell each other anything.

“I'm sorry,” she says, and Sansa jerks back a bit in confusion. “About Joffrey,” she clarifies. “If I'd known, I'd...”

She doesn't know what she would have done, but she feels angry now. Probably punch him in the face.

“Oh,” Sansa says with a half shrug, and Arya recognizes that move, though usually Sansa's in her own body when it happens. It's the move, the tone of voice she uses, when someone brings up something she's embarrassed by.

The fact that Sansa's embarrassed by something Joffrey did makes Arya even angrier.

“By the way, Jon mentioned overhearing Joffrey talking about you and some party this weekend. Sounds like he's gonna try something again.”

Arya watches her own face frown. “I won't go,” she says.

“Or,” Arya counters, an idea coming to her. “You can borrow my pepper spray, and I can teach you some stuff from my Tae Kwon Do classes.”

She thinks Sansa will say no, but instead, she seems to consider it, and then a small smile appears on her lips and she says, “yeah, alright.”

…

“Are they fighting?” Rickon whispers, eyes wide as he and Bran stand paused in the hall outside their sister's door. There are noises like fighting coming from Sansa's room, except there's no shouting. In fact, Rickons' pretty sure he heard them laughing.

“Weird,” Bran says with a shrug, then continues down the hall. Rickon follows, and they've just made it to the bottom of the stairs when there's a mighty crash from upstairs.

Chaos happens then, and Rickon plasters himself against the wall as mom rushes up the stairs and lets out a noise of distress when she opens Sansa's door.

“Ned! Ned!” she shouts, which brings not just dad from his study, but also Robb and Jon from the basement. All of them rush upstairs, and Rickon and Bran look at each other, then follow.

Rickon can barely see into the room, but it looks like Sansa's massive bookshelf had toppled over. Dad and Robb and Jon are lifting it up and mom is on her knees, her shaky voice saying, “Sansa? Arya?”

Dad and Robb and Jon get the bookshelf moved away, and there's a groan from the pile of books that cover his sister's bodies.

The pile moves, and Arya sits up first, rubbing at her head. “Fucking hell,” Arya mutters, and Rickon knows something bad must have happened, because mom doesn't even yell at her for it.

“Sansa,” Jon says, kneeling down and pulling books away, face pale. Rickon doesn't think he's ever even seen Jon and Sansa speak to each other. Weird.

“I'm okay,” her voice says, small and muffled, but then she sits up, too. There's a big red mark on her forehead, like the start of a bruise, and Rickon thinks the shelf or a book must have hit her head pretty hard. Arya's still rubbing at her own head, too, like she also got hit.

“What happened?” mom cries, a hand on each of their cheeks, like she can't decide who she wants to check over first. Mom's always fussing like that.

“Arya was teaching me self defense and we knocked over...” Sansa frowns, then her eyes go wide and she says, “I mean, I was teaching Sa-” then she falters and looks over at Arya. Arya looks at her, and her eyes go big and round, too. They both look surprised to see each other.

Arya starts to laugh, she sounds really crazy, and she says, “oh man, I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but I'm so happy to see your face.”

Sansa still looks shocked, but then she says, “we're back,” and starts giggling wildly, and then both of his sisters are just sitting there, laughing.

“I think we need to take them to the hospital,” dad says, and even though his sisters protest, Rickon watches from the window as mom and dad load them into the car.

Sweet, Rickon thinks. With mom and dad gone and Robb in charge, that means pizza for dinner.

“Pizza?” Rickon asks, barely bothering to wait until the car has pulled out of the drive.

Robb looks worried, and so does Jon. He still looks pretty pale, and Rickon thinks they're worrying too much. Arya and Sansa will be fine. They're both tough.

Robb and Jon ignore him, so Rickon lets out an annoyed huff and says louder, with more emphasis, “pizza?”

#jonsa #jonsa fic #prompt fic

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sovereignofgeeks · 1 year

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The Girl Named Ned Waters (A Gendrya AU In which Robb marries Roslin Frey)

No idea where this is going. Wrote this in like an hour. Just wanted to try something new. Will likely add more later today. This has not been edited yet.

The village of Riverbend was a simple village. Lines of simple wooden houses lined its narrow path. Children rushed about the single street village wildly as her children had long ago. As her grandchildren did in Winterfell. Catelyn frowned at the thought. It had been ten years since Robb’s wedding to Roslin. The war won and her children returned to her safely. Except for Arya. No one knew what happened to her youngest daughter. The Freys were understanding. Elmar Frey could not wed a girl who was dead. And so they moved on. Sansa off in the vale. Rickon and Bran tucked safely away in Winterfell. Yet here she was walking down the streets of Riverbend with her guards back at the village’s inn. When she had heard a child at the Crossroads Inn cry about the lack of sword lessons from his aunt Arry she thought little of it. Then the fat father exploded in rage. Sending the boy to his room away from work. He seemed terrified from that point on. Never able to meet her eyes. Robb would call her a fool but Arry sounded so much like Arya. She had to try. So with a bit of effort she had managed to bribe a younger girl to speak of the woman. Arry was a swordswoman from the village of Riverbend who was friends with the cook. Apparently they had met in Kings Landing when the war began. That had been enough. She had ordered her men to escort her to the village that afternoon. Foolishly wishing for her daughter. “Are you a real lady?” a young girlish voice took her from her thoughts. Causing the lady to look down at a child. Maybe nine in age. Her hair is bright red and done in elegant braids. A golden dress covered with dirt and poorly stitched up holes covered her form. Her face was long like a horse and her skin coated with dirt. “I am” she forced out as the child grinned at him, “I wanna be a lady! My sister says ladies are dummies tho! That’s wrong right?” the child asked excitedly as her lips curled into a smile, “Being a lady isn’t dumb at all. I quite like it”she paused. Recalling Arya sparring with Bran. Stick sword in hand. “But nothing is wrong with a girl who likes boy things either” she pressed as the girl frowned, “My mom says a girl can be anything she wants to be!” she exclaimed as Catelyn smiled at the child who gave the cutest attempt at a ladylike bow she’d ever seen. “Name’s Ned Waters” said the child holding out a dirty hand. Oh. “Ned you say” she forced out as the child nodded, “I know it’s not a ladies name but I’m named for the most honorable man ever!” Ned said with pride as she gulped. Oh gods. “Is your mother married?” “Of course! Mom and Daddy love each other a bunch” Ned beamed causing the Lady Of Winterfell to smile, “Oh really?” “Yes really!” Ned smiled at her widely, “You mentioned siblings” Catelyn asked as Ned nodded, “I have my twin brother Jon and my little sister Nym. Then I have my big sister Weasel, she's adopted!” the girl explained happily as Catelyn felt her eyes well with tears,

“What does your father do?” she asked as Ned grinned, “Daddy is a blacksmith and Mom teaches the boys and girls to fight!” she explained as Catelyn took a breath. “Your father lets your mother fight?” she asked a smile filling her face, “Daddy doesn’t let Mom do anything. Mom says a man who tells you what do you is a bad man” she reasoned as Catelyn chuckled, “You're mom seems quite strong, could I meet her?” she asked as Ned narrowed her eyes, “Daddy says I shouldn’t bring strangers home” she pointed out as Catelyn laughed, “Well I’m your lady friend Catelyn so I’m not a stranger” she said as Ned stared in wonder, “If I take you home you’ll teach me to sew!” she demanded as Catelyn laughed. She couldn’t help it. Of course Arya’s daughter wanted to learn to sew like a proper lady, “Ned. Nothing would make me happier than to teach you” she smiled as the child screamed with joy. Her eyes sparkling like stars as she grabbed Catelyn’s hands and pulled her down the streets of the village. Leading her to the other end of the street with haste to a rather modest two story home with a forge attached to its side. The wood was a bit rotten and she could see some of the windows appeared broken. But it looked lived in and held a sign at the front. Direbulls Smithing

She laughed at the hidden pun. Sure it would not matter to many. The girl led her over to the door, “Daddy’s working but Mom should be inside!” she cheered as she opened the door and led Catelyn into the first floor. It was a simple house. Seemingly divided into three rooms. A small kitchen that held a simple table with six chairs. Enough for one single guest. A bow sat on the floor off to the side that sat under what she supposed was a leak.

The middle where she currently stood seemed to be for show. It was mostly empty and the floor seemed littered with wooden swords and dolls.

The final room to her right was filled to the brim with metals and weapons. Horseshoes and other things she’d assume you’d find in smiths shop. “Our bedrooms are upstairs, “Nym, Weasel and I share. Jon has his own room cause he’s a dumb boy” she scowled as footsteps echoed throughout the house. A voice calling down from the stairs a figure stepped into view. “Ned, did you bring someone here without asking?” the figure said, stepping into the light. It was Arya. Her brown hair was short reaching her chin and her face held a single scar across her forehead. She wore a cheap leather jerkin and loose breeches. In her hand was a small skinny sword that she held out threateningly as her eyes grew wide. Sweat seemed to force almost immediately. She paled as she stared before glaring at her daughter, “Ned. Get away from her. She’s dangerous” Arya accused as she stepped closer. Aiming the sword closer. Ned rushed to her mother’s side hiding behind her legs, “Go out the side door and get Daddy. Tell him Summer Is Here and to find your siblings. I’ll catch up” she ordered Ned glared, “But mom Lady Catelyn said she’d teach me to sew” she whined as Arya narrowed her eyes ragefully, “Gods. I bet you think you're really clever. Using her like that” she spat as Catelyn jumped, “Arya I swear. I have no intent on-” Arya cut her off, “You're here to bring me to the Twins I bet. Make good on your transaction” she roared as Ned looked at her confused, “Mommy what’s going on” “This woman is Stark, she wants to take me away from all of you” the bitterness in Arya’s voice was apparent as the sword remained aimed at her chest. Catelyn felt tears well in her eyes. Did Arya really distrust her that much. “Arya I.. I just wish to speak to you. I don’t care about the Frey or any marriage contracts. I just” she froze, “Arya. I swear on your father’s grave. I will not do anything to this family. Please believe me” she begged, She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to go back to Winterfell and forget what she’d seen. All she wanted was to see Arya. To talk to her. Arya scanned her carefully, “Guards?” she asked as Catelyn smiled, “At the inn. They don’t know where I am and it will stay that way. You have my word” she vowed as Arya pulled back her sword, “Why are you here?” she asked as Catelyn couldn’t help but cry. “I heard a rumor about a girl who could be my missing daughter. Of course I came. I miss you so much Arya. God’s I-” she couldn’t hold it back anymore rushing her little girl and wrapping her in her arms, “I thought you died! Oh gods. I’ve missed you” she pulled back running her hands over Arya’s face which was filled with tears of her own, “I couldn’t.. I couldn’t marry him. That’s no-” she cut her daughter off, “I know. I know. I’m sorry we did it. We shouldn’t have. God. Arya you're perfect the way you are. I should never have” she brought Arya into a hug and sobbed. She should never have let that marriage be arranged. She should have let Arya train with a sword. Maybe if she had she wouldn’t have lost all these years with her beloved daughter.

Suddenly the sound of a man gasping filled the house. She whipped away from Arya to see what looked like a young King Robert staring at her,

“What’s going on, Arry?” he asked worriedly as her daughter,

“Gendry. I think it’s time you met my mother”

#gendrya #arya stark #catelyn #Robb stark #a song of ice and feels #arya x gendry fanfic #gendry waters #gendry baratheon #married Arya Stark #game of thrones fanfiction #arya x gendry #arya and gendry #Arya runs away #fuck the freys #Catelyn loves her kids #good mom Catelyn #catelyn tully #catelyn stark

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waitingforwinterwinds · 1 year

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A Clash of Kings - 23 JON III (pages 321-341)

Jon and Co arrive at Craster's Keep, and finally get a lead on Mance Rayder and the missing wildlings. Gilly is unable to join the party... for now.

Dywen said Craster was a kinslayer, liar, raper, and craven, and hinted he trafficked with slavers and demons. "And worse," the old forester would add, clacking his wooden teeth. "There's a cold smell to that one, there is."

For half a second I thought "what does the cold even smell like?" then my brain clicked with a smell, and I was like, "oh right, like that, freezer ice and mornings where the frost is on the ground." But like, how do you actually describe the smell beyond the moments when you smell it? Because it's just "it smells like ice."

Also: Craster trades his infants sons to ice demons for reasons. fun! (disgusted sarcasm.)

As he rode past a lightning-blasted chestnut tree overgrown with wild white roses, he heard something rustling in the underbrush.

I don't know why that sentence stuck a bit in my head, maybe because we typically (so far) see golden roses and blue roses, relating to Tyrells and Lyanna, and some part of my hind brain is waiting for these roses to have some kind of relevance even if only symbolically. The imagery of it sounds like it looks cool though.

really need to get myself a print out glossary of house sigils...

"Tell him, wife. Tell the Lord Crow how well content we all are." The woman licked thin lips. "This is our place. Craster keep s us safe. Better to die free than live a slave."

...I get the feeling she already knows, but the Wall's too far and the world so unknown and they're all too afraid to do anything about their (grand)father-husband.

These woman deserve so much better. pfff, name of the series right there. GRRM's A Song of all these women and a good chunk of the boys deserve better.

A girl of fifteen or sixteen years, he judged, dark hair plastered across a gaunt face by the falling rain, her bare feet muddy to the ankles. The body under the sewn skins was showing in the early turns of pregnancy.

Gilly? Hi Gilly!

*adds weight to the steel chair soon to be acquainted with Crasters crotch and skull* we're gonna crack all the things >:(

"I'll not fight a brother while we're beyond the Wall," Jon answered, his voice cooler than he felt.

Oh hon, you've never been cool a day in your life, you just lucked out with an actor who mopes pretty.

Oh, wrong definition of cooler, ahem... moving right along! (I do like Jon, just sometimes I like teasing him more?)

Jon reached to pull aside the cloak he'd hung over the rock, and found it stiff and frozen. He crept beneath it and stood in up in a forest turned to crystal. The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond, Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even muddy puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamt of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

This sounds amazing, and I wish the show hadn't been made by a pair of asshats so we could have seen even a semblance of this. It's the quiet moments of beauty, the time to pause and breathe, that makes the horrors later all the more poignant and impactful.

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name.

Everyone likes to be told their name is pretty, or their hair looks great today, it's true. But also... "My Name is Rottila Phlegmuent." "That's pretty." Jon said, because Sansa had told him too, and she knew far more about what girls liked and courtesies than he did, so he'd trust her judgment on these things. "Really? Do you think so? No one has ever said so before. We'll be married at once!" "(＃°Д°)"

Sam's heart was as big as the rest of him, but for all his reading, he could be as thick as Grenn at times. It was impossible, and dishonorable besides. So why do I feel so ashamed?

