#how they were the most childish people ever who had to fight a war

[eywathemother]

Fish Lips Part 5

Ship: Aonung x Kiri's twin sister!Reader

Warnings: Language, bullying, gore, fighting, talk of war, injury and blood, slow burn, enemies to lovers (not really a warning just some people don't like that trope), death of (a) character(s), not proofread

Words: 2,170

Keys: (y/n) = your name,,(y/i/n) = your Ikran's name,, Neural Queue= the braid extension of a Na'vi's nervous system that allows them to link up to animals and Ewya,,(y/II/n) = your ilu's name,,

Chapters; Introduction || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Spoilers for Avatar: The Way of Water A whole ass lot.

Did I tell yall I love ya??????? Nicest ppl ever, I just wanna hug ya n squeeeeze yaa. Okay funny story, my cat King Cinnamon is an insane orange cat, and I was watching Avatar again (It's literally on replay every time I write these fics) and he would only attack the screen when Jake was on the tv. I made him stop ofc, but it was hilarious, HE WOULD HUG THE TV AND TRY TO BITE JAKES FACE LMFAOOA. I don't think he likes Jake much (He is an avid tv watcher btw.)

I deleted this chapter like six times cuz I hated it, I still do but I'm tired of redoing it so I hope you all like it. Ik I said slow burn and it seems like I'm rushing but dw this story still has a long way to go.

It had become a routine of yours and Aonung's to sit on 'his' rock at night, normally just a silent moment between you both. Almost every night you would swim to the rock, and he'd be right next to you ten minutes later. Sometimes he would speak, other times you would, but normally it was just enjoying each other's company.

It has been four months, but you still weren't on the best of terms in your opinion. He'd still let out an insult here and there and you'd jab right back. You took notice of the drastic difference in his behavior towards you, especially lined up next to your siblings.

You didn't understand what was so special about you, you were practically a carbon copy of your brothers, especially Lo'ak who Aonung seemed to dislike the most. Well, technically both of you acted like your father when he was younger, according to your mother.

Rash, irresponsible, and shoot first, ask questions later. Of course, you'd just roll your eyes at that, you couldn't imagine your father getting into stupid fights and arguments. Which was in fact what you were doing in this exact moment with Lo'ak.

" You broke my necklace, you bitch." You yelled, the last part in English, and Lo'ak glowered at you, Tsireya cocked her head at you in confusion.

You stuck out your broken necklace, the beads missing and some handpicked rocks you got from home. His ears went back." Wasn't me!" He snarled, ears going back and smirk from his face falling." You were the only one in the Marui before it was broken." You pointed at his chest; he smacked your hand away.

" It wasn't me, stop always blaming me!" He yelled and you rolled your eyes." Oh yeah then-"

" Knock it off!" Kiri yelled at you two, glaring as well as she could as Tuk braided her hair. You both glared at each other." Mother fucker." You hissed in his ear quietly, and he side eyed you.

" Dickhead."

" Twat face."

You both covered your mouths and giggled to yourself at the childish insults, completely forgetting the argument you were just in." You guys should teach me English! I wanna know what you're saying!" Tsireya stated and you both looked at each other.

" Lo'ak can teach you." You smiled at her patting his back. Aonung, Rotxo, and Neteyam swam over. They were teaching Neteyam how to hunt under the water so that they could take him on hunts.

" What's up." Rotxo waved his hand in greeting, and You all waved back. " I'm trying to convince them to teach me English." Tsireya announced and Neteyam looked at you and you shrugged in response.

" I already caught on to one." Tsireya spoke proudly and you raised a brow." Oh yeah?"

" Yeah, 'bitch'." She repeated your words and you and Lo'ak cringed as Neteyam whipped his head at you two." That's...not really a good thing to say." Lo'ak explained and you snickered quietly to yourself.

"Oh, apologies." She went a bit lower in the water in embarrassment." What does it mean?" Rotxo asked and Aonung eyed you as you giggled with Lo'ak, he had been watching you a lot more, but you pretended not to notice. Neteyam rolled his eyes." It's an insult usually towards girls."

Neteyam glared at you, and you shrugged, you really didn't know she was going to catch on and take interest in your small talks in English with Lo'ak. It normally wasn't even a full conversation; it was more throwing insults and giggling about it afterwards. it was a little game you guys did, having childish humor like the two of you have it was just between you guys.

" Why are you insulting Lo'ak with a female insult?" Tsireya questioned and everyone turned to you." Because he's a big baby girl." You teased taking a braid in his hair and twirling it to piss him off.

He smacked your hand away as you snickered at his annoyance." Anyways, what do you wanna do today?" He asked and everyone looked at each other. " I'm gonna go fix the necklace you broke." You exclaimed huffing at Lo'ak who rolled his eyes." That's what you get for calling me a female insult." You saw a smirk on his face, and you rolled your eyes back at him.

" Seeya." You waved at them, and everyone said goodbye, except for Aonung he just gave a small wave. When you got out of the waters Kiri called you over.

"Yeah?" Kiri nudged her head towards the water where everyone else was." You have an admirer." She teased as Tuk moved her head back into place." Stop moovingg." Tuk whined, you turned your head a bit to catch Aonung flick his eyes back to your big brother. You shook your head." Nah."

" Yes so. He's been staring at you the entire time." You rolled your eyes and waved a hand at her." Okay, whatever you say." She shook her head and went back to her conversation with Tuk as you walked towards your Marui.