Because you know she's in trouble, and you know you're not helping. The logistic of why you can't help mean nothing in the face of the fact that you aren't helping.

It's okay buddy, Gilly at least will be mostly alright. *sigh* this series...

"The wide world is full of people wanting help, Jon. Would that some could find the courage to help themselves. Craster sprawls in his loft even now, stinking of wine and lost to sense. on his board below lies a sharp new axe. Were it me, I'd name it Answered Prayer and make an end." ... "Craster is his own man. he has sworn us no vows. Nor is he subject to our laws. your heart is noble, Jon, but learn a lesson here. We cannot set the world to rights. that is not our purpose. The Night's watch has other wars to fight."

Mormont with the hard truths and hard to swallow pills tonight. (I'm choosing to read these in good faith.)

I don't fully agree with the first statement, only because I know about cults and how fucked up people's brains and beliefs (even in themselves) can get, some people need help but cannot get past their own psychological hurdles to help themselves with out the start from outside help. I wish more people could help themselves, I wish the ladies of Craster's Keep could help themselves. It doesn't end with removing Craster's head from his shoulders though. There's still the Cold Ones, the Others. The ladies can't stay there if they're trying to get away from sacrificing their sons. There's still the trip back south, through the cold, and any predators left in the woods, man or beast... to kill a man in his sleep is one thing, an active opponent? Completely different.

I do like Mormont's 'we can't fix the world, we have our own thing,' both as is but also in a transference of meaning kind of way. No one person or group can fix the whole world, we have to focus on what we can do, can fix, can change and do that, or nothing gets done. We focus and fix our thing, some one else focuses on and fixes their thing, and so on, and so on, and together we've fixed quite a bit before you know it.

Meanwhile the mystery of the empty villages has been solved! Mance has summoned the freefolk for reasons only he, the readers, and viewers know. (Mass exodus by any means necessary.)

#a clash of kings #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #a chapter a day reading #acok #asoiaf

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agirlofwinterfell · 1 year

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Just realised in THAT SCENE

Gendry pulls Arya’s hand to help him undress himself

I’ve still got to write metas for how it gives them both agency, and that y’all reaching.

“I’m not the red woman. Take your own blood pants off.”

Arya’s giving him room to make his own decision, to consent to her with his actions. She gives him time to push her away.

The real problem people have that they don’t want to address is that Arya was an 18-year-old virgin, having agency over her own sexuality, her own virginity, and her own nudity. That that scene wasn’t for the audience. And it wasn’t for Gendry. It was for Arya. Arya’s nudity was for Arya alone. That Maisie was the one who got to decide how much was shown. That Maisie decided on how her body was to be portrayed. That Maisie got the agency in a scene that many actresses never had. Many actresses never will have.

That Maisie, who’s first sex scene was so uncomfortable for her at 17/18, that she didn’t enjoy making it. That she got to enjoy making this one, having fun with this one, have a hand in crafting it. She was 17/18 being rutted against by a 26-year-old actor in the Falling (released 2014, Maisie born in 1997), and she didn’t enjoy it. I don’t recall the complaints then? Was it because she didn’t get naked? Maybe.

In a show where Dany was raped at 15 (implied and then brutally on screen), Sansa was raped at 17 (on screen), Robb Stark lost his virginity at 16/17 (in a fit of passion parallel to Gendrya), Jon lost his at 17/18? Missandei was a slave, Doreah was said to be 12... Of all our leads this is the one people have a problem with... when y’all still congratulating Pod having such skills when he was coded being 15/16 in s3. Wonderful shit guys.

And if your problem is with Gendry’s trauma. That’s fine. Although I would say, Arya was not aggressive with it. In fact, Gendry pulls Arya to help him undress. The line of questioning she took was very important for what she wanted. How much experience does he have? Does she need to make it more special for him? Is his only experience the red woman? He implied sexual assault. Arya’s not knowledgable enough to fully understand what that means, but the hint was there in tied me down stripped me, and she made her behaviour appropriate. She forces nothing. If Gendry wanted her to stop asking he would have told her to stop- and she would have stopped. Arya’s not one to treat Gendry like shit. They have banter, he calls her milady. in the books she calls him a STUPID BULLHEADED BASTARD BOY. It’s not so off beat for her to say earlier “Even a smiths apprentice can do better than that.” If it was Jon failing to describe wights she’d say “Even a Man of the Night's watch can do better than that.” She’s called everyone in her life Stupid before. Because Gendry was a smith’s apprentice. She asked if he was with her. That’s medieval for did sex happen. He is quick to say no. He still knows what it was, and I think it’s about here that Arya STARTS to fully come to grips with it. With just what he was telling her. So she changes it up, other women only until comes time she wants to give him a chance to leave again, change his mind. “I’m not the red woman.” She’s not her. This is Arya, and Arya loves Gendry, and she doesn’t want to make him do something he doesn’t want to.

It wasn’t even aggressive questioning, it was three lines of questioning. “Was that your first time?” “Your first time with a woman. How many others? One? Two? Twenty?” She gets her answer, he tells her. Three. coincidentally the same amount of times Arya got stabbed by the waif. The same amount of arrowheads she threw. The number of scenes they have in the season where they make love. The season they separated. She gives him time to push her away, to say no, to leave. She would’ve accepted that. She pauses twice to let him to this. Before she kisses him, when she tells him to take his pants off. Her pants are still on then. They can leave now and stop. The sexual assault hasn’t been brushed over from Gendry’s end. He mentioned it in s7, he implied it to Arya now in ep 2. Arya didn’t gloss over it either. I’m not the red woman.

If we’re giving Arya shit for this, let's give Jon the same shit for approaching the woman who- for the first time ever confessing to being raped- announced to him she had been raped, for... what specifically felt like sex when I watch that. Arya didn’t know until that scene. Jon knew episodes before. Daenerys said as such explicitly. Gendry implied it.

I actually asked a friend who watched the J*nerys scene and how that felt to watch “ ... weird, and forced. like? the writing leading up to that point didn't make me feel like there was much chemistry between them at all “

Compared to the build-up of Gendrya “ A bit better. There was precedent for it, at least. It's a well-established ship, and the relationship between the two of them was developed enough to the point where it didn't seem like it came out of nowhere”

If the problem’s with Gendry’s age? Y’all didn’t have a problem with Bronn’s age in s8 ep 1 when he started having sex with three gratuitously naked girls young enough to be his daughters, or at least playing his daughters. Gendry’s in his early twenties. People ship Sansa with men twice her age - Jai.me, Tyr.ion, Little.finger, Wil,las Ty.rell. People ship her romantically with Ramsay. The guy who raped her on the show. People ship Da.ny and Dr.ogo when even in the show she’s still some 15 years younger than him, and he raped her. Again, not judging that, ship what you want, but really? That’s the one that’s okay?

It was mutually consensual and desired, touched on Gendry’s trauma with the characters both actively showing this is not the same. “I’m not the Red Woman.” I’m Arya. “Take your own blood pants off.” If you want this to continue, you have to do that. I’m not making you do this, and I’m not forcing your pants off. She wants his consent as much as he has hers. Because we know Melisandre yanked them off. Arya gave him a choice. And he chooses he wants to continue. He undoes his own pants.

The gravity of the situation? They could die in minutes, in hours, they don’t know, and Arya wants to do this before that happens. Gendry wants to do this. There’s urgency, they need each other, they want each other. She pushes him on the sacks- but he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t at any point stop her. We know he wanted her too, and that he understood that this is arya, and arya likes to be a leader- likes to be in control

Arya undressed herself for her. Not Gendry. Not the audience. Herself. Arya took control because it was her virginity. Not Gendry’s. Her’s. Gendry shouldn’t be the one in charge just because he’s been a victim. Arya needed to be in charge because it was HER VIRGINITY. She needed control over this. And as an 18-year-old virgin, do you know how much that meant for me to see? A virginal woman taking control, and not being demure for the man having her virginity.

In a world where people aren’t as offended by the rape, misogyny and murder in the show... a consensual act between an 18 year old and the guy she likes is too far?

Where were the cries that Arya’s too young when she was stabbing Meryn Trants eyes out? When the Hound smacked her over? When she was blinded? When she took out House Frey? When she was beaten? When she was stabbed?

Of course not.

Was dialogue clunky? yes? Could it have been different and better? yes. But I’m happy with what we got. As someone who loves Gendry, and loves Arya, and can differentiate my muse from the writing of the showrunners, and even sometimes the decisions that george makes and continue to love her.

No complaints about much that Arya does when she’s killing... Because sex is only for the pleasure of men, I forget. If she was a boy, and Gendry a girl, people would be celebrating her. Just like people congratulated Jon for sexing up Dany.

I’ve seen that too “If the situation was reversed there would be petitions” who the fuck petitioned for Jon//erys to not happen again? Because that’s what Jon did. He approached the sexual assault survivor Dae..nerys for sex bc uwu they’re in love, and all that was talked about was the incest and boat sex. I don’t remember a criticism of Jon doing that. Guy shows up at your doorstep for sex and he’s in control of it? Gendrya did the opposite. Guy showed up at doorstep probably to confess love, girl takes control of what she wants.

Anyway tldr: Both characters had agency in this scene. Gendry had the agency to reject Arya’s advances, to stop them, she gave him the chance, he decided he wanted to continue and be naked. Arya had the agency over her sexuality, over her nudity, over her own virginity. Maisie had agency over her nudity, and it was so tastefully shot. Most actresses never get that.

And you know what? I liked it. I liked it a lot. Shout out to Maisie and Joe for doing so fucken fantastic. Shout out to Bryan Cogman and David Nutter for giving a shit about Maisie’s comfort. Shout out to Bryan Cogman for recognising parts of these characters. The fact it feels straight out of a fanfiction shows the general lovers of Arya, Gendry, and Gendrya felt it was done well. No shout out to Bryan for not giving more tact to the situation of Melisandre.

And you know what? It was.

Update: Wrote this in 2019 and it’s been stuck in my drafts since

#queue #i wrote this in 2019

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weirwoodking · 3 years

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say one bad thing about agot jon chapters and I immediately don’t trust you

#rereading jon’s book 1 chapters after reading his book 5 chapters is like #oh my god the boy really did get killed #he shows so much emotional vulnerability in the first book it’s insane #he immediately tells sam about the winterfell dream. he TALKS to his FRIENDS #this scene with mormont... holy shit can we talk about that? extremely underrated #when he tells him that he hates his sister but that doesn’t mean he loves her any less than jon loves his sisters #and then he pauses and says ‘or maybe it does’ and then arya is what causes jon to abandon his vows!!!!#and we can’t forget ‘when dead men come hunting in the night do you think it matters who sits the iron throne?’ ‘no’#like yessss that’s it! right there!#asoiaf #jon snow #jeor mormont

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dontbipanicjonsa · 3 years

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Did Kit suddenly lose his ability to heart-eye or is Pol!Jon actually a thing.

I'm late to the fandom but I just finished S7 and I'm having thoughts.

I'm a reader of the books, and I hadn't watched the show till now because... I suck at watching shows with hour long episodes and more than three seasons.

What made me decide to watch it was the Pol!Jon discourse I found on the Internet.

I know enough about the show to understand how unlikely and out of character this theory would seem to show watchers. At the same time, I fully believe that book!Jon would be fully capable of something like this. But also, even though I do ship Jonsa in the books, I can't deny that Jonerys is.....a big deal. Everyone expects it to happen. It's a highly anticipated pairing and....I just couldn't honestly believe Pol!Jon because it is just so against the general expectation.

So I decided to watch the show. And now I've finished season 7 and I am astounded.

Let me preface this by saying that I went into S7 already disliking Jonerys (sue me) but I still fully expected to have some serious doubts about the validity of Jonsa. I fully expected to be at least somewhat convinced of Jonerys. Even hating the idea of Jon and Danaerys together, I still expected more.

There are a number of things I would like to note here.

First, Jonerys is a romance that is told, not shown. Davos talks about Jon watching Dany's "good heart" (hehe) to tell us Jon is attracted to Dany. But then Jon immediately dismisses it- and not in a way that looks like he's deflecting. He's not only dismissing it, he's dismissive of it. His mind is not in the conversation, it is beyond the Wall.

Similarly, Tyrion says (not in those words), "yeah right, and Jon only looks at you longingly coz he wants a military alliance with you". Not sure what I'm supposed to think about that....? First, Jon doesn't look at Dany longingly at all???? Not once. Second, is this line supposed to suggest that Jon is looking at her longingly for a reason that is not desperately wanting a military alliance....? Because we already know that that's exactly what he does want. Wtf do I make of this statement?????

There are other examples, but the point remains. People keep talking about Jon and Dany being into each other, and that is what is supposed to convince us that they are into each other (well yea Dany is) but Jon gives no indication of looking at her longingly, of falling in love with her, of being intrigued by her even. He's a brick wall.

Alright, I'll concede one (1) scene where I saw legitimate attraction on his face for a second- that is the cave scene. Even there tho, it's hard to tell if he's just watching her reaction carefully or if he wants to bang her.

On the other hand, Dany shows that she is into him. Even so, when I say she's into him, I mean she's attracted to him and intrigued by him. I cannot believe she loves him.

Next, I think it's interesting that in the episode before (or was it the same episode?) Jon bends the knee, we have a number of people (Tormund, Beric) talk about stuff like- kings not bending the knee leading to people dying, knowing what's important (the fight against the dead), being the shield that guards the realm of men blah blah I don't remember the exact words. Then he sees the WW and the Army of the Dead (again) and sees a dragon die. And then, the first opportunity he gets, he bends the knee. I want to point out here that the scenes really emphasise on Jon's thinking face after every conversation he has during their little gay party beyond the Wall. They focus on the look on his face again while he's watching the Army. Multiple times. And there's clearly something going on in his head, gears are turning.

One other scene that struck me is the scene where Jon and Dany are saying goodbye to each other (the Eastwatch episode). In the same episode (if I remember correctly) Jon calls them strangers, and then the goodbye scene comes and Dany says to Jon's little morbid joke, "I've grown used to him". Him being Jon. Two things to note here-

One, Jon considers them strangers but Dany has gotten "used to him". Maybe it's nothing, or maybe it's an indication of how the two of them are absolutely not on the same page (about anything).

Second, Jon's face after she says that. It shuts down. Like a door slamming. And then he says that "wish you good fortune in the wars to come" line, which has ZERO romance, or longing, but a whole lot of bad precedent (does that make sense?). Ouch. The thought that occured to me here is that Dany is being somewhat obvious about her feelings, and maybe, just maybe Jon has picked up on it. And that is why he reacts the way he does.

I wasn't sure so I compared the scene with the Jonsa forehead kiss scene in S6, and Jon's expressions after that kiss.

My logic was this- I assume that either Jon has become aware of Dany's feelings in the Eastwatch goodbye scene, or his own feelings for her. One of these assumptions is true. Which one?

If Jon has feelings for Sansa, then his confusion/awareness/discomfort regarding that are seen in that forehead kiss scene. So if Jon has become aware of his feelings for Dany, let's see how these two scenes compare?

My dudes. There is no comparison. Go watch it.

I watched both scenes with sound off, and the difference is insane. Jon looks at Sansa's lips. There's a moment's pause that's full of tension, and then his face shuts in a way, but it's a bit confused, a bit thoughtful.

Jon does not look at Dany's lips. He does not look confused, or thoughtful. This is not a romance.

Side observation- speaking of showing and telling, it's funny how we're shown Jon looking at Sansa's wolf bits, and told that Jon looks at Dany's good heart. Yes I'm talking about boobs but wolf bits and good heart is funnier. We literally see Jon look at the wolf bits twice, talk about it himself, in a completely unnecessary conversation...as opposed to being entirely dismissive of the good heart, even when someone else brings it up.

Back to the main point, one last thing I'd like to talk about is the scene where Jon actually bends the knee (not really). First, there are still no heart-eyes. Definitely not from Jon. Second, it's funny how Jon uses the exact hand-grabbing move that Sansa used on him last season, when she was trying to convince him to do something he didn't particularly wanna do (like he's now trying to do with Dany). This means that

1) he learnt that move from Sansa. He knows how effective it is XD

2) if the Jonerys hand-grab is romance, it stands to reason that the Jonsa hand-grab is romance too. I mean both the grabs are suspiciously similar.

Then, even after Dany "promises" that she'll help the North fight the WW, Jon still bends the knee. I felt both an odd sense of urgency coming from him, and an understandable hesitation. Or maybe that's just me.

Now suddenly, he becomes complimentary of her. But there's something weird about his compliments. They are completely generic. "They'll see you for what you are" and in the later episode, "you're not like the others". Wtf does that MEAN ??

Here's the thing...Jon could have paid Dany a way more specific, genuine sounding compliment after bending the knee (complete with heart eyes). I mean she did just fly over the Wall to rescue him and his men. He could have said more, something meaningful, but he didn't. He bent the knee like a house on fire (that doesn't make sense but you get what I mean I hope) and paid generic compliments. Then he pretended to sleep until she left and then sighed very loudly.

??? Romance??? WHERE????

Then the dragon pit. Heart-eyes still missing.

Then the sex scene. What do I say? Lol.

No really. There are no heart eyes even during the sex scene. Honestly, idk what that face was. Not in love for sure.

Another side note- Arya and Sansa have talks while standing in the same place where the forehead kiss scene happened (wtf do you call that place again, the bridge.??) But no heart eyes. No lingering looks. There is no incestuous gay love between them, I can say for sure. All it does is prop up the odd incestuous vibes of the Jon Sansa scene in that same place.

ANOTHER side note- goddamn but does Sansa talk about Jon a lot.

Edit: I'm sure most of this stuff has already been discussed in other metas. My purpose here is only to put down my first thoughts after watching the season.

#jonsa meta #jonsa #political jon #pol!jon #dark dany

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thr-333 · 4 years

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Just Another Class Trip :) Part 8

News gets out and everyone handles it calmly and respectfully.

First< Previous >Next

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

“Hi Tom, Sabine, how are you,” Selina gives a fake smile, not waiting for them to answer, “So Marinette's in town,”

“Yes is something wrong?” Tom asks worriedly.

“No nothing is wrong,” If you didn’t count the villain attacking the pool yesterday as wrong, “It’s just um, you know how I never told you who her father was?”

“Yes,”

“Well, apparently Gotham didn’t need the help and figured it out pretty much immediately,”

“So does that mean we finally get to be in the loop?” Tom’s eyes sparkle, he had always bothered her for the identity of his adopted daughter's father.

“Oh no one special, you probably haven’t heard of him,” They most certainly have, “Bruce Wayne?”

“... You dated Bruce Wayne?” The man who had become like a brother to her asks.

“I’m actually engaged to him now,” that already sounded so complicated and it wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. How did her life become so complicated? Well, at least she had managed to keep Marinette from it, well at least for a while.

“Congratulations!” He booms, “Oh what's the theme? We'll make you a cake! Wait no we cant send it by plane… what am I talking about! We’ll come to Gotham to make it! Unless it’s a destination wedding? A beach might be hard but I’m always up for a challenge,”

“Tom, Tom, it’s exciting I know,” Where did Marinette fall on the nature vs nurture scale? Because these two reacted exactly the same way, “But we have bigger problems right now!”

“What's the matter, Selina?” Sabine asks with motherly concern, much better than Selina could ever hope to manage.

“People figured it out… pretty much the second she stepped into Gotham at that,” Selina sighs, “The press is going crazy with theories, paparazzi basically stalking Marinette, Bruce is trying to talk to her about it … and he saw me with her, he knows somethings up,”

“Do you think it’s time we spilled the beans?” Tom asks, calming down from his wedding excitement, “Marinette's always known she was adopted but…”

“Not that I’m her mother? Yeah,” Silence hangs in the air for a while, the screen being the only source of light in her dark safe house, “You know I can try and work through this, no one has to know,”

“Hm…. if you think it’s best,” Sabine nods, before looking to her husband, “But if you want or need to tell people this would be the time,”

“Is… is that alright with you?”

“We love Marinette, and we know she’ll still love us no matter what, if our little family wants to grow then we should let it!” Tom exclaims, she should have known they would be fine with it, always so accepting that's one of the reasons she chose them to take care of her daughter.

“I’ll think about it,” She promises, cutting off the call to be alone with her thoughts.

Apparently her biggest hurdle was actually plucking up the courage to tell everyone. She thought she should at least tell Marinette, but lo and behold here they were in the Wayne manor waiting to hold a meeting about how to handle the rumor and Marinette is still in the dark. Well, she has no other choice but to commit now, try and get Marinette through her trip and out of the city without anyone being the wiser. Hell, she had kept the world's greatest detective from knowing for all these years surely this would be no more trouble.

Despite that, she ran into a little bitty problem while Bruce was explaining to Marinette how to handle the press; her conscience. It had been this annoying thing that started growing more and more as she spent time around Bruce. And now that they were engaged it decided to be a royal pain in her neck trying to convince her to be honest and tell the truth, how was that going to help with their marriage!

Surely this would be the worst possible place to admit it. Not only was Marinette and Bruce here, but the entire damn Batfamily to boot, sans Jason. If she were to tell now there would no doubt be bloodshed. No, the best way, if she was going to tell them, would be later in private, she could get Bruce to drive them back to the hotel and take a detour along the way, then she could tell them and bam! They would both know and her conscience would leave her alone, that was certainly the best plan of action-

And then Marinette smiled at him and Bruce smiled back, she didn’t even know what was said but goddammit-

“Marinette's our daughter!”

Everything in the room stops. Even those happy to mill about their conversation on the other size pause, a glass drops, she doesn't even wait for it to shatter before continuing. Floodgates are open now, no going back.

“Seventeen years ago, took her to Paris, pretended to be her Aunt, let Tom and Sabine raise her!” She stood up, bolting from the room, not stopping until she was far from Wayne manor.

Yep, I think I handled that well.

They all stood frozen, staring at the door Aunt, no Selina, her Mother had just run out. Everything was silent, for about two seconds before incomprehensible screeching. Or at least that's what it sounded like to her as everyone started shouting over each other.

“Did you know!?”

“No! How would I know?!”

“How could you not know! Everyone else did!”

“You didn’t!”

“That's because he said it wasn't true!”

“How the fuck-”

“Bruce why ,”

“By god how reckless can you be!?”

“This is… wow,”

Marinette didn’t stick around to hear the rest, slipping out the door Selina had disappeared through, like mother like daughter she guessed. Speaking of, she needed to call her Maman and Papa first, had the known all along? She was meant to just be an average girl… who’s a superhero… and vigilante…. And famous fashion designer…. And guardian- ok maybe she hadn't done a great job at the whole ‘ordinary girl’ thing, be she had liked to think she was normal at least once in her life… apparently not.

“Marinette sweetie!” Her Papa’s voice boomed over the call, “How are you?”

“Aunt Selina- not- how- I-”

“Oh, she told you?” Her Maman spoke more quietly than her Papa, calm voice calming her down.

“Me, and everyone else,” Marinette sat down at the steps to Wayne Manor, looking out at the front gardens without really seeing anything.

“Yes we thought she might, are you ok sweetie?”

“I’m shocked,”

“Yes well knowing her she didn’t handle it too well,” Papa spoke knowingly.

“She bolted now I’m stuck at Wayne Manor,” Marinette supplies, not that she really had a better place to be.

“Yes, that's like her,” She can hear her Maman laugh a little, “How are you feeling?”

“A little confused,” A lot confused.

“When she was pregnant with you she came to us, she and Bruce apparently didn’t have a very stable relationship back then and didn’t think either of them could take care of you,” Maman explains, “So she came to us, asking for just to raise you, she wasn't going to be a part of your life but I think she loved you more than expected because she kept coming back and eventually became your Auntie Selina,”

“Thats… wow,”

“Need some time?”

“Yeah,”

“Take all the time you need,” Papa encouraged, “We’re always here for you, and we love you,”

“I love you too,” Marinette smiles, letting the call drop staring off into nothingness.

The Kwamis came out of hiding to cuddle close but left her to her thoughts which Marinette appreciated. They sat in silence for a long time, Marinette worked out that she didn’t mind so much. Sure it was a shock, but it didn’t change how much she loved her parents, and it meant her family had just gotten a little bigger, or a lot bigger as Bruce had introduced her to a lot of people. The only thing left to worry about was the others, they didn’t seem very happy at the news.

Before Marinette can let the dread of that fester too long the front door opens, catching her attention as Bruce steps through. He seemed tired, and was that bruise a punch mark!?- no nevermind she wasn't going to ask. He comes to sit down next to her, neither talking for a while as they both stare out at the garden.

“... So Selina left?” He asks eventually.

“Yep, and I don’t think she’s coming back any time soon,”

“Of course not,” She shakes his head, a little amused, “Did she tell you?”

“No, but my parents knew- wait I didn’t mean!-”

“It’s fine,” He assures, settling her panic, “I just found out, I can hardly be considered a parent,”

“Guess not… What about the others?”

“Oh they’re a little shocked,” Bruce puts it lightly, his bruise being a dead give away, “I think they expected me to adopt you long before suspecting we were already related,”

“Just how many siblings do I have,” Marinette half mutters to herself, “wait- are they my siblings?”

“Depends who you ask, Dick? Yes, I think he already left to find decorations for your room,”

“I have a room?”

“If Dick has anything to say about it, also I suspect Alfred already set you up one, although I couldn't tell you when,”

“Of course he did,” That man seemed to know more than all of them combined, “So does that mean I can stay over some time?”

“Certainly, although I might suggest waiting a day or two,” He looks back at the mansion, light-catching his bruise.

“I might give it three, just to be sure,” She smiles, still wondering what happened there.

They start talking, catching up on each other's lives. Marinette skirts around anything that doesn't pertain to her identity as Marinette, Ladybug, MDC, Starling the whole gang. They are only interrupted by Marinette's phone buzzing, she picks it up, Adrien was the one to call but both Chloe and Kagami are there with him.

“Marinette,” Adrien says urgently, “Remember Cuppy?”

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Taglist (sorry put the taglist for another fic before fixed it now)

@smolplantmum @flufflepuffle296 @dawnwave16 @caffeinetheory @g-arya @Maribat-2k20 @ladybug-182 @Actual-disaster-human @fusser90 @messrs-weasley @soap-lady @paintedhope7 @zeneralla @mochegato @random-nerd-3 @clumsy-owl-4178 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @too0bsessedformyowngood @certifiedbidisaster @Purplegeekypanda @awkward0ghostfan @theymakeupfairies @tikki-marinette @insane-fangirl-of-everything @elmokingkong @inarachi02 @slytherinhquinn @moongoddesskiana @dast218 @buginetye @redscarlet95 @biodad-bruce-month @hansa-12 @waiting247 @toodaloo-kangaroo @how-to-fuction-properly @trippingovermyfeet @greekmythgal @whatthefox22 @the-alice-of-hearts @bigpicklebananatree @indecisive-mess-named-me @nalu-ismyjam @deepestobservationwombat @salamonka

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vivilove-jonsa · 3 years

Note

Can I do a combo of prompts? Lemonade stand + underwear? You can totally choose one or the other btw!

Hello, my dear, and thank you for the prompt from this post. It took me a bit to come up with something and I settled on a 50s AU for the aesthetic of it. I hope you like it alright. And instead of underwear, it's more like lemonade stand and bikini 😉

A lazy afternoon in the summer of ’59, Mother’s got a headache and has asked Sansa to keep the boys outside and out of trouble. (No one has to be asked to keep Sansa out of trouble. She’s never in any. And of course, Robb and Arya have escaped off to somewhere else while Daddy’s still at his office.)

After Sansa had nixed tree climbing and setting off cherry bombs as entertainment, Bran and Rickon had begrudgingly agreed to a lemonade stand. Sansa suspected they were mostly interested for the sake of getting to drink as much lemonade as they can hold and she’s proven correct. They disappeared to the backyard twenty minutes ago.

This was not the plan today.

The plan was Sansa and her best friend in their brand new bikinis laying out front to paint their toenails, listen to the transistor radio and work on their tans where boys might notice them.

Admittedly, there were a couple of flaws in that plan.

One, Sansa Stark doesn’t tan. She burns and freckles. No matter how much Coppertone she slathers on, she’s never going to tan like Jeyne.

And two, no boys have seemed to notice them so far. Just grody old Mr. Baelish from down the block. He’s driven past Sansa’s house four times now in the past hour. He makes her skin crawl.

The only so-called boy who’s even around to notice them in fact is Sansa’s next door neighbor Jon Snow who is currently cutting the grass at his house and making it hard to hear Little Richard belting out ‘Tutti Frutti.’

Jon and Robb used to play together when they were younger but somewhere along the way their interests diverged. Robb wears his letterman’s jacket and always has football on the brain. Jon’s got a leather jacket and a motorcycle.

His father’s never been around, his mother’s gone a lot. He smokes cigarettes and Sansa’s seen some of the crowd he hangs around with at school. Mother says he’s probably trouble. (And good girls like Sansa probably shouldn’t want to be noticed by a boy like that, right?)

But he also has the dreamiest eyes, dreamier than Ricky Nelson’s. He used to call her Red when they were younger and she used to think it was cute. (She might still think it’s cute if he still called her that.)