When you got back to your families pod your mother was there with Ronal. They stopped and turned to look at you as you awkwardly stood at the entrance." Oh, sorry." You gave a half smile and Ronal's face flickered to the necklace in your hand.

" My, you're quite the crafty one." She put her hands out, gesturing for you to place the necklace in her hands. You did so hesitantly." It was almost finished but it got broken." You explained rubbing the back of your neck.

She ran her hands along the rocks and beads, after an awkward silence she looked up at you." Would you like to help me craft sometime?" She asked, going back to looking at the necklace." Me? Sure!" You grinned at her, and she nodded.

" It's gorgeous dear." She complimented and your ears darkened. You bowed your head a bit in thanks." Thank you." You breathed and smiled, Neytiri handed you a basket as you began to turn and leave.

" Please grab some more fruits for dinner on your way back." She ran her hand over your hair affectionately and you leaned into her touch before she pulled away patting your shoulder.

You gave her a smile before you left to the woods behind the branches of woods that made up the Metkayina village. As you walked slowly through the batch of woods you heard the sound of footsteps behind you.

You turned around, Aonung staring at you with his unbothered stare that he has been giving you all week. You both just stared at each other awkwardly until you cleared your throat to speak." Are you following me?" You smirked and he looked away for a moment before meetings your eyes." No." He responded, surprisingly no smug or rude comment.

You squinted your eyes at him." You've been acting weird." You waited for a response, but he just started walking past you." I'll show you where the best place is to pick fruits if you zip your lip." He smirked at your face; annoyance plastered on it.

You raised an eyebrow at him." Fine then looks like you won't be sharing this amazing fruit picking location because my lips aren't gonna seal for you." You walked past him and continued straight. You didn't hear anything as you continued to walk forward, so you thought he was gone.

" Man, that boy." You mumbled, flicking a branch in front of you." What about me?" His voice rang out and you let out a quick scream. " Jesus Christ, man!!" You held your hand to your racing heart, he let a loud laugh." Who is Jesus Christ?" He asked and you scoffed." Some famous guy from Earth."

" That's a weird thing to yell out after being scared, do I look like Jesus or something?" He asked, his face looked serious, but his eyes were glistening with mirth. It was your turn to laugh." Not even close!" You bent over the basket you were holding your ears and cheeks a dark purple.

When you got done laughing you looked up at him, he was watching your face the whole time. A peaceful silence broke out as you stared at each other as you gained your composure." I still don't like you; you know." He spoke matter of fact, and you rolled your eyes.

" We were having a moment." You turned forward and began your walk again, which this time you noticed his presence." Why did you follow me out here?" Your question booming through the quiet forest. He didn't respond until you turned around to give him a quizzical look.

" I just wanted a walk, is it a crime that I accidentally ran into you." He shrugged and you squinted your eyes at him." In the same spot as me?" You quirked a brow at him, he folded his arms across his chest." It's a pathway bound to be walked on." He argued and he pointed forward.

" Plus, your headed to a beautiful spot where I like to sit." He took a step towards you with a smirk." Wanna join me?" He quizzed but you didn't by it. How come every time your alone and he shows up he claims you're on his spot or area.

After a few beats if silence, his smirk slowly turning to an annoyed pout." Fine don't, you're missing out though, on a great view." He was really trying to convince you to come without actually saying it.

" Oh please, I am the greatest view." You joked and his eyes roamed you up and down before he shrugged and spun on his feet." Hey what was that for?" You hissed at him, and you tugged his arm as you followed him through the trees.

" Aonung?" You looked up at the boy who was giving you a mischievous look. " Look." He poked your cheek directing your face forward as he moved a large leaf out of the front of you. " Woah." You breathed; a waterfall was in front of you with a lake surrounding it.

" See told you." He walked towards a rock and sits on it; you follow close behind looking at all of the plants surrounding the water." Do you have these in the forest?" He asked and you shrugged." Waterfalls and lakes yeah but some of the plants are different."

You admired a flower that was near Aonung's leg, and he looked down." How'd you find this place?" You asked, he placed his feet in the water." Well, it wasn't hard to find I just used my eyes." You scoffed, you moved onto a different rock, placing your mother's basket next to you.

You dipped one foot into the water, moving your feet in the warm water. You could feel his eyes on your and you turned your head his way." You've been staring at me." You spoke, and he turned his head fully towards you.

" I haven't." He scoffed in denial, and you rolled your eyes, smirking at him. " Well thanks for showing me your lovely place, I still don't like and I need to go get fruit for my mother." You stood up and he got up as well." I'll show you the fruit spot."

You unconsciously smiled at him which made him give you a quizzical look." What?" He asked and you wiped the smile from your face." What, I wasn't' smiling."

He rolled his eyes and gestured for you to follow, you picked up your pace and fell beside him as he walked you towards this fruit pocket of a sort. It was a peaceful silence that followed your walk towards the fruit but the whole time you were wondering as to why he was being so nice to you today.

" That necklace you had in your hand in the waters with Lo'ak," He broke the silence, but pausing to make sure you were listening." Who is it for?" You shrugged at his unusual question." It was more for a reminder of home, but since it lost some of it's pieces I don't think I'll finish it." You stated, smiling at the thought of Ronal's compliment of it." Why do you ask?"

" No reason." When you reached the area Aonung helped you pick some but reminded you he was doing himself a favor and not there to help you. When you got done picking you headed back with him, it was almost late afternoon, so you had to hurry it up.

" I still don't like you, forest girl." He reminded you once you reached the point where you went your separate ways." Yeah yeah, don't think I like you either fish boy." He shook his head and walked away. Today was definitely an odd day, but peaceful nonetheless, you felt like you were finally starting to fit in.

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#atwow #atwow x reader #atwow aonung #atwow ao'nung #aonung #aonung x reader #aonung x you #avatar ao'nung #ao'nung x you #ao'nung #ao'nung x reader #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar aonung

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

10 - The Sanctity of Children

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 13.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy and child birth, funeral and character death, child death and child illness, allusions to past emotional child abuse, panic attacks, mentions of warfare, smut, p in v, execution

Notes: Things are heating up in this war campaign so strap in. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

The memory you had of turning fourteen years old was full of such an odd series of events that you hadn’t understood for a long time. Being in King’s Landing at that time was getting to be tiresome, it had been a year and a half since you had been in Winterfell, and in that time you found yourself in some hot water. Or at least, hot water for a girl like yourself who never opened up to a soul. You had been writing boundless letters to Jon and Robb both but it was reading one from the former that had punched you in the gut. 

It didn’t say anything egregious other then a line near the end telling you he missed you. At fourteen you read that way too many times as a lightness in your heart settled in. Your father at one point had come into your room to ask what you were still doing up and you came way too close to him finding what you were reading, shoving it under your covers before he could see it. Insisting that you were just restless and couldn’t sleep yet before pulling it back out when he shut the door. 

Smirking to yourself, you would wonder if he would be impressed with how much you had improved with a sword. You had also wondered if the ward in their father’s care would make fun of you or not though. The Greyjoy’s small rebellion lasted the better part of two months but it had taken your father away from you and into the sea to destroy the Iron Fleet, leaving Lord Stark and King Robert to sail onto the Iron Islands and end things swiftly. Part of the surrender deal was Balon Greyjoy’s last living son was to leave with Lord Stark and serve as a ward. 

Robb had mentioned he had an attitude but that he couldn’t really blame him, instead he had sympathized with struggling to fit in. That was a year and a half ago however, and you wondered between the now three of them if whatever skills you had acquired would look like a joke to where they were now. Your cousin Joffery, the eldest child of the King, had told you it was stupid for girls to play with swords and that no one would ever want to be with an ugly girl who would fight too. 

You had wrote to Jon all about the fight you got into with him for that one, how you had been lectured heavily by your father despite the fact that the most hurt he got was being knocked into the mud after a bit of a scuffle. Jon had gotten you harder far more times just training you in the basics. You had hoped he wouldn’t have changed his mind, wouldn’t think you were stupid like your cousin did. You hoped with a childish intent that he may have thought about you like you were him.  

But he was already sixteen and no doubt had found far more girls his age, and far prettier ones at that to fawn all over him. You hadn’t even bloomed yet, according to your handmaidens no boys his age wanted to be with a silly girl who wasn’t even a woman yet. It was a strange feeling, and you had no one to talk to about it, you wished your baby sister had been born years earlier so she could at least read and write to you about it.

But you hadn’t gotten to fester in such a new, and first time crush for long. It was the middle of the year when your father told you. He said that at your age, you should expect to have your womanly blooding come to you soon and it was important you do not share that with people. He was strict when he sat you down in his office, telling you without room for question, “Do not come to anyone except for me. Not your uncles, not the guards, not your handmaidens. You tell me and keep it to yourself otherwise.” 

He hadn’t said why, nothing about when your mother explained the process to you made it sound like a dirty secret. She said all women go through it, why was it to be kept hush you didn’t know, but you knew you were to listen. He wasn’t a man with much will to bend the rules, your father. So the day you woke up having bled through the night, you intended to keep that rule. 

Leaping out of bed at the shock before you remembered what it was, you wrapped a thin overcoat around you to cover the bleeding nightshift, bending under your bed to grab a blanket you knew was kept there to hide the sheets before anyone came in. Only when you unravelled the blanket, one of the older handmaidens had walked in. “Oh gods be good, congratulations child.” 

You narrowed your eyes but she walked right past you and stripped the sheets from the bed as you stood in frustrated protest. Glancing up to you she looked at your attire, “Get dressed child, you cannot visit the Queen like that.” 

Your eyebrows raised and face twisted in confusion, “Visit- why?” 

There was barley a chance to speak before she was shoving you to the other side of the room to get dressed. You had been the only girl the Queen could try to dote on for a while, previous she hadn’t had Myrcella yet and even now she was only two years old. Trying very hard to whip you into shape as a proper highborn lady of the court and always finding ways to make it so.

Unbeknownst to you, she had informed your handmaidens that when you bled for the first time, they were to send you to her. Using the guise of your mother not being here, so she would be the only to steer you into womanhood. 

As you walked into her quarters, you could see little Myrcella on the bed. Her blonde hair grew long and quick as her mothers, done up at that moment into pretty ringlets on the side of her head as she played with an array of toys spayed out in front of her. The Queen herself looking far more immaculate then you ever could hope to be, but there was a kindness on her face that at the time, you didn’t have quite the right level of skill to sniff out if there was a degree of falsity in it. 

Strangely enough, in those days, the kindness was genuine. Just not the agenda that came after. 

Sitting you down at the chair across from her writing desk, she offered you some water. “The first can always be a bit difficult, if there’s a lot sometimes you may even feel a bit woozy.”

You shrugged a shoulder as you glanced between your glass and the Queen, “It wasn’t that. Just more...” as you trailed off she tilted her head in question before you finished. “I didn’t think it would be painful.” 