He wears his curls slicked back and pops the collar of his leather jacket before he revs his motorcycle loudly a few times every morning when he’s heading off to school. (Of course, Sansa’s only noticed because Robb drives her and they usually leave the same time. It’s not like she’s that interested in what Jon Snow does even if he’s a little like James Dean and Marlon Brando rolled into one.)

Anyway, here she sits, feeling quite conspicuous in her red and white polka dot bikini, at a lemonade stand like she’s still twelve or something, abandoned by her little brothers and even Jeyne who’d said she’d go get some magazines for them to look at once they’d been saddled with the babysitting but hasn’t returned yet. She feels more than a little sorry for herself. At least the stand is in a shady spot and she’s no longer on the verge of getting good and sunburnt.

“Hey, Red. How much for a glass?”

She whirls around to find Jon Snow is right behind her, sweaty in his jeans and white tee with little bits of grass clippings sticking to his muscled forearms. She hadn’t even noticed the mower shutting off. (He called her Red, too.)

“A nickel for a glass,” she says, reciting what Bran had painstakingly spelled out on the spare bit of cardboard she’d found for a sign and attached to the front of her parents’ card table. Why is she blushing?

He smirks and starts digging in his front pocket.

“But it’s free for you!”

He stops digging and raises his eyebrows.

“I mean…you’re our neighbor and you’ve been working hard and…there’s no charge.” She can feel the blush deepening and wonders if the sun and heat might be blamed. Probably not.

“My lucky day,” he hums, helping to ease her embarrassment. “Are you going to be selling lemonade out here every day?”

“No,” she laughs. “Bran and Rickon got bored and kind of left me with it so…” She stops her rambling, picks up her mother’s pitcher and pours him a glass. “Here you go.”

She hands it over and their fingers brush together sending little jolts of electricity all through her. Their eyes are locked and she can feel her cheeks tugging upward to form a smile that matches his. He really does have the dreamiest eyes and she doesn’t care if he rides a motorcycle or smokes cigarettes. Maybe he’s a little bit of trouble but maybe Sansa might enjoy a little trouble in her life. Always being the good girl has its drawbacks, too.

He brings the glass up to his lips (he has very full and pouty lips) and tips it back. She watches the way his throat bobs as he drinks, the way the sweat on his skin glistens even in the shady spot where the stand sits. He drinks the entire glass down without pause. A trickle of the liquid escapes his mouth and goes streaking down his chin and neck. He’ll be all sticky there. Sansa turns her head to lick her lips and touch her brow. What has come over her?

“Mmmm…that’s sweet and tart, just the way it should be,” he says, smacking his lips as he sets the glass back down on the table.

“Thanks. I made it myself.”

“I figured. I’m not sure I’d want to try anything your brothers made. They’re busy digging holes in your backyard at the moment by the way.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Unless your dad was wanting to put in a golf course back there, I’m not sure what the purpose is.”

“They’re…they…OH!”

She races off around back to catch the two felons hard at work digging holes for…reasons? She scolds them both until they apologize and promise to fill the holes at once. Sansa assures them if they’ll do that it can be their little secret. No need to bother Mother and her headache with it.

She hurries back out front to see if Jon has returned to his yard, secretly hoping he hasn’t.

He hasn’t. He’s still there.

“Did you want some more lemonade?” she asks, trying to think of a reason to keep him there.

“Nah, I…” He looks around, reaches up towards the collar of his tee and lets his hand drop just as quick. He gives her a shy grin. “I didn’t know if you wanted some company at your stand. I saw that creep driving by earlier when you girls were out and I thought…I could stick around for a bit…if you wanted.”

She nods and thanks him, telling him she’d love to have his company while they wait for Bran and Rickon to come take back over. Of course, her little brothers aren’t coming to take back over. They’re busy filling in holes in the backyard. They’ve forgotten all about the lemonade stand.

Sure enough, Mr. Baelish’s Chevy does make a return trip down the street a few minutes later. But Jon stands up when it does, stands right in front of where she’s sitting. She doesn’t know if Jon makes any gestures or just glares but the Chevy speeds on past and doesn’t return.

And when Jeyne returns at long last with her stack of magazines, her eyes boggle at the sight of Jon Snow still sitting next to Sansa at the stand and the two of them talking and laughing.

Sansa wonders how shocked her friend might be when she tells her that she’s got a date with him Saturday night.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfic #librarian-witchling #fic prompts #vivilove-jonsa fic

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millysaurusrex · 3 years

Text

Oath

Ash falls from the sky and Arya can’t help but think of how it looks like snow. White and pure as it coats all around her. If she wanted, she could imagine she is in Winterfell, in the summer snows, laughing with her brothers as they tossed snowballs at a scandalized Sansa, with mother and father laughing. But, she is not in the north and mother and father and Rickon and Robb are gone. She is in King’s Landing, or perhaps one of the seven hells, and she leans against the stone wall as smoke and ash blanket the city streets around her.

How had she gotten here? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. Sandor. She remembered the Hound marching with her into the Red Keep. Remembers him stopping her, begging her. Live. Live. Choosing to live.

Then chaos.

Screams of men, women and children burning alive echo in the air, still warm from dragonfire. Swords. She can still hear swords. Men shouting. Death. She thought the House of Black and White had shown her death, but here in King’s Landing is the temple of death. Where father died. Where her sister’s innocence died. Where all men died.

Valar morghulis.

But, like this? If this was the God of Death’s plan, well -

She yelps as she’s pulled from the alleyway. A chainmail fist knocks into her her face splitting her lip, and thrusts her against the corner of the wall. More blood rushes down her face, but she grabs Needle, swings it around to meet the Lannister soldier’s sword. He looks manic. Primal, like an animal. He’s screaming at her, slamming his sword down over and over.

He is not particularly strong and any other day, Arya could have easily overpowered him. But she’s lost so much blood already, and her lungs hurt with the taste of ash and smoke. Anger - or fear - have strengthened the Lannister man, and he catches her with his sword, ripping into her side. It stings as sweat and dirt seep into the wound, but she doesn’t stop. She isn’t going to die here in King’s Landing. Not when she promised the Hound she’d chose life. Not today.

Her muscles ache but she meets each of his blows, counters them, hits him with all her strength. He kicks her hard in the chest and she stumbles back. Needle slips from her hand. She’s quick though, and she reaches for her discarded sword. But then there is a sudden sickening crunch of bone, and the Lannister soldier falls dead to the ground. His skull is mush in his helmet, blood pooling into the dirt below.

Arya glances up and her breath catches in her throat, because she did not expect this. He’s as tall and as broad as he’s always been, but he looks different, and she isn’t sure if it’s because he’s covered in dirt, blood and ash, or if its because of the stag sigil stitched into much finer leather armor than he’s ever worn.

He knocks his war hammer into his left hand and offers her his right, pulling her up with ease. She opens her mouth to thank him, to maybe quip sardonically that she had the guy, the way she might have when they were two children on the run. But, the words die in her throat because he’s pulled her to him, embracing her in a one armed hug.

It feels good which is ridiculous because they’re standing in the middle of a massacre, but she allows herself, just for a second, to revel in the feeling of his arm around her.

The moment is over as quickly as it began, as a voice calls, “Lord Gendry.”

She notices them then, a small circle of soldiers circle them, on guard for another Lannister or maybe a dragon. They bear the same stag sigil Gendry wears. Stormlanders. His men.

The thought of Gendry with his own men is almost laughable, and if the world wasn’t ending right now she might have, but Gendry pulls away from her and nods. “They’re burning the city down. The dragon queen’s army, they’ve...” he visibly swallows and she ridiculously wants to reach out and touch that place on his throat. Perhaps she’s delirious from the blood loss, but his words snap her to. She saw what the dragon queen’s army did. Saw what the northmen did. Did he -

“No one is massacring anyone on my watch,” Gendry says, as if reading her mind because of course he knows what she’s thinking. She smiles fondly and glances at his men.

“The gates of the city are blocked. We’ll have to find another way out.”

Gendry nods again, grips his hammer and says, “There is another way. Follow me.”

And his men don’t hesitate to follow. They follow him the way northmen followed father. The way they follow Jon. And Gendry is every bit a lord then. A storm lord. Perhaps, a rightful heir to the throne in another life.

You will marry a king and rule his castle...

She smiles at the memory. That’s not her. But, that’s also not him. He is Gendry, lord or not, and he’s followed her enough. She will follow him now.

Jon killed the dragon queen. Put a sword into her heart as they embraced. Or so she’s heard. It must be true, because the surviving dragon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon.

She wanted to march into the dungeons where he was being held, dare her army captain to even try and stop her from rescuing her brother - cousin, but she doesn’t. Jon has chosen his fate. So has she.

She sits in the tent and cleans her sword. There is no need for battle right now, but she does it all the same. It calms her mind.

The city had nearly burnt to the ground with all it’s people in it. The dragon queen had taken the iron throne with fire and blood. Arya snorts. Old nan always said that history has a nasty way of repeating itself.

The tent pulls open then and Gendry makes his way in. He’s managed to clean his face a bit, but his leathers are still caked in ash and blood. In an odd way, it’s fitting. She wonders briefly if this was how his father might have looked, many moons ago. Tall, strong, dangerous. Handsome even.

“They’re looking for you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to ask. She’s in charge of what’s left of the Stark army now that Jon is incapacitated and Sansa’s in the north.

“They can wait,” she responds.

Gendry only nods and makes his way across the tent. She watches him as he rifles through a stack of letters on the makeshift desk and rolls her eyes. She didn’t realize he could read.

If he can, he must not understand what is in the scroll, because his face scrunches up the way it always does when he’s thinking hard, and it has her sighing and sheathing Needle before making her way over to him. She places out a hand and raises a brow.

Gendry rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’ve been a bloody lord for all of two moons. Haven’t really had time to learn the little things, now have I?”

Arya shakes her head, unimpressed. “You’ll have to do better than that, if you plan to rule a castle, Lord Baratheon.” It’s teasing, and it gets the proper response, because he’s smiling back at her, the first smile she’s seen since that freezing night in Winterfell.

“Yeah, Lord Baratheon. Can’t order me around now, can you, Lady Stark?”

“I never order you around.”

That earns a full chuckle form him. The sound is gentle, like music after all the screams and death.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since we met. How’d you think I knew you were a rich girl? Always so bossy.”

She laughs, too, and it feels strange to be laughing in a place like this. After what they’ve just witnessed.

“Now you’re the one bossing around men.”

Gendry sighs. “Don’t bloody know why. I’m no war strategist. I’ve never lead anyone into anything before, much less a war. Felt like an idiot trying to convince a bunch of men I’d never met before follow me into battle under orders of a queen they didn’t acknowledge.”

“But they followed you,” She adds.

“Aye, some.” He runs a hand down his face and looks exhausted. She supposes they all are. “Not sure why they did it either.”

“I told you, you make a wonderful lord.”

He pauses and looks at her and she steels herself because this is it, this is when they’re going to discuss what happened in the Winterfell grain store what seems like ages ago.

“Aye, a wonderful lord. But, still an idiot.” He sighs again before falling heavily into a chair at the desk. “What I said that night...it was stupid. All these years, I’d like to fancy that I knew you better than I’d known anyone. You’re no lady, and you’d certainly never be mine.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust herself to say a word. She just kneels before him, touches his face the way she did that night. She studies him, taking in the new scars that litter his face. There’s one above his eyebrow, identical to hers, and dried blood crusts there. There’s another one on the left side of his jaw, deeper and still an angry red. She runs her finger along it gently, and he shivers beneath the touch.

“Arya,” its a whisper, almost a prayer, and she tilts her head up, kisses his sweetly. She won’t say it. She’s never been good at words. But, she tells him all the same, as she deepens the kiss, spilling all of the words and feelings that would never come out right if she tried. It is a confession. A proposal. An oath. But, he understands. He’s always understood.

He knows her better than anyone else.

#gendry x arya #gendrya #not sure where this came from #I need more gendrya in my life #sorry if this was crap

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

Eh, another chat inspired fic

Based off this chat post by @sixtyeightdays. I seriously need to stop getting inspired by these type of posts and work on some parts or requests. Hey, I get distracted very easily when I’m not motivated.

Marinette didn’t expect to tell her boyfriend’s family that she knows their nightly activities nor that she was indeed a superhero from Paris. Well it started with Damian inviting her to stay for the summer after a year of dating. They were both anxious to see one another and Marinette needed a break from Paris—Hawkmoth and Mayura was making her stress level go through the roof and she didn’t know how many back to back battle she could do without passing out.

Throughout the day everything was perfect, she spent the time cuddling with Damian, teaching him about pop culture (she had him “uncultured swine” at least three times before starting this), and hanging out with his brothers. Right before they make up the usual excuse to proceed with their nightly activities, Hawkmoth decided that was the perfect time to unleash an akuma and amok at the same time in Paris.

Now Marinette was beyond exhausted and Tikki was hungry. That battle cleared out any on-hand cookies that she carried specifically for the kwami of creation.

“Look Tikki, stop it. I know you want some cookies and I will get them kitchen for you for, but can I at least take a nap first.” The sixteen-year-old groans but the pestering along who Tikki’s sweet voice just makes it harder for her to say no. “Okay…”

Marinette is ninety-nine percent sure she is lost in the maze that this Wayne Manor. She also thought she was loosing her mind in the lack of sleep because she saw Ace and Titus sneaking in and out of the halls. Those dogs usually stay hidden or curled up besides her when they want to.

So how the hell did she wind up in a cave that is underneath the manor when she looking for the dang kitchen? Did her mind instinctively picked and played with items that she had seen the bat-bros use a couple of times? No, that can’t be it. Was it because she followed the dogs? Maybe and that’s because of the running figures of said dogs in front of her.

“This does not look like the kitchen.” Nodding to herself, she could feel the laughter vibration that Tikki was doing on the pocket. Now she wasn’t sure whether she can even get the heck out before her Batman and the rest of the crew show up.

From the other side of the Batcave, and the arrival of the bat-mobile, Bat-family freeze at the sight of dark-haired Parisian. Red Hood didn’t even try and hand his chuckling which ended up grabbing the Parisian’s attention. The others remained unsure what to do. Batman was mentally face-palming at the fact that somehow his son’s non-hero girlfriend found the Batcave. Damian was surprised she found this place but is now worried about his relationship. Nightwing and Tim was trying to hold in their laughter or process the situation (in Tim’s case).

Marinette, acknowledging the newcomers, takes one look at everyone’s heights, built, and butts. Luka was right, butts do match. Instead of shrieking like a normal person, she raises an eyebrow and place her hands on her hips.

“Go figure that I would go and fall for another superhero.” She murmurs throwing her hands up and stalks away but then she remembers that she has no way out of the cave.

“Um… we just like playing dress up? We aren’t actual superheroes?” Nightwing, aka Dick Grayson, tries to deny but who was he kidding Marinette wasn’t that dumb and she’s currently half-awake right now.

“I’m going to assume your Dickie, and do you seriously think you’re the only ones who are heroes around here?” Marinette cross the arms across her chest and narrows her eyes at the family.

The words “only ones” and “heroes” finally processed in the family’s minds, well more specifically Damian’s.

“Wait, what the actual fuck, you’re a hero too?” He screams at his girlfriend who turns to him with a dead look on her face.

“Uh…duh, how do you think I took out those thugs in less than a minute?” She states with little care in the world, but Tikki’s pounding against the fabric says otherwise.

“I though you were just well trained.” Jason murmurs accepting the fact that the person he views as a little sister was indeed a hero.

The sleep was getting to Marinette as she laughs at that comment. “So, this where you all disappear off to every night. I was getting suspicious.” Marinette pauses for a good minute barely giving them any time to process. “So, how do I get out of here?”

This cause the Bat-family to breakdown. Jason was on the floor, Tim was shuffling to a coffee machine, Dick was shaking his head wondering where did it all do wrong, Damian was debating with himself to run over to hug his girlfriend or scream to the heavens—both sounds good. Bruce was just done for the night; one to many things were going tonight and he was just done.

While they have their breakdown, Marinette seriously just wanted to get the heck out of here and to the kitchen.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#ml x dc #maribat #daminette #ml crossover #dc crossover #mlb x dc

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

Text

The Hit List

This is based on a head canon I posted a couple days ago- just couldn’t get the idea of Nesta having an Arya-Stark style hit list; mostly crack and pure fluff if I’m being honest 🤷‍♀️

Cassian and Nesta have lived together for 137 years as of last Saturday. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he has been counting, but when one lives with Nesta Archeron one gets used to ensuring that they are always prepared. The woman has an infallible memory. Cassian knows every date that is of any consequence. He knows the day that her mother died because she always shrinks into herself just a little bit on that day, even after all of these years. He knows the day that they met, the day that the war ended, and the day that their mating bond snapped into place. He knows the day that they got married in a tiny little ceremony that consisted of only them plus Elain and Azriel- even Rhysand and Feyre weren’t present- and he knows the day that she finally, finally allowed herself to admit it to everyone that they had gotten married. Cassian knows everything about Nesta Archeron. He has spent 142 years learning every single piece of her (yeah you can do the math on how long it took him to convince her to move out of that damn run down apartment).

There is nothing about Nesta Archeron that could surprise him at this point. He can read her moods in the tense of her shoulders before she even wakes up in the morning. He can tell whether or not she will be amiable to seeing other people by the firmness or reluctance of her lips against his before they eat breakfast.

Cassian knows Nesta.

He does.

Really.

So why is he crinkling his brow in confusion as he stares at this tiny, ancient looking piece of parchment that has fallen out of her drawer.

Nesta is nearing the end of her cycle and he was sent to this particular drawer (his favorite if he’s being honest, but that is not the purpose of this moment) to fetch her new undergarments as she curses and tries to get out of their bed in the next room.

If it were even a day earlier Cassian would forget the paper. He would sprint into that room and tie her stubborn ass to the bed if he had to. She never rests long enough on her cycle, but this should be the last day so nothing bad will happen if she insists on taking herself to the bath.

Cassian is far too intrigued by this discovery to pay the subtle grunts any attention. The paper looks like it has been folded over and over again, uncreased and re-creased. It looks old, and coming from him that is saying something.

Cassian thinks that maybe he shouldn’t open it, but... he and Nesta don’t keep secrets, so surely if she had one then she would hide it better than shoving it under all of these scraps of lace in her underwear drawer. He smoothes the paper out carefully and his brow only creases farther as he reads it

Hybern

Old bitch Queen

Stupid Glaring Queen

White Queen

Old Fae Queen

Tomas

Beron

Jurian

Tamlin

Devlon

The last 3 names are deeply faded, clearly having been written in lead and then scratched at. Not scratched out in the way the others are, with a single black line through them, but... erased? Or attempted to be erased at least.

Cassian rubs his thumb along the final line, trying to feel the deeply faded and worn through section of the paper. The writer clearly wrote and then attempted to erase this word several times. It only takes him a minute to figure it out.

Rhysand

Cassian has never been so confused. None of these names seem to fit together in any way that he can make sense of. The Queens, he has to imagine refers to the mortal Queens from the war, and Hybern is explanatory enough- but what do 3 High Lords have to do with any of that? (Well... 2 current High Lords and a “woefully” usurped loser that no one will miss). Not to mention a resurrected human, the Lord of Windhaven, and some poor male named... Tomas?

Cassian shakes his head and does what he always does when something about Nesta confuses him. He walks right into their bedroom and asks her.

“What is this?”

Nesta lifts her eyes from the sheets, hands still gripping at her abdomen as she glares daggers at him.

“The fact that males don’t have to go through this torture is proof that the cauldron has always been an insufferable prick” she growls.

“That’s what I love about you, Nes” he grins that infuriatingly charming lopsided grin of his “you could wish that you weren’t in pain, but no no- instead you wish that I was as well”

“That stupid mating bond does claim to pair equals” she grimaces

“Oh so now it’s stupid?”

“If stuck me with you, didn’t it?”

Cassian laughs, moving closer to the bed with a wicked grin “I didn’t hear you complaining last night as I took that pain away in the only way that ever seems to work” he winks

“Hmmm” Nesta considers idly, reaching out to pull him onto the bed beside her so that she can lean her back against his chest “I suppose you do have your uses.”

Cassian chuckles, running a hand through her hair “what is this?” He asks again, holding up the parchment.

Nesta pauses for only a second before shrugging “it’s my kill list”

“Your what?” She said the words so casually, as though she was informing him what she wanted for dinner that night.

“I should think that the words ‘kill list’ are rather self explanatory”

Cassian pauses, looking down at the female that he thought he knew so well.

They are literally connected together. How could he not know what a bloodthirsty little minx his wife is? Well no, that isn’t accurate. He did know, he just didn’t know that she wrote it all down so literally and physically.

“Rhysand’s name is on this list”

“No it isn’t” Nesta shakes her head in annoyance “I erased it last year after he built that garden and named it for Elain” she shrugs “he’s one of the rotating players. Every few years he does something to get his name on the list but then usually he acquits himself within the decade.”

Cassian only nods, long since learning the pattern of Nesta’s speech that indicates when she is finished speaking on a matter and will not give it any more of her time. Of course, he also knows exactly the right buttons to push in order to make her keep speaking, but... now isn’t the time to play one of those cards. Nesta and Rhysand have always shared a tenuous relationship at best, so he supposes that her erasing his name from the kill list is probably about the greatest level of affection she will ever show the High Lord.

“Who is Tomas?” Nesta’s entire body tenses in his arms and Cassian’s mirrors her exactly one second later.

Oh.

Him.

“I’m glad that he is crossed out” Cassian grits through clenched teeth.

Nesta sighs “not nearly as satisfying an end as some of the others I’m afraid. So much time passed that one day I realized it would be impossible for him to still be alive, so I just crossed his name out” she shrugs.

”why does that old Queen still draw breath?” He grins a little, enjoying the strangely morbid conversation as he moves his hands down to gently massage her lower abdomen. She lets out a little moan that he assumes means some of her pain is subsiding.

“Every day that she lives is her punishment” Nesta grins this time, and Cassian sees it as she lays her head back against his shoulder “she wanted to be young and beautiful forever. Now she is an immortal old crone. If I never cross that name off I’ll consider it a type of victory entirely its own”

“What about Devlon, Jurian, and Tamlin?”

Nesta scoffs “they’re all on thin ice, but...” she sighs, an annoyed sort of huff “Tamlin did save Elain in a way and Jurian was playing doubt agent. And...” she pauses “you speak well of Devlon in comparison to the other Illyrian lords so he remains in the safe zone...for now.”

Cassian just grins a little, hands continuing their careful ministrations “I love you” he murmurs into her hair.

“I love you too”

Cassian pauses, straightening up a bit and pulling Nesta with him as he does so.

“Wait” he narrows his eyes “have I ever been on this list?”

Nesta curls her lips into a teasing smirk and gives him the most innocent little shrug as an answer.

Cassian chuckles, resting his chin on top of her head “as long as you always erase it”

“I use a lighter lead when I want to put you on it” she turns over in his arms so that she can look up at him “easier to erase. No smudges”

“I do believe that is that most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Nesta” they both laugh as Cassian leans down to capture her lips in his own, and suddenly Nesta’s cramps don’t seem quite so bad.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of silver flames #acosf #sarah j maas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #nesta and cassian #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar

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arielseaworth · 3 years

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How about Robb and Jon for the sibling prompt? 15 for teasing. Thanks!

||A SONG OF SIBLINGS||

For the prompt: Robb Stark & Jon Snow, teasing

His father had always said that in battle a captain’s lungs were as important as his sword arm. “It does not matter how brave or brilliant a man is, if his commands cannot be heard,” Lord Eddard told his sons, so Robb and [Jon] used to climb the towers of Winterfell to shout at each other across the yard. (A Storm of Swords)

Robb bellowed, “Snow!

Jon hollered, “Stark!

“I can’t hear you, Snow. Louder, captain, louder!”

“STAAAAAAAARK!”

His voice broke too high, the second time he called out for Robb. Jon winced, embarrassed. He had not sounded like a leader of men that time. He wondered what Robb would say to that. Perhaps Robb would not say anything at all, to protect his brother’s pride. That would make it worse, somehow, Jon felt, although he could not really say why.

They climbed down the towers, reuniting in the practice yard, where each morning Ser Rodrik would drill them on their skills at arms. Jon stole a sidelong glance at Robb, who asked, somewhat too nonchalantly, “Was that you shouting Stark the second time?”

Jon gulped. “Why?” he asked, trying his best to sound unconcerned.

“Well, it sounded … different,” replied Robb.

“Different how?”

Robb shrugged. “I don’t know. Just … different.” He added, after a pause, “It sounded like the voice of a woman, calling me Stark.”

“A woman? Well, that’s not me, then. I’m not a woman, am I? Are you sure you heard it?”

“You mean you didn’t hear it?”

Jon stayed mum.

“I didn’t imagine it,” Robb insisted.

“Maybe it was a ghost.”

“Ghosts only exist in Old Nan’s stories.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Robb chuckled, nervously. “Leave off, Snow. I’m not Sansa, Arya and baby Bran in the crypt, frightened by the sight of you covered with flour.”

“The dead walk the towers too, day and night,” whispered Jon, the same way Robb had whispered to their younger siblings in the crypt, “This is where the dead walk, day and night.”

Robb shivered. His eyes darted past one tower, then another. He looked uncertain, suddenly full of doubt. The sun had shone in his hair as he and Jon were climbing up the towers, but now he looked downcast, as if trailed by invisible shadows.

Jon was stricken with guilt. “It was me,” he admitted. “I shouted Stark the second time. There was no ghost. Only me.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Did you do the voice on purpose? To tease me?”

“Yes. No. I … I was too embarrassed to admit it was my voice.”

Robb grinned, his face transformed into the way it usually seemed to Jon’s eyes, sunny and shadow-less, a picture in contrast to Jon’s own face. “It didn’t really sound like a woman’s voice,” Robb said. “I knew it was your voice all along.”

“Then why did you pretend?”

“To tease you! To see how long you could keep up the charade.”

Jon punched his brother’s arm, playfully. “Or maybe you were really scared, and you’re only pretending to have known all along.”

“I’ll race you to the Great Hall,” Robb shouted, his feet already on the move, neatly evading Jon’s last remark.

#Robb Stark #Jon Snow #valyrianscrolls #gotfic #asoiaf fic #a song of siblings #arielfic #Anonymous #thank you for your prompt <3

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

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Are there any specific Jonrya Quotes that doesn't mean sibling love? If so which ones?

Yes! Loads! Thanks for this ask.

She [Ygritte] is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't? - Jon VI ACOK

I don’t know about you guys, but it’s not often I’m romantically attracted to someone who immediately reminds me of my sibling. But hey, maybe that’s just me.

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya. - Jon VI ACOK

Once again, I tend not to imagine my (future) romantic partner’s naked body and think of my sibling. I’m starting to sense a pattern 🤔

"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers. - Arya I ASOS

Even Arya is comparing her (future potential) love interest to Jon. It’s an epidemic!

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon II ASOS

Yet another instance of Jon thinking of Ygritte’s body beneath her clothes and thinking of Arya. Hmm, suspicious 👀

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III ASOS

Kind of strange to question his relationship to Arya, especially after all of those inappropriate thoughts regarding Ygritte. And to question only Arya? Seems like someone really wishes they weren’t blood related so it wouldn’t feel wrong to think of her that way...

"It wasn't Longspear, then?" Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways. She punched him. "That's vile. Would you bed your sister?" "Longspear's not your brother." - Jon III ASOS

Real smooth, Jon. Real smooth. Notice how he totally dodges the question? How we never get an answer on if he would bed his sister? Perhaps because the answer is yes?? Notice how this sounds a lot like it might tie in to “their passion will continue to torment them until the secret of Jon’s parentage is revealed in the last book”? Very suspicious.

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. - Arya VIII ASOS

“I know where we could go," Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He'll call me "little sister" and muss my hair. - Arya XII ASOS

Maybe not explicitly romantic per se, but it is telling that she genuinely believes her own mother and brother would not want her for superficial reasons and because of the people she killed in self-defense, but her belief in Jon doesn’t waver for a single second.

Jon has a mother. Wylla, her name is Wylla. She would need to remember so she could tell him, the next time she saw him. She wondered if he would still call her "little sister." I'm not so little anymore. He'd have to call me something else. - Arya VIII ASOS

Arya’s questioning her relationship with him too?! To distance herself from him and subconsciously make it easier to deal with romantic feelings in the future?! Will it ever end?!

"It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . . . . . but it wasn't. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

This is so sweet and the specificity of his smile over the more general descriptions of the rest of her family mark it out as different in some way.

She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. But they were all dead now, even Arya, everyone but her half-brother, Jon. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him. Even Jon would never know Blind Beth, I bet. That made her sad. - The Blind Girl ADWD

Arya loves Jon so much she wishes he could meet her alter-egos too. Ugh, the romantic angst is too much.

"He's to marry Arya Stark. My little sister." Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton's bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she'll fight him. "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. - Jon VI ADWD

Once again, Jon thinks of Arya in a way that a brother really shouldn’t think of a sister. Funny how he specifically says “Ramsay Bolton’s bed”, and not just any man’s bed? Maybe because he can imagine her in someone’s (his)? Either way, weird thing to think about, Jon. And a very violent reaction to your sister’s marriage. Way more than his reaction to another sister’s marriage. Definitely intense feeling that goes beyond sibling bond.