The Queen was sympathetic, but the smile on her face was one of much greater knowledge. “Wait until you birth a child.” You could recall when your mother gave birth to Shireen, the only sounds heard in the entire castle were her yells and cries and yet when it was over she castle was still so quiet all could be heard was Shireen after. 

Coming up to her bedside, she ran her hand over Myrcella’s hair with a smile of love that was rare. “She was a little easier, but Joffery was a whole new kind of pain.” Your brows narrowed as she so easily fussed with nothing in particular on her daughter who let it happen. “I laboured a day and a half just bringing him into the world, sometimes I screamed so loud I thought Robert would hear me even in the  Kingswood.” 

Taken back, you looked at her in question. “He was hunting?” 

That fondness on her lips faded away into something less comforting, making her way over to you at the desk and sitting in the seat next to you. “Robert prefers to leave the birthing to me, and he takes his men out to hunt and kill and only returns when the labouring is all over. Like a trade of commoners, he gifts me pelts and trophies, and he in return is gifted a baby.” You felt an odd discomfort in your stomach, you would never describe your own parents as even remotely in love but not once did your father flee while Shireen was being born. “Not that I wanted him there, I had an army of midwives, Grand Maester Pycelle, and I had my brother. The midwives tired to tell him he couldn’t be in the birthing room, and he just smiled. Asking which one of them proposed to keep him out.” 

A fondness in her eye trailed off as she looked at you, a more cold and stoic expression that was becoming more common on you here then the days you first arrived. “Your husband will show you no such devotion.” 

Looking up at her, there was an innocent heartbreak in your eye that while she did not speak of it, she understood the life in the making. Cersei was a woman who loved her children with the only goodness in her heart that she had, and yet she knew you rarely got anything from your own parents. Not having met your mother but she could only imagine the kind of woman that marries Stannis Baratheon isn’t as much warmer. 

You said nothing, biting down on your tongue as you looked away. “You will not be a Queen, my dove, but you are still a highborn lady and that means we are raised to have a very specific place and purpose in the world. Your red flower means that you have become of age that you can take up that mantle, marry a high lord and your new duty is to have his children for however long he has use of you.” 

Your father didn’t even live on the same Island as his wife now, and she hadn’t been healthy enough to give him a living son in the years between your birth and now that Shireen was born. Was that all marriage was to them? Was that all it would be to the King and Queen once the woman in front of you stopped being able to have his children? 

“You will marry a high lord, find yourself dragged to a new home you know nothing of and have his children because that is what ladies like us are to do. You don’t have to like it, but that is why they need us.” 

Finding your voice, you spoke up with indignation. “Pardon me your grace, but you make it sound like it’s foolish to even consider trying to find a husband that would make me happy.” 

A flash of something in her eyes passed once more. Leaning forward to brush a wild strand of hair from the front of your face. Impossible to recall now, but still a young girl, there had been a time when the Queen still had a place in her heart for you. Her tone was quiet, as if to hide form her daughter who couldn’t possibly understand her at that age. “I know you’re smart enough to see me and Robert for what things are. I tried to love him, and for a while I think I even did. I wanted it to work so badly in the early years, but it never came to be. We never shared a moment, an inkling or even any real softness that I dreamed of.” Your name came softly from her lips, “Women like us do not get to have such things.” 

Sitting there, your hands rung together in your lap as your jaw clenched. An unfairly charming smile and long black curls that flashed through your recently blooming mind. Were you just stupid children that would never last? Would you see him again one day and he’s turned as cold and uncaring as the Baratheon men you were raised around were? Why did that hurt so badly? 

“The more people we love, the weaker we are. We’ll do things for them we know we shouldn’t, play the fool to make them laugh, lie to keep them safe.” You tried hard to not think about how you lied to your father about where you got all those cuts and bruises, worrying that he would be mad if you told him the truth. 

That Jon had started to teach you because you both just wanted to do it, wanted to spend time together. He wanted to teach you, and you wanted to learn but perhaps your father wouldn’t be as forgiving to such actions as Ned Stark was when he finally caught you. So you lied, wanting to keep him safe. 

“You will be wed off, have your husbands children, but you should love no more then them. We have no choice but to love our children and that way the men in your life will never be able to hurt you. Not in here.” Her hand gently resting over your heart, like she had already seen a future for you that you were not privvy too. 

It was that night that your father called you into his office, telling you, “Pack your things now, come dawn I’m putting you on the first ship to White Harbour, and from there you’re to stay with Lord Stark in Winterfell.” 

You stammered, the idea wasn’t horrid but it was out of nowhere with no explanation. “How long am I to stay?” 

“Indefinitely. I’ve send a raven to Lord Stark and he’s been informed that you are to remain in his care until further notice.” 

Further notice, was two years at it turned out. Two years of spending time with the Starks, the new younger growing litter of Stark children, and finding yourself increasingly flustered by how much more mature that dark and curly haired boy had grown, filled out, and had a much deeper rasp of a voice then when you saw him before. 

It was just over half a year before you returned to Kings Landing when he kissed you. He was taller, and much more mature by that point at eighteen, and your nearing sixteenth name day heart wasn’t sure it understood the tension between you until that night. 

A game of hunting and hiding in the woods with all four of the eldest of you, it was late into the night and rain had been pouring down when he snuck up and dragged your back into his chest. Still playing the same and ignoring the strange beating in your heart you tried dashing off still, but Jon was strong and tossed your back against a tree. 

You had no idea what he was doing until Jon had already begun to kiss you. All memories of Cersei telling you that your husband would never be a man who loved you left you that night, because even as a teenager, you knew that Jon kissed you like he already did. 