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" - Jon VI ADWD

Need I say more?

Jon felt fifteen years old again. Little sister. - Jon IX ADWD

This is not so big in terms of non-sibling feelings but it is a very intense reaction and also I love Jon being such an emo little shit here cause... Jon, bby, you’re sixteen. Calm down.

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. "Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. - Jon X ADWD

This is such a romanticised scene and the fact that it mentions Arya at the same time, and Jon’s intense feeling again, gives me pause and made me put it on this list.

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon XI ADWD

Again, veeeerrry intense feelings, the mention of her wedding night again, and the fact that he once more questions his relationship with her. It’s too repetitive and obvious not to mean something.

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … "I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said. - Jon XIII ADWD

So, Jon thinks of his former lover and Arya right after, repeats the phrase “I want my bride back” specifically in reference to Arya, and imo “bride” is not what you call someone you have only platonic/ familial feelings for. That would be very weird. Then he abandons all his vows, something he had the opportunity to do and didn’t at least 3 separate times, for and only for Arya, and if that ain’t just the most romantic shit you ever heard. And then of course he literally dies with her as his last thought. Romantic. As. Fuck!

There is more than this, but you asked for things that don’t also mean sibling love, so here you go! 🤗

#asoiaf #jonrya #jon snow #arya stark #jon x arya #jonarya #my meta #sort of #shut up neve #Anonymous #neve has mail

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

Text

Blood In the Rivers: IV

A/N: I’m sorry. (But, on that note, chapter V will be out soon, because I had parts of that written long before I thought of actually posting this fic.) Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, and read the last chapter. You deserve nice things.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T for brief suicidal thoughts, canon typical sexism, my overuse of italics

Word Count: 7k (I have lost my chill, apparently)

Read Chapters I-III here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Four: A Pentoshi Heart

Her mother once said, “You may have your father’s name, little one, but you have a Pentoshi heart.”

“What does that mean, Mother?” Y/N asked, eyes wide in childlike curiosity. Her little hands had grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s deep blue skirts as the wind rushed by, carrying the scent of evergreens.

“It means,” she paused and cleared her throat, words warbling on her tongue in her beautiful, Pentoshi accent, “it means that you fling yourself into adventures without thinking of the consequences. That you destroy what you cannot control.” Vaella bent and held her daughter’s face in her hands. “You must take care, little one, that you do not lose yourself to someone who will drive you to your worst impulses.”

The words meant little to young Y/N, but she nodded and smiled at her mother. “I will try, Mother. To not lose my heart.”

Perhaps she had been given too much time to think. Or maybe thinking was the only thing from teetering over the edge into despair. It had been almost two weeks since Tywin had announced that Loras had been raised to the Kingsguard. The second royal wedding was the day after tomorrow and she…hadn’t seen Oberyn since he’d kissed her in the Small Council chamber.

Ellaria had been scarce in her visitations, too. They’d met only twice in the gardens for a few brief moments. There was something Ellaria was hiding, Y/N was sure of it. But she was too sad to question it. To ask for answers. To ask where Oberyn had gone.

And the last time Ellaria had held her close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, she whispered, “you must be strong, My Tully.”

The sound of the nickname on Ellaria’s tongue almost relieved the weight she felt on her shoulders. She was Ellaria’s. She had been Oberyn’s, too. But that had been nearly a week ago. She’d only caught a glimpse of them at Tommen’s coronation celebrations. A single view of their golden and yellow skirts and robes and then they were gone and she was left to swear her fealty to the new king by herself. Little Tommen seemed too kind to really be king—but she knew he had been king before that silly crown was placed on his head. As soon as Olenna had shared the news of Joffrey’s death, she knew Tommen was king. Everyone had referred to him as king the day after Joffrey’s funeral anyway, the ceremony seemed redundant.

Y/N was suddenly brought back to the present as something sharp sunk into her shoulder. The Maester had the good grace to look apologetic as he continued to haphazardly pull the stitches from her skin. “Nearly finished, my lady.” Daisy was standing at her back as the maester worked, trailing comforting fingers up and down her spine to distract her from the strange ache the procedure created. “These have been some of my finest work. The scars shall be minimal compared to what it could have been.”

Y/N wanted to tell him that the scars were still ugly no matter how “fine” his stitching may have been. It twisted from the edge of her collarbone to just under her arm, raised and discolored like a beacon of her misstep. There was a matching scar on her back. They’d had to cut her open to clean the wound properly, pouring firewine into her flesh to stop a possible infection. It was a small solace that she had been unconscious for that.

To keep her mind from focusing on the pincers in the feeble hands of the Maester, she tried to think of anything else. It was a bit of advice her Uncle Hoster had taught her when she was still a girl and she’d fallen off her horse and into the rocky bed of the Tumblestone river, earning herself a nasty cut along her leg that required stitches. Uncle Hoster, she thought, dead and gone now—he’d died when she was on the kingsroad to represent the Riverlands at court and ask for the Crown’s protection against the raiders. Word only reached her after she’d settled into her chambers at the Keep. Gone. Just like that. Then there was Eddard Stark, calm and strong and if not a little sullen at times. He always had a kind smile for her. He was gone, too. Bran and Rickon killed by Theon in a coup at Winterfell. Catelyn and Robb dead as well. Arya was in the wind, as was her father. Edmure was a captive of the Lannisters and Sansa was in hiding in Dorne. Jon was at the Wall. What a mess. They’d been scattered like sand in the wind.

This obviously was not a productive train of thought so she tried to focus on the dark but happy reality that Joffrey was dead. Dontos, too. Dontos who had tried to lead Sansa away from her teachings and plan.

“Dontos said he has a plan to get me out of King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered as they pretended to pray. She had told her of the note Dontos had placed beneath her pillow, swearing his fealty to Sansa’s cause as recompense for her saving his life. “He says he has a friend with a ship that will get me out. Take me home to Winterfell.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He seems to believe it.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath through her nose and tightened her clasped fingers. “Has he said anything else to you? Mentioned who this friend is?”

“No.” Sansa shuffled closer on the stone.

The older of the pair paused for a moment. The knight-turned-fool was easily manipulated. There was no possible way he could formulate a plan—the fact that he managed to smuggle a note beneath Sansa’s pillow was suspicious enough. “Tell me what else he says.” She reached out and tugged at the end of Sansa’s loosened braid and a small smile finally touched Sansa’s pretty, pink lips. “But you trust me to get you out of here, don’t you?”

“You’re my family. The only family I have left in this terrible place. Of course I trust you.”

The maester finished and she thanked him before he toddled out of her chambers. Silence stretched for a few moments, tense and sad.

“What can I bring you, my lady?” And poor Daisy continued to fret, noticing her lady’s dour mood. “There are fresh lemon cakes in the kitchens. I watched them bake this morning.”

Y/N nodded and stood from her chair. “That sounds lovely. And any juice you can find.”

Daisy nodded and scurried away, happy to see that Y/N was eating. Her meals had been sparse the last handful of days and had taken to only drinking water. It would be good for her to have something in her stomach.

As the door closed, Y/N caught Daemon watching Daisy as she walked away and smiled despite her own melancholy. They would make a handsome match—and as Daisy was the fifth daughter of a Landed Knight, it wouldn’t be a preposterous one either. Perhaps she could speak to Daisy when she returned. But, for now, she rolled her shoulder and felt the pinch that came with disuse and the presence of new scarring. The blades she once sewed into her dresses and hid throughout her chambers had been hidden away at the bottom of her chest and covered with chemises and underclothes to keep any prying eyes from discovering them. She pulled two from the depths and carried through the familiar steps Ser Maegyr had taught her. One position into two and then the third and then back again, swinging and stabbing the blades through the air. “Aim for the eyes, the throat, and the upper thigh, My Lady. All men bleed.”

Her shoulder continued to pinch and quickly ached as she persisted in her steps.

“Move fast and sure. Indecision will cost you your life.”

She turned and did the steps across the floor, moving with each new pass. Thoughts trickled by as she tried to think of only Ser Maegyr and his training—but the thoughts came just the same. Of Tywin and his proposal. Of Ser Gregor and his threats. Of all the ways her family had been betrayed. Of Oberyn and Ellaria and their soft lips and beautiful words. She arced the blade in her left hand down and buried it into the soft wood of her vanity. The wood cracked and splintered as she yanked it out.

She hadn’t meant to do that.

A knock at her door had her stashing the blades beneath a pillow and throwing on a dark blue dressing gown over her chemise before she opened it just a crack to see who was there—it was just Daemon. His light eyes searched her face as it was revealed, worry coloring his features. “My Lady? Are you well?”

He must have heard the noise and thought something was amiss. “I am, Ser. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

His dimpled smile appeared and he ducked his head. “You are never any trouble, my lady.”

Before she closed the door, she briefly thought of asking Daemon of Oberyn and Ellaria’s whereabouts. Daemon had been knighted by Oberyn himself—and of course, there had been whispers that Oberyn then took the young knight to bed. And where Oberyn went, Ellaria always was. Could she ask him? But her proper manners reared their head and quieted her tongue. “You are far too kind, Ser. Daisy should be back soon with lemon cakes. Please, take some for you and your brother in arms.”

His smile widened. “Thank you, my lady. They’re my favorite. But are you sure Daisy will not mind?”

“If you ask nicely and say I gave you permission, I suppose she’d be agreeable. Your dimples can work wonders, I’m sure.”

A pretty pink filled his cheeks and she laughed for the first time in almost two weeks. She smiled at him and they said their goodbyes before she shut the door again and she picked up her blades and started to resume her steps. But then there was another knock at her door and she once again hid her blades away under her pillow. She smiled, thinking it was Daemon again or Daisy with the lemon cakes, but her face fell when Bernadette, Cersei’s handmaiden, stood in her doorway.

“My lady, the queen has requested your presence in her chambers.” Her dark eyes slid down Y/N’s hastily tied gown and chemise. “Shall I help you dress?”

“No. I can do it myself.” She closed the door and scowled before pulling open one of her chests and retrieving a simple, pale blue gown that tied at the sides instead of the back. She dressed before pushing her feet into soft-soled slippers. Y/N opened the door to see Bernadette eyeing Daemon and his counterpart with unmasked contempt and she stepped in front of them. “If you’re done eyeing my guards, you may escort me to Her Grace.”

Bernadette flushed and dipped her head. “Yes, my lady.”

The walk was tense and quiet and Bernadette’s heeled shoes slapped against the stone floor and the sound echoed through the halls, grating on Y/N’s last nerve. It was a strange relief to see Cersei’s apartment door.

Bernadette knocked and glanced at Y/N before opening it, “Lady Tully, Your Grace.”

Y/N cast one last look at Bernadette before stepping inside and making sure the maid stayed out in the hall.

“Sit,” Cersei said, pointing at the chair on the other side of her desk without looking up from the parchment and ink she was focused on.

Y/N did as she was told and watched Cersei write, scratching away at the parchment with a subdued flourish. It was a silly little power play. One she knew well. But she still knew how to play the dutiful loyalist and could sit still for hours while Cersei pretended to not see her.

After a few moments, Cersei set down her quill and looked Y/N over. “You are healing well.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The maester relieved me of my stitches this morning.”

Cersei hummed and sat back in her chair. “There has been such whispers about you, Lady Tully. You just cannot seem to stay out of harm’s way.” Cersei’s cold green eyes stared at her shoulder, knowing where she had been injured. “It seems being aligned with my family has given you scars.”

“Nothing that can’t be covered up, Your Grace. Scars fade with time.”

“Indeed they do. But, you have been remiss in keeping your maids beside you. Wandering the halls like a servant, unaccompanied.”

“I only have Daisy, Your Grace. I found it more timely to have her run to the markets or the kitchens for me than to follow me around the Keep. I did the same at Riverrun. I have never cared to have a shadow.”

“But you care for the Dornish guards outside your door?” Cersei asked, head tilting just so.

Y/N offered an easy, sad smile. “Prince Oberyn insisted, Your Grace, after the…wedding.” She pressed as much false sadness into her tone and dipped her head. “I have tried to tell him it was not necessary—that the Keep is safe. But who am I to argue with a prince? And the one that helped save my life, at that. I’m sure they will depart soon. I am terribly sorry if they have caused a fuss for the Kingsguard.”

“I would have them replaced. Two of the finest knights from the Westerlands outside your door.”

Another scheme, it seemed. Another move across the board. “That is a very kind offer. But I am afraid I must refuse. The finest knights should be guarding King Tommen, should they not? But I shall send the Dornish knights away today. It is not a matter to me.”

“His Grace has the King’s Guard.”

“Of course, but surely his protection is paramount to mine. Dontos-”

“Is dead, Lady Tully. Have you not seen his head on the spike at the gate?”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m afraid my injury has left me inside the Keep’s walls aside from the coronation and funeral. I’ve not had the opportunity to venture out otherwise.”

Cersei took a sip of her wine and arched a blonde eyebrow. “I offer you a great service, Lady Tully. And you refuse it. Father told me you tried to refuse sitting at our side at the wedding. Have we done something to insult you so?”

Cersei’s hidden meanings and loaded questions had not dulled with the death of Joffrey. If anything, Y/N saw that the queen had started to lean more heavily into thinly veiled insults or threats. A tired game, to be sure. “Of course not, Your Grace. Your family has been far kinder to me than I feel I deserve.”

“And you feel you are not right to marry my father?” Cersei asked point blank.

“I am not sure if I would be a worthy Lady of the Rock,” she said simply. “I am the only daughter born to a second son and a foreigner. One is dead. The other is a traitor. I am not quite the match a man of your father’s station should require.”

“And yet, he’s inclined to choose you still. Despite your…shortcomings.” Cersei almost smiled and took another drink of wine. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N stayed silent, watching Cersei watch her over the rim of her chalice.

Cersei set down her chalice and steepled her fingers atop her desk. “I’m going to give you advice. The same advice I gave that bitch Sansa before she disappeared.” She leaned forward in her chair. “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I do, Your Grace.” And she did. The advice was cruel but kind in equal measure, a way to survive the perils of marriage to man you could not love in any capacity. It was easy to see that bit of advice had seen Cersei through her marriage to Robert Baratheon. It was another crack in her armor.

Cersei nodded and sat back and took another gulp of wine. “It’s just as well, you know. Father loved Mother with a fierceness that can never be replicated.” The Queen Regent fixed her green gaze on the younger woman. “He will never love you. All the stories you’ve read in the dark of your rooms as a girl, of dashing knights and love, they do not exist.”

Y/N straightened her shoulders. “I never cared for fairytales or love stories, Your Grace.”

Cersei smirked. “And of what did you care to read?”

“War.”

Cersei pushed out a short laugh through her teeth. “Perhaps you are more suitable than you think, Little Lamb.”