But you were not two people who would become like your parents, or the King and Queen. No, you were just two best friends who spent from that day until departing on the Kingsroad in a love that you were never allowed to have. The world wanted you to be like them, and they married you off without the care of what came with it. 

Your father didn’t care if you had a loveless marriage, because being in one was not part of your duty. 

But as you walked through the ruins of Harrenhal the morning before now, it seemed like the moral of the men was only raised by such an announcement that stemmed from love. Word travelled fast that you were with child, and you couldn’t escape the words of congratulations and brimming air amongst the men with a “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, knowing how much our King keeps you locked away all to himself at night.” 

The Greatjon was loud, but none of the following laughs were at you. All was a laugh with you, that it may not be a fight, but that the men found some ease of mind in the clearly good news. 

Even as you departed, leaving Roose Bolton and his men to hold Harrenhal, there was a genuine feeling in his tone as you shook hands to depart. “I dare say, your grace but being with child suits you.” He chuckled when you raised an eyebrow in question. “It’s been a number of months since we’ve seen the King calm in anyway, and longer since you’ve actually smiled.” 

Giving a small one at that moment, he then pointed to Grey Wind not far from you. “I think that one knew before even you did. Quite possessive wolves are known to be.”

Your husband would show you no such devotion the Queen had said, and yet the sheer amount of time Robb spent keeping you by his side with a hand somewhere on your person or stomach told you that if this wasn’t love and devotion what would that actually be like in the real world? 

For Catelyn though, it was a struggle. It seemed like most of the major developments in your life with her son were in times of grief. Bran laying in bed unconscious after falling from a tower? You and Robb marry. Her husband is beheaded? The North declares Robb their king and you his Queen. And now, rumours that her youngest sons were dead and that her own father had passed away? You and Robb announce you are pregnant. You knew she wanted to be happy for a grandchild, but so much of it was written in blood. 

A blood that seemed to be felt through more then just her, except that the other children’s blood that was spilled now allowed itself to fester and taint with dissent. Lord Karstark was becoming an increasing problem. Agitated, bloodthirsty and unwilling to temper his tongue even as he walked beside you and Robb. “We’re at war. This march is a distraction.” 

Robb’s voice was cut with an edge as he didn’t spare the man even a glance. “My grandfather’s funeral is not a distraction.” 

“Are we riding to battle at Riverrun?” At a no, he titled his head. “Then it’s a distraction.” 

You could feel the anger growing in Robb, but he kept his cool as he was so skilled at now. “My Uncle Edmure has his forces garrisoned there. We need his men.” 

Gods he had no idea when to stop, throwing both of you onto an edge that was bordering on insubordination. “Unless he’s been breeding them, he don’t have enough to make a difference.” 

Robb stopped, forcing the man to look at him with a harshness in his face. “Have you lost faith in our cause?” Lord Karstark trying to argue he has faith in revenge, Robb narrowed his eyes. “If you no longer believe-” 

Karstark raising his voice, you stepped forward to stand closer at Robb’s side with a tensity that he seemed to sense right away. “I can believe until it snows in Dorne, don’t change the fact that-” 

Your voice came out more angry then you expected. Taking the man right off guard as he looked more wide eyed to your rageful ones. “Lord Karstark, I think your King has made it clear that you are stepping out of line. Out in the open is neither the time nor place for your ire, and it is not welcome either way.” 

A hand came to rest on the small of your back as you continued. Your voice stern and face unblinking as you did so. “You may be free to see the funeral of your king’s own grandfather as a distraction, but you are not with the freedom to insult the man you’ve sworn your sword too.” Opening his mouth to speak, but he wisely chose to close it once more, noting the judgmental eyes of some now looking at him get reprimanded like a child. 

“Your grace-” 

“Where should we take the fight to, my lord?” You couldn’t see, but it took quite a bit of restraint for Robb to not smirk at how flabbergasted Lord Karstark looked. “You want a fight, tell us then, where and how should we take the fight to satisfy your bloodlust? How long after that battle do we spend waiting for you to get impatient for another? War is not battles and blood, it’s about knowing when not to fight and to stand and wait as your told.” 

You felt an anger inside of you that felt like is was bordering on unhealthy, but the sheer hubris to stand in front of his King and tell him so uncritically what he thinks is a mistake would not be allowed. Robb was more then capable of handling Lord Karstark alone, but what kind of wife, a Queen were you to stand there and allow it to happen? 

“I believe you had duties to attend to, my lord.” 

Robb’s tone was firm, and nothing short of a command to leave. Both if your eyes watching take off as you glanced to each other before he pulled you around more to face him. “He’s only going to get worse, and I’m going to have to handle it when it does.” 

Finding his eyes you could see the conflict of what was running through his head. Lord Karstark was going to rant and rave until he explodes and Robb isn’t going to shy away from serving justice that is deserved. “He’s forgetting it’s not a lord he’s speaking too, I think.”

Robb ran his hand around your waist, stretching is thumb to run at what he could reach of your stomach. “And I think if we couldn’t win this war, the Lannisters wouldn’t be trying so hard to run and hide from us. Lord Karstark thinks wars are only won if we find a fight everywhere we go, and yet I can’t even get close to meeting Tywin Lannister on the field of battle.” 

You smirked, “Which says a whole lot more about your skill then it does his, if you ask me.” 