A knock at the door broke the tightly wound atmosphere of the room and Bernadette stepped in. “Lady Olenna, Your Grace.”

Olenna then barged into the room and her dark eyes swept from Cersei to Y/N. “Ah, I was told you were here. I need to speak with you.”

Y/N turned to Cersei who had pursed her lips. Of course, seeming to look to the queen regent for guidance was just another way to masquerade as someone who cared about what she said. Cersei paused and then nodded.

“Come, Little Fish. I don’t have the virtue of time.”

Y/N sighed and rose and followed the Queen of Thorns back out into the hall after quickly curtseying. Bernadette started to follow when Olenna turned and eyed her up and down. “You can stay here.” Olenna looped her arm through Y/N’s. “We are perfectly capable of walking on our own. Thank you.”

The handmaiden essentially shriveled up into herself at that and curtseyed before retaking her place outside Cersei’s doors, red in the face. But all Y/N could see was the hulking mass of The Mountain now standing guard in the shadows. His dark eyes raked down her form as they had hundreds of times before and he actually licked his lips like a hungry dog. Thankfully, Olenna didn’t seem to notice or did not care and continued to pull Y/N along. Two Tyrell handmaidens followed several paces back.

“It is as if they don’t trust me,” Olenna said loudly.

Y/N wordlessly thanked her companion with a gentle squeeze to her arm and let the older woman lead her out of the Keep and into the godswood without much passing between them aside from trivial conversation about the preparations for the second royal wedding. As they were firmly planted within the shade and greenery of the godswood, Olenna pulled them both to a stop. The two handmaidens had stayed at the gate, surreptitiously turning their backs to give the two high-borns privacy and to keep others away.

“You are quite the challenge, aren’t you, Little Fish?” Olenna chuckled and they settled on the stone bench Y/N and Sansa used to favor. “Everyone thinks they want your loyalty. Everyone thinks they have it.” Olenna patted her hand. “You would have made a fine Lady of the Reach.”

“No longer wanting to marry me to Lord Willas? I’m almost insulted, Lady Olenna.”

Olenna chuckled. “The Lions have their games, we have ours. But, no, Little Fish. It seems as if you are not meant to be a Tyrell.”

“A shame. I have heard Highgarden smells much more pleasant than King’s Landing.” She bit back a sigh. “Why have you requested my presence? We no longer have anything to offer one another.”

A titter escaped Olenna’s lips. “Abandoning hope already? I must have mistaken you for a fighter.”

Y/N turned and tried not to glare. “Tywin Lannister has essentially proposed marriage. There is no fighting him. No other man in this damned city would dare stand against him.” But the anger she’d felt bubbling slipped out of her like a wave and left her sagging in her stone seat. “I’m going to be his broodmare and provide him with another heir and then I can only hope that my second son will become Lord Tully. My home in the clutches of lions. I’m almost tempted to leave it to the Freys. They’ll never hold it.” Y/N closed her eyes and sat straight to angle her face toward the sun, trying to feel its warmth instead of the turmoil in her stomach. “It’ll be besieged and seized over and over again until they abandon it. It will become a mess of rock and rubble in a handful of years.”

“Are you a witch, too? Such terrible visions you have, Little Fish.” The tone of her voice was as close to sympathetic as Y/N had ever heard it but she did not pull away from the sun. “But I, too, would rather see Highgarden in ruins than in the hands of the lions.”

Y/N nearly startled as Olenna gently touched her cheek. Her eyes opened to see Olenna smiling softly at her, a look she had thought reserved for Margaery. “You offer something very precious. In time, you will see.” She tapped Y/N’s cheek and then stood. “It seems you will make allies of us all.” Olenna paused and fished something from the pocket of her dress and handed it to Y/N. “For your scarring.”

It was a small, green jar about the size of her palm. Y/N twisted the top of the jar off and the scent of mint and roses hit her nose, filtering from the white paste carefully spooned into the jar’s depths. That was the closest thing she would get to an apology for being maimed.

“Let us get you back to your rooms. You need your rest.”

Y/N stood and let Olenna once again wrap an arm around hers and they walked back into the cold shadows of the Keep. As they neared her chamber door, Y/N noticed that only one guard was standing sentry—and her door was ajar. The guard’s eyes widened just a fraction as she neared with Olenna at her side. Y/N arched an eyebrow as she stepped from Olenna’s hold and pushed the door open completely, letting the hinges squeal.

Daemon and Daisy were half dressed on the silk rug beside her bed, obviously in a heated embrace. Crumbs of lemon cakes and droplets of juice littered the rug as they continued to kiss and tug and haphazardly try to get each other’s clothes off.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Olenna said, fighting a smirk as she peered into the room. Her handmaidens were on their tip toes behind her, trying to steal a look, too. She waved them back and patted the remaining, fully dressed, guard on the shoulder before the door closed.

Even then Daemon and Daisy did not separate.

Y/N tilted her head to the side as she watched them, half amused that they hadn’t noticed her, half heated at the sounds they pulled from each other. Little gasps, muffled moans, as hands slid across skin and slipped under armor and cloth. It took Y/N a moment to gather herself before clearing her throat.

That was what finally did it.

Daisy’s eyes opened and she gasped and shoved Daemon off of her and he flopped onto the stone with a slap. She shot to her feet and curtseyed, “My lady.”

Daemon was slower to rise, a smirk already pulling at his lips as he bowed, uncaring of his bare chest or half-tied breeches. “Lady Tully.”

Y/N reached out and righted the strap of Daisy’s chemise. “Did you at least save me some lemon cakes?”

Daisy’s shoulders dropped. “No, my lady.”

Y/N turned to Daemon before bending and grabbing his tunic from the rug and handing it to him. “When I said to ask her if she’d share lemon cakes, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, Ser Daemon.”

He pulled the tunic on and then reached for his outer robe which had been rolled into a ball near her vanity, as if it had been shucked off in haste and then forgotten. “She is a master negotiator, my lady.”

Daisy looked like she was trying to scowl but a giggle slipped out instead. “I am so sorry.”

“You both are very lucky no one else noticed your indiscretions. Will you be a bit more cautious in the future?”

“Will there be a future?” Daemon asked softly as he looked to Daisy, eyes open and hopeful as his small smile pushed his dimples to full display.

Y/N felt the urge to look away and she was thankful she did as she heard Daisy whisper, “perhaps, Ser.”

Both of them redressed as Y/N settled on the soft blankets of her bed, a little selfishly happy that they hadn’t used her bed. The pair avoided eye contact with each other (and Y/N) before Daemon slipped out. It was quiet for a beat and then two.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“My lady, I am so sorry-”

“You deserve to be happy, Daisy. I’ve told you that. If Ser Daemon makes you happy, I am pleased.” She reached out and touched Daisy’s hand with a smile and fought the urge to tease. “But please, take care to be a bit more discreet next time.”

Daisy’s blush continued and she nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

The ceremony came and went and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting with how long she had to press a fake smile to her lips. Kevan Lannister and his wife were once again at her side during the ceremony and Lady Dorna had taken it upon herself to link arms with Y/N as the group walked from the Sept of Baelor toward the Keep for the festivities. Dorna prattled on about her life in Lannisport and Y/N managed to interject a time or two to make it seem like she was listening but she begged off as they reached the grounds.

“I must admit I’ve worn the wrong shoes, my lady. If I am to dance, I must change them.”

“Oh, you must!” Dorna agreed. “But do not be absent too long. Your presence shall be missed.”

Y/N smiled again, teeth near rotting, and hurried away. But she did not stop at her chambers. Did not stop at the Holdfast. She raced as fast as she could to the top of the west turret and only drew in a full breath as she touched the rusted railing and the door slapped shut behind her.

Sleep had evaded her the night before. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Tywin’s face, Gregor’s face, Cersei’s face. All of them snarling and slobbering and growing pointed teeth to devour her whole. The fleeting happiness she had found in teasing Daisy or Daemon for their newfound fondness for each other was short lived when she realized that she would never be held like that, kissed like that. The Prince of Dorne and his Paramour had not looked at her as they walked by when the ceremony was over. Ellaria’s arm had been tucked into Oberyn’s and they spoke softly to one another as Y/N craned her neck to try to get them to notice her. They didn’t.

And as much as she had said that she had not cared for stories of romance or fairytales, she did. She had wanted what her mother and father had: an all-consuming, passionate type of love that stretched into the grave.

It had been a childish dream to think she had tasted it on the tongues of the Dornish couple. She realized that now. All she had been was a game to pass the time. Surely that was all she had been. A childish game.

And it had been childish to run up here, thinking the air and wind could ease the pain in her chest or the slow constriction she felt about her throat. All it did was give her a view of the city she hated and a small reprieve from the stench.

“Lady Tully.”

She turned at the sound of the voice and was surprised to see Jaime Lannister standing near the door leading down into the Keep. The wind caught his white Kingsguard cloak and it fluttered in the wind, giving him the appearance of some roguish prince. His golden hand glinted in the sunlight. “Ser Jaime.” She dipped her head. “I thought His Grace would have you at his side.”

“It is for His Grace that I am here. King Tommen has asked where you were.”

Sweet Tommen. And the small smile the knight gave her reminded her of the smiles the prince, now king, had happily shared at Joffrey’s wedding. “I just needed a moment, Ser. Just a moment.” There was no chance she was going to start confiding in the Kingslayer—even if there had been rumors he’d been much changed since his captivity and the loss of his hand. He was still a Lannister.

And it was because of his refusal to leave the Kingsguard that she had even come into this position.

A future at Casterly Rock. Unloved and used for the prize between her legs.

“You are standing close to the edge, my lady.” There was actual concern in his voice. How preposterous!

“I would not give anyone the satisfaction of throwing myself off a turret. And I would not spoil another royal wedding. Air, Ser, is all I needed. Away from…this.”

“Then I shall stand here until you are ready.”

And it was said with such soft conviction and that damned concern that it snapped in her chest. Maybe she should throw herself from this turret and be done with her warring emotions and the frivolity of wanting to be loved or thinking she could make a smidge of difference in this wretched world. To end it before it began. It would be a hollow victory, to be sure. She’d rob Tywin of another wife for a moment but he would find another. The Freys would hold Riverrun for a time but it would be destroyed and returned to the mud from whence it came as the riverlands devolved into infighting. The Crown would have to deal with that, again. But she would not see it happen. And Sansa would still be alone in Dorne, without an outside ally.

She was crying in earnest before she could stop it and the metal groaned under her tightening grip. Y/N heaved under the weight of it all. How stupid she had been. How optimistic. The only good thing she had done was save Sansa.

And, as she looked up into the clear, blue sky, she knew that had to be enough.

Y/N sucked in a breath and calmed her tears, wiping the salt away from her skin with the dark blue cloth of her bell sleeves. The wind dried the rest. She took a calming breath, then another, before turning and looking at Jaime. “Shall you be my escort to the festivities, Ser?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, mouth open and expectant, but he closed it and nodded. “Yes, my lady.” He held out his arm for her and she took it and let him lead her back into the fray.

“I would…I would prefer if no one else knew of what transpired on the turret, Ser.”

“No one will.”

She nodded, almost believing him, as they entered the grounds. Once again, it was awash with Lannister red and gold and filled with food and people and entertainers. The famed knight led her through the throngs of people and toward the head tables reserved for the Tyrells and Lannisters and her stomach sunk at the sight of the empty chair at Tywin’s side. The smirk on the old lion’s face when he saw her only confirmed it: she would be sitting beside him.

“My son, you are kind to deliver Lady Tully to us.”

“I needed to change shoes if I was to dance, My Lord.” She smiled. “I apologize for my absence.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.” Tywin stood from his seat. “If you would join me.” He held out a hand toward her as he reached her side.

And she left Jaime’s hold and slid into Tywin’s without blinking. There would be no fight. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. For escorting me.”

Jaime dipped his head and glanced at his father before standing beside the other members of the Kingsguard, hand over his sword’s hilt.

Tywin wordlessly led her out into the couples already dancing and pulled her close as he began the steps. The familiar scent of leather and clove swept under her nose and it took a concentrated effort not to wrinkle her face in an attempt to get away from the smell.

“Cersei has said you refuse to send your Dornish guards away.” The tone was reminiscent of Hoster scolding her as a girl when she would not eat the fish on her plate for supper.

“I only thought it polite.” Thankfully, the steps of the dance were easy and the turns kept giving her opportunity to slip from his grip, if even more a moment.

“Yes, you seem very polite with Prince Oberyn.”

“He saved my life, my lord. I would not repay his kindness with enmity.”

Tywin pushed out a long breath through his nose as he stepped back to let her turn under his arm. “You are overly concerned with politeness.”

“It is a woman’s duty to make sure guests are respected and cared for. Prince Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council and is a renowned warrior, I would not deem myself above him in any circumstance. If he feels the need to put guards at my door, it would be rude to refuse him, would it not?”

Tywin’s thin lips pulled into a smile and she had never been so terrified. “A fine lady you are, Lady Tully.” The dance ended and they clapped but Tywin did not move from her side. “But Prince Oberyn has said he will no longer fill Dorne’s seat at the Small Council. He leaves in three days’ time to return to Sunspear. He has promised another will be elected to fill the seat.”

Tywin did not care if House Martell filled the Dornish seat on the Small Council. She knew it. He thought he had won the game against Oberyn and his quest for vengeance against the Lannisters and the Mountain. Perhaps she did not know Oberyn as well as she thought. But how well did she, could she, have known him? What were a handful of conversations and stolen kisses?

Nothing. They were nothing. And something cold and broken settled in her bones then. They were leaving. Even if they had not spoken to her in weeks, she still felt the news like a slap to the face. And perhaps that is what it was. She was tossed aside in the end, a sad little thing to be scooped up into the paw of a lion.

After another dance, Tywin excused himself to speak with Mace Tyrell and Y/N curtseyed as he left her side, thankful to see Margaery waving her over. It was an easier distraction, the fake smile was almost real. Tommen was smiling beside his new queen and their hands were clasped together, nearly hidden under the table cloth.

“It is good to see you well, my lady,” Margaery said.

“I am happy to be able to fully enjoy the festivities, Your Grace.” She turned to Tommen. “And you look happy in married life.”

Tommen’s cheeks pinked and he looked at Margaery who smiled sweetly at him. “I am. The Seven have blessed me with a fine wife.” His blush only grew as Margaery pulled their clasped hands up and pressed a kiss to his hand.

“You must ask your fine wife to dance then, Your Grace. Keep her happy.” Y/N winked as Tommen paused and then scrambled to his feet and held out his hand for Margaery to take. She did with a wide smile and the crowd parted for them as they made their way closer to the bard and minstrels. Y/N watched them dance, Margaery smiling as she coached Tommen through the steps. They were a pretty picture.