Looking to the others eyes for a moment before Robb huffed, looking out to the camp before leaning back into press a kiss to the side of your head. “Do me a favour, and take it easy for now.” You tilted your head ready to protest but he had the charming audacity to kiss you before you could speak. “That was an order, my Queen.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you gave a tiny curtsy which pulled a loving smirk from his lips. “As your grace commands.” 

It was resting that you had found yourself approaching Catelyn. The look in her eye as she turned her head to see you, the conflict in them was tragic. Flickering to your stomach before turning back to the task at hand, only to drop it with a regretful sigh onto her lap. Your name coming calmly off her tongue, “I should apologize. I’ve barley said a word to you since Robb told me.” 

You calmly walked around where she was sat at, finding your own space on a mostly flat rock to face both partially at her, partially to the camp around you. “I didn’t come here to ask for that, I came here because you’re in pain and it hurts to see you in so much of it.” Shaking your head, you bit your tongue before sighing. “I don’t think I’ve seen you like this since...”

Since the first time you came across her like this, now only a second child was added to the grief. Sitting the woodwork in her lap, she ran her fingers across part of it as the waver in her voice fought to stay down. “Rickon was so upset when I left. He was too young, his father and sisters left and then me and then suddenly it was only him and Bran alone without us. I don’t even know if Luwin ever told him why we had all gone either. And Bran-”

“He understood.” Her eyes were wide as they darted up to yours. Finding a fading memory back when this all was so much more simple. “When Robb and I left, he understood. He was worried, trying not to be scared in front of Robb. But not mad. Not upset. He knew you were all gone fighting for each other.” 

Whatever solace she found in that gave her enough to swallow the pain. A tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes Catelyn once more traced over the working. “Part of me wonders if I should be used to making these by now. If I did one for Bran and Rickon each, I might just be good enough to do it with my eyes closed.” 

You leaned forward, pressing your forearms across your knees as you thought to Bran in that bed, how devastated she looked at his side and now all this time later the gods saw fit to test her resolve again. 

Gazing over the details, you missed that Catelyn was glancing at your stomach. So far no major signs of change, but it wouldn’t take long for you to show she knew. “I made one once even before Bran’s fall.” 

Looking up to her with a question in your eyes, you could see something not quite the same as the grief of now and then, but something a bit more conflicting that sat heavily inside her. “It was many years before that. One of the boys came down with the pox.” 

A weight in your chest fell. You had told her of the nights none knew if Shireen would even make it, she was a baby when she caught the Greyscale and your mother was terrified it’d kill her before it had even a chance to spread. You knew too well what a mothers fear of her child with such afflictions. 

“Maester Luwin said if he made it through the night, he’d live. But it would be a very long night.” Lost in the hazes of a memory as if she was looking down to one of the boys right before you as she relived the fear in her throat. “I sat him with, all through the darkness. Listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering.” 

Not knowing this at all, it must have been far earlier then you’d ever stepped foot in her home. “Which one was it?” 

Catelyn paused. Looking at you before peeling away to look beyond with a burning bright blaze of shame waving off of her very person before she spoke. The words low and struggling to find the same emotions as before. “Jon Snow.”

A coldness flooded your veins, and your eyes gave it away without hesitation. Catelyn, it seemed, found no strength in the moment to look you in the eye anymore as a tear in her voice only served to rip away at your chest until she found your heart and plunged the blade right through. 

“When Ned brought that baby home from the war, I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t want to see those grey stranger’s eyes staring up at me. So I prayed to the gods, take him away. Make him die.”

You didn’t look at her back, you felt bile rise in your throat and plummet back down to your stomach at the words. Searching so far back to your mind, only finding the ten year old that you met on your first day in the North, one that was as curious of you as he was healthy. And yet...

“He got the pox. And I knew then, I was the worst women who ever lived. A murderer. I condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death, all beacuse I was jealous of his mother. A woman he didn’t even know.” 

Her conflict didn’t match yours. Hers was with guilt, yours was in a horror that made you feel as ill as you had that first day you arrived, the kind of horrible twisting poison that sent you fainting to the stone floor of their home. Only you had nothing to see then, now, you only saw the face of the one you watched disappear for what neither of you knew would be forever. 

“So I prayed to all seven gods, let the boy live. Let him live and I’ll love him. I’ll be a mother to him. I’ll beg my husband to make him a Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us.” 

“And he lived.” It was a shock any sound came from you at all, you watched nothing but a woman who treated him as a stain on her own family, the pain that caused him to see himself with a self loathing for his own existence. A denial of any love that caused him to think the only life he’d find was shut away at the Wall until his death. 

“And he lived. And I couldn’t keep my promise, and everything that’s happened since then. All this horror that’s come to my family, it’s all because I couldn’t love a motherless child.” 

Comfort her was the tiny whisper of reason, she deserves to hear something from you but as you felt your hands shake in their still hold, you could only see him. You could only see Jon in the ice and snow instead of having a place at his families side. Instead of being able to stand next to his brother right now with the same respect that everyone have Robb. 

Instead you could see him out in the cold, dressed not in black, and with those that did not look to be any Night’s Watchmen you’d ever seen look like. He didn’t even look as you last saw, hair longer and more wild, older and stronger looking with just as much conflict as you’d watched him be forced to feel living with the very woman next to you. 

In an instant though, that image flashed to something else, flashing to a bright red hair, a pretty face and a look on her that you knew from your love with him in secret only out in the open. Something that was free, and pretty, and wasn’t a burden to him the way your position always was. 

You felt sick. You couldn’t sit here and see this, you didn’t understand what your eyes were even showing you nor did you hear Catelyns concerned call of your name multiple times before you stood up. What you were seeing in flashes made no sense until they all came to something that you and him never had together. Something that you’ve had since him, but were never allowed to truly have with Jon but with this pretty hair of red.

Were you walking through the camp or alone in the woods you wouldn’t even have known at that point but this wasn’t like the dreams that came to you in the dead of night these were as real as the green around you. In a second that moment, that intimacy that made you want to cry was back to elsewhere with him. 

Somewhere high made of ice, looking beyond the sights and just as a kiss was to taunt your vision it was like you both looked at each other. You saw him as clear as anything, and it was like he saw you to, sending him back in a shock before it all disappeared in a flurry. 

Your heart raced as you stood near the edge of the camp before finding a small pool of water. Kneeling in front of you as you ran the liquid over your face and tried to wash away the sights of what just happened behind your eyes and the loud booming words Catelyn just spoke to you of. 

Two hands grasped you, sending you flipping around in an erratic startle only to find the soft blue eyes of Robb as he gently grasped the sides of your face. Him muttering your name pulling you close as your hands hovered above his chest. “Hey, hey, what happened?” 

Your mouth parted and eyes wide but you had not a single clue what just happened to you, and you had not even the words to begin explaining it. You just shook your head as you finally reached up to hold his face as he did yours. This you knew, this sight you recognized and the warm soothing nature of his voice, comforting touch and a face you’d seen every single day for two years that looked at you with the love you gave him. 

Robb tried getting something from you, but your mind raced and spun and needed to be reminded where you were. Ground you in your life. Leaning up you pressed your lips against Robb’s and a calm washed back over your body. Simmering your nerves and veins as it all settled into the pit of your stomach before finding a home in the life you and Robb were creating together. 

This was real, and you had to keep it that way. Not whatever images and nightmares and dreams were being thrown at you for so long now, you didn’t understand what they were and as Robb’s kiss was soft and coaxing, he pulled back to run his thumbs over your cheeks. “Tell me we’ll love him, our son, tell me that we’ll both be here to love him.”

Robb narrowed his eyes before something dawned on him instead, “Him? You think it’s a boy?” His hand running flat over your stomach and it finally pulled a calmer breathe of a laugh from you. He took one of the news, and was steering you to whatever could calm you down easier. 

One shoulder shrugging you found the back of his neck to wrap your hands around. “Mormont says it’s why I’m so erratic lately. That it could only be the influence of a hot tempered Stark man doing that to my insides.” 

Robb looked at you, and not that he would tell you in this state, but he had a chat with his mother later on about what on earth she had said to you. Little could she suspect what that would spiral towards. 

In this moment though, Robb pulled you up to rest your face gently in his neck. “We will love him, together. It’s not just you and me now.” He massaged the your stomach in such a soothing manner, voice low only for your ears. “It’s us. All three of us, now and always.” 

You two stayed there for a little while, him calming down whatever had just happened to you. That was until Greatjon found you. His loud, booming voice, causing laughter from both you and Robb, as well as the small group of other Umbers passing with him. 

“Now that’s our King. Ready to give the lass a whole litter of pups before she’s even had the first one.” 

Coming into Riverrun was likely the most North you had been since this war had begun. It was also the calmest place it felt, the river behind the castle was calm and felt untouched by the wars ravaging around all. The castle stood mighty, looking unlike most of the places you had been in years. The fields and ruins, or surrounded by small structures to serve as battlements in your more early campaigns. 

It felt much like what the traditional castles sounded like in Shireen’s books. Tall but reasonable, not build heavy for a warmth like Winterfell, or immaculate and impressive that was the Red Keep and certainly a far from Dragonstone. 

Riding next to Robb, you glanced at him with a curious gaze. The man in question catching you looking away with a small smile. “What is it?” 

Shrugging as you looked him over, “It’s just hard to imagine you here, back then I mean. It feels like the longer I know you the more like a Stark you become.” Many of Catelyn’s children took attributes of her family strongly then that of her husband. For a long time, only two of the Stark children didn’t look anything like her, one for obvious reasons, but as you stood by Robb’s side you saw so much more of his father in him.

Perched tall on his horse, his hair lush and the diminishing light as summer had ended last year turned the colour to a darker brown then it’s highlights of red. Facial hair on him just as dark and well groomed but sat thick in a way you know your mother would’ve disapproved of for you. Eyes were bright reflecting off the water but they were full of a heavy responsibility that had you yearn to look at them even more. Perhaps this was just what pregnancy did, but lately it was like Robb was trying to look particularly handsome to drive you crazy. 

Only realizing when he raised an eyebrow did you realize he said anything, shaking your head with a naive, “Sorry, what was that?” 

He rolled his eyes with a smirk, “So, I listen to you but all you do is look at me like a piece of meat.” His grin at your playfully offended face spoke volumes of cheek. “I said I was only born here, I don’t even have any memories of growing up outside of Winterfell. From what I’ve heard about Dragonstone, you certainly don’t look like you grew up there.” 

Maester Cressen used to say it was no place to raise a child, and in ways he was right. Built by Valyrians said to have done so using arcane blood magic, it was a sharp contrast to much of the kingdoms of Westeros. It was easy to envision Aegon and his sisters riding their dragons to plot out the conquer of a land that didn’t belong to them from the seats of volcanic rock that made the air smell of salt and brimstone. You certainly did not fit the image of belonging there. 