Tyrion stepped to her side and handed her a full chalice of wine. Y/N took it with a soft ‘thank you, my lord,’ and quickly drained its entirety. “You are not well, Lady Tully?” He took the chalice from her and signaled for it to be filled again as he led her closer to his table at the far end of the raise dais and away from some of the crowd.

“I’m waiting to be shot again, my lord. The last wedding I attended was much bloodier.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “You are safe here,” he murmured.

“Is anyone truly safe anywhere?” She took the refilled chalice and took her time sipping on the burgundy liquid as she turned to look out over the crowds, half-hoping to see the Dornish prince and his paramour. She took a hearty gulp when she didn’t see them, in relief or sadness, she did not know. “But my feelings should not spoil your fun, Lord Tyrion. I thank you for the wine.”

Just as his brother did before, Tyrion looked as if he had more to say. But he didn’t and dipped his head. “I am at your service, Lady Tully.”

The rest of the festivities slipped by. Tyrion danced with her twice and then Kevan Lannister asked for a turn, too. Margaery pulled her from her seat when the minstrels played a tune and called for a dance for only the women to enjoy. She ate roasted boar and honey-coated carrots and drank wine and smiled when she needed but kept quiet in her seat for most of it. Tywin did not offer any conversation and she glad for it. Simply sitting beside him was exhausting. It was as if she was constantly waiting for him to do something, say something. But, as the sun started to set and painted the grounds a soft pink, a knight from the Westerlands approached their table and whispered something into the Hand’s ear.

Tywin’s lips pulled into a thin line and he stood. “Excuse me.”

Y/N watched him go and briefly wondered what had caused him to leave so abruptly. But soon calls for the bedding filled the air and Margaery and Tommen were carried away by a riotous crowd and the festivities were quickly devolving into more lecherous frivolity as they usually did at weddings—the dances were closer, the music faster and heady. Wine was gulped and kisses stolen as the shadows grew darker. Y/N let herself enjoy being a voyeur for a moment and waited until the sky was a beautiful, deep purple before she excused herself. Daisy was waiting for her near the gates to the grounds and they quietly walked back into the Keep, both tired for different reasons. They spoke softly of their time at the festivities, vastly different experiences glaringly apparent. Y/N thought Daisy must have managed to sneak away with Daemon by the blush still touching her cheeks.

They rounded the corner toward her chambers and froze as they watched servants carrying her belongings out of her room. “What are you doing?” She reached out and pulled a dress from a bundle in a girl’s arms. “Where are you taking my things?”

“Lord Tywin has said your rooms are to be moved to the Tower of the Hand.”

“No!” Y/N barked out, pulling more and more of her belongings out of the strangers’ arms and Daisy quickly followed suit. “I have not accepted this move. You cannot just take-”

“Of course they can. I ordered them to do so.”

Y/N spun to face Tywin, clutching her chemises and dresses to her chest like armor. “You overstep, My Lord. I have not accepted your proposal. It would be indecent of you to put me in such a position.”

“Accept my proposal and it would not be indecent.”

“I must have time to think.” She hated how weak she sounded, how desperate. “I have to speak with the Grand Septon, for guidance and prayer before I can make such a decision.” She didn’t and she never would but she hoped playing to his sense of chivalry, no matter how skewed it had become, may work in her favor. She felt her arms starting to shake with how tightly she was holding her mess of fabric to her chest. It felt like there was a hand over her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs as she stared at him.

Tywin stared at her, eyes hard. Then, he held up a hand and the flurry of movement ceased. “Bring Lady Tully’s belongings back to her original room.” There was a murmur of acknowledgment and she watched as they filed back into her room, like a group of soldiers from the corner of her eye. But she did not take her gaze away from Tywin as he stepped closer. “This will be the only time you defy me.” He then stepped away and disappeared into the shadows.

It wasn’t until Y/N was alone in her room with a chair against the locked door, did she collapse, struggling to pull in air as she wept into her blankets. Daisy had quietly left after helping her to refold her dresses and chemises and placing them back in her chests. Y/N curled into a ball on her featherbed and tried to remember something Oberyn and Tywin and Cersei couldn’t touch. Everything was slipping from her grasp.

“Let me be your champion!” Jon’s voice echoed, followed by Robb, “I am your Dragonknight!”

But where were her Dragonknights now? Dead or wearing a cloak of black. She had no knights. Not anymore.

“You must be your own knight,” she whispered into her pillow. But she knew she wasn’t a knight. She was a fish out of water. Surrounded by lions.

A/N: The next chapter will probably be up some time this weekend. Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones

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lostinmirkwood · 4 years

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Gendrya Kinktober Day 19- Formalwear

Find it on AO3 here.

The first time Arya sees Gendry in a suit is as he’s opening the door to his flat when she arrives to pick him up for Robb and Talisa’s wedding. They haven’t been dating for long but Gendry’s familiar enough with the Starks that Arya feels comfortable enough to bring him as her plus-one to such a formal event. He’s wearing well fitted navy trousers and jacket, under which is a crisp white shirt. His cognac loafers sit near the door while he fiddles with his tie as he opens the door to let her in. They both pause and stare at each other for a moment.

Arya’s hair is swept up into a formal knot for the occasion with a few loose tendrils curling near her neck and Sansa had done her makeup just before she’d left to get Gendry. They’re unintentionally matching Arya realizes as she drops the hem of her dark blue gown she’d been holding so she didn’t trip on her way up the stairs in her heels. Eventually she snaps out of it enough to step forward into his flat. “I just need to tie this and we can go,” he says, gesturing to the silk around his neck, hands making no move to return to their task as his eyes continue to drink her in.

Arya rolls her eyes at him and steps in close, batting his hands out of her way as she takes hold of the ends of his tie. Gendry’s breath stutters for a moment as her nimble fingers make short work of the knot before smoothing down his chest. They settle at his hips for a moment as she looks up at him, still small next to him even in her heels. She gently tugs him even closer before pecking him on the lips and stepping back towards the door with a smile. “Hurry up you silly bull, I can’t be late for my brother’s wedding!”

Gendry shakes his head, trying to clear the light smell of her perfume that had further muddled his thoughts at the sight of her done up. Checking his pockets he gives her a quick pat on the bum as he guides her out the door down to the waiting car. She’s going to be the death of him one day, he swears.

---

Arya gets called away by her mother moments after they arrive and when she returns she finds him surrounded by a few of Talisa’s cousins. She leaves him to fend for himself when she’s called away for pictures before finding him again, her ancient Great Aunt Branda clinging to his arm as she nattered on about gods knew what. Appearing by his side with a plate of canapés snagged from a passing waiter she traded him the food for her aunt, gently guiding the old woman to her table. Branda pats her hand as Arya sits her down, commenting that Arya had found herself “quite the strapping young lad, were I 70 years younger young lady…”. She steps away to get them drinks and returns to find a law school friend of Robb’s with her hand on his arm as he subtly tries to lean away. Handing him his glass of whiskey she coolly smiles at the woman before taking his arm and dragging him to their table.

“It’s the suit,” she says, with mock condemnation, “they can’t help themselves.”

Gendry looks adorably confused as they weave through the tables, unaware of the appreciative glances from both male and female guests alike in his wake. “What do you mean?” He asks as they find their seats.

“Have you seen yourself today? I knew I’d need to keep a close eye on you or one of these slags might think you’re available to take home!”

Gendry smiles down at her, pulling her chair out and whispering in her ear, “No way, m’lady. You’re the only one I’m taking home tonight.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek as he sits next to her, Bran and Rickon groaning as they see and Gendry’s ears turn a bit pink.

Dinner is delicious. The Starks had clearly spared no expense for the wedding of their eldest child. Everything looked as though it came out of a magazine spread, including the beautiful woman seated next to him, laughing with her younger siblings through the multiple courses. Rickon joked that if all Stark weddings were to be like this he’d run off and live in the woods to escape their mother and a six course dinner menu. Bran declared that he’d just live in sin. Arya snorted into her glass of wine at her brothers’ antics, saying, “If I get married I’m doing it on a beach in Dorne. You all can find out afterwards and help stop Mum from going ballistic.”

---

After another extraction, this time from a particularly enthusiastic bridesmaid who had cornered him near the dance floor, Arya takes Gendry’s hand and pulls him down a hallway. Opening a door seemingly at random she shoves him into an empty lavatory. He sputters an apology as she locks the door behind her. She’s not sure why, she knows he’s not trying for the attention, he’s done nothing but look damn good in that suit. She grabs him by the lapels and pulls him down to her, slamming her mouth into his for an aggressive kiss that shuts him up. Gendry immediately stops talking, kissing her back with enthusiasm.

Arya breaks away enough to say, “I know you aren’t trying, but like I said, you look fucking hot. I’m just claiming what’s mine. Now.”

Gendry grins and pulls her to him again, walking her back until she bumps into the counter. With a small jump he has her set on the edge of the marble so he doesn’t have to bend as much to reach her lips. His tongue slides into her mouth and his hands traverse her back to settle on her thighs as he begins to ruck the fabric of her dress up to her hips so he can step between her legs. Arya lets out a soft moan when he grinds himself against her. Her head tips back against the mirror and Gendry’s lips leave hers to move down her exposed throat.

“Can’t… can’t leave any marks,” Arya gasps out when he nips softly at her neck.

Gendry growls slightly and his hands dip under her skirts to feather up the smooth skin of her thighs. He lifts his head slightly, making eye contact with her as his fingers catch the lace edge of her thong. With a frantic nod Arya lifts her hips enough for him to slide the scrap of fabric off, raising an eyebrow as he tucks it into his jacket pocket.

“You can’t keep that. I’m not walking out of here without my underwear, my entire family is out there.”

Gendry merely smirks before dropping to his knees in front of her. He kisses his way up her thighs before licking her wide open. Arya’s head thuds against the mirror again and she tucks a leg over his broad shoulder, still in his navy jacket. She can’t see what he’s doing with the fabric piled in her lap but Gendry makes short work of her, licking and sucking her clit until she’s gasping and muffling her noises with her hand. Her hand grips his hair as she comes, needing to ground herself. He rises from below her skirts with a satisfied smile on his face. Arya grabs his tie and yanks him down to her, desperately kissing him, tasting herself on his tongue. His hands return to her hips as they make out on the vanity, Arya’s hands now running over his chest and shoulders.

“Look at you,” she coos when they part for breath, “Still all done up and looking like a gentleman.”

A quick glance towards the mirror shows his hair is a disaster from her hands and his pupils are blown but his suit is hardly rumpled despite her wandering hands. At his momentary distraction one of Arya’s hands drops to palm his erection through his slacks and he tears his eyes from the mirror to see her wicked smirk.

“Oh? What do we have here? Maybe not such a gentleman after all. Have you been thinking naughty thoughts, Mr. Baratheon? How long have you been wanting to get under my skirts today?”

Gendry groans quietly, “Since you walked in my door smelling like heaven and looking like this. Gods, Arry. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Arya’s hand continues to squeeze him through his trousers. His cock is straining towards her, begging for more attention. She happily gives it, undoing his belt and pulling him free of his boxers. She gives him a few full strokes before reaching for her clutch he didn’t even realize she’d brought with her. With a grin she pulls out a condom, opens it, and rolls it on. Just as he’s about to thrust into her she stops him with a hand on his chest. Gendry freezes, looking up at her in askance. She moves him a step back and slides off the counter, skirts falling back to the floor as she stands. With a wink she turns to face the mirror and leans over, hauling her skirts back up and baring her pretty pale arse to him before bending over and grabbing the marble edge.

“Well? Come on then, I just wanted to watch.”

Death. Of. Him. Meeting her eyes in the mirror Gendry grabs her hips and slides into her with a smooth thrust. A few gentle rocks and he bottoms out. Arya gasps as he does, eyes glued to them both in the mirror. They’re both fully dressed, clothes pulled aside just enough for access and that makes the image even hotter. Gendry pulls back and thrusts again, Arya rocking on her toes with his motion, her grip tightening on the edge of the counter. They maintain eye contact as Gendry begins to thrust into her faster. He’s already close after getting under her skirts to eat her out and he’s not going to last long with the warm clutch of her around him. He takes one of his hands from her waist to find her clit. Brushing the swollen bud makes her cry out before she claps a hand over her mouth. He begins to circle it in time with his thrusts, driving her higher and higher until she tightens around him and shouts into her palm. The feel of her coming undone beneath him sends him over the edge and he drops his forehead to her bare shoulder as he tries to calm his breathing.

After a moment Arya begins to wriggle under him, “You’re squishing me you big bull. We need to get back out there before someone notices we’re gone and I have to answer awkward questions.”

Gendry smacks a kiss to her shoulder before standing to dispose of the condom. He tucks himself back into his pants and washes his hands as Arya straightens her dress and reapplies her lipstick in the mirror. When she holds her hand out to him he grabs it and begins to move towards the door.

Arya digs her heels in, “I need my underwear, Gendry. I’m not going out there bare-arsed.”

Gendry smirks and drops a kiss on her lips, “Your arse is plenty covered by that lovely dress of yours. These are mine for now.”

He unlocks the door and steps into the hall before she can respond and nearly runs smack dab into Sansa. He pulls the door shut behind him and leans on the frame. “Oh, hey Sansa,” he says, aiming for casual and praying Arya hears him and stays quiet for just a moment.

“Gendry!” Sansa grins at him and he can’t tell if she knows what he and her sister were just up to or she’s a little drunk and actually happy to see him, “have you seen Arya? I needed her help with something and I can’t find her anywhere!”

“Uh… Nope! Haven’t seen her for a minute. Stepped out to, uh, get some air and was about to head back to the ballroom…” he trails off, Sansa’s smile growing wider. “Well, when you see my sister, let her know I’m looking for her and in the meantime you might want to fix your hair before you return. You look like you got attacked by a… wolf,” with that Sansa turns and heads back the way she’d come.

Gendry sighs and steps out of the way as the lavatory door swings open. Arya looks like she was trying to hold in her laughter and was failing. “So Sansa knows,” he mutters, leaning his head on the wall.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Nice try though. That’s okay, I saw her and Theon necking behind the restaurant during the rehearsal dinner so she won’t say anything.”

He holds out his hand to her and Arya laces her fingers with his as they make their way back towards the ballroom. Gendry can’t refuse her when she pulls him onto the floor, spinning her around and swaying with her as the music changes. The lights are low and a slow song begins playing as they dance together, his arms wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck. His forehead rests against hers as they stare into each other's eyes other lost in their own world. Dorne, he thinks, I could do a beach in Dorne with her one day.

#gendrya kinktober #day 19 formalwear #gendrya #arya stark #gendry waters #gendrya fanfic #2200 words of wedding shenanigans #and unknowingly rocking the hell out of a suit #my writing

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