“I don’t think anyone wants to grow up there. It’s dim and depressing and I’m fairly certain if I showed you my childhood room, you’d ask me why my father raised me in a dungeon cell.” You both chuckled lightly. The early days in your first visit to Winterfell, once you were back on two feet you had found yourself riding all through that of the wolfswood with he and Jon, you always surprised how far the North seemed to go unencumbered by dangerous terrain. 

As the castle drew near, the only ones of your army that remained with you was that of Robb, Catelyn, and Brynden. The other lords would be given their stay once the family departed to the lake for the funeral. Edmure Tully awaited the arrival, causing a brief moment of looks shared between three of you in pause. 

None of you had discussed it, but you all had come to the same conclusion as to what had happened, but that would be a situation for later. You could feel an annoyance inside that had you shaking your head to rid of. Where would this war be right now, had the instructions been followed as specifically directed. 

Edmure greeting his sister in a quiet embrace, noting only two of them were here. 

Lysa Arryn had been a headache. She closed off access from the rest of the kingdoms, keeping the Knights of the Vale rooted and untouched. No amount of bargaining from Robb had done any good and Brynden has discussed that many men within the Vale armies would side with him were it not for being under the control of Lysa. And now it seems, she didn’t bring herself back to the world of the sane to attend her fathers funeral, or let her son that of his grandfather. 

Much of the funeral was quiet. In what you think was unique to the Tully’s instead of taking place spread out an a sept to be cremated or embalmed, the oils and stones were placed onto Hoster Tully before his body was spread out respectfully in a small boat, and doused in gentle oils. 

A brazier was lit on the dock over the water as it drifted off. On the docks stood by the brazier was Brynden, near the back was Catelyn, then Robb and yourself. Watching from their own spots were a various number of people all there to see their lord off. 

In the middle, Edmure held a bow. Hoster Tully’s only son, and heir to Riverrun it left him both as proper lord and the charge to light the boat to send him off in peace. The first time he missed, you glanced up to the sky. There was a slight breeze that he was aiming just off enough to steer the arrow as a miss. 

The second time he did missed, you narrowed your eyes as it continued to drift further away without his work. Everyone stood in silence as he paused, taking a third shot and you know this might have been the worst time for it, but there was a slight awkwardness about the situation that had you and Robb, like you were two teenagers again, glance at one another with a smirk trying desperately to hide itself and failing. 

Three times of misses and eventually the boat carrying Hoster off would reach too far and there was just a second of childishness between the pair of you that had you both looking down at the side sight of Catelyn’s firm gaze. You both grabbed the others wrist, as he almost unnoticeable pulled you just a bit closer to his side. 

Brynden had to take over. Grabbing the bow from his nephew and looking up to gauge the winds, and with one simple shot, the lit arrow plunged into the boat and the fire spread out in an instant. A calm relief over the family as they watched until it was no longer within their sights. 

For a brief moment, looking at that of boats and fire, you wondered how close he came. How close of a call to a much more hellfire version of this image did your father come to at the Blackwater Bay. Who you unnervingly thought, were the ones who didn’t make it and you had no knowledge of? Was it just your father that survived and the rest of the men you’d seen over and over again as a child were gone?

The words had mentioned that of green flames and wildfire. As the ceremony ended, you hadn’t even realized how you had reached across your chest to hold at your other arm, and noticed even less that your nails had dug into the skin enough to begin to bleed. 

A crowd had gathered in the main hall, some of your men as well as that of the River Lords, on your way in Brynden had noticed your arm. Beckoning you over to the side as Robb glanced down with narrowed eyes. He said nothing, but kept an eye on you sat up on a small table as Brynden carefully wrapped up your arm. 

You hadn’t looked up to the processions a single time as they all spoke, keeping a harsh eye on the trickles of bleed soaking through the wrappings. You hadn’t at all noticed how hard you were digging them in to that degree. Edmure standing near the middle, spoke of his actions in the recent move against the Lannisters. 

The smallfolk were grateful, and in front of the majority, Robb allowed him the moment in the sun to explain his actions with a patiently controlled stare. “He crossed the river to give battle and we routed him. Maybe four hundred Lannisters killed, another hundred taken prisoner. The Mountain was lucky to escape with his life. They’ll think twice before picking another fight with the Tully’s.” 

Brynden could see how much your jaw clenched trying to keep something burning inside of you. It wasn’t just a plan for Robb, it was a strategic manoeuvre to trick Tywin’s forces that Edmure had overstepped on. Did Robb say something? It was hard to tell but judging by the slight knowing smirk on Bryndens face as he tied off your wrappings, it was not a message Edmure was receiving. 

“I will not stop until they have their justice. This I swear to you.” Glancing over briefly, Robb’s eyes landed on you before turning to the crowd. “I need to speak with my family.” 

The gruff man nodding you over, giving you a light hand getting your two feet off the table as Robb outstretched an arm, bringing you over to his side. His own gaze reaching up to your arm, running over the bandage with his thumb and looking to you with a silent narrowed expression. You gave a tiny shake of his head, that clearly he wasn’t going to just accept as your shrugging answer. 

The hall empty save for those Tully and Stark, Edmure begun to step forward to speak. “If I may nephew, I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill, which may have some bearing-” 

As your jaw clenched, and Robb reached down to gentle run his hand across your stomach it was Brynden who spoke up. His voice frustrated and exasperated as you felt. “Why don’t you shut your mouth about that damned mill. And don’t call him nephew, he’s your King.” 

Edmure looking more casual then the tension radiating inside the room like he couldn’t feel it in the air, “Robb knows I meant him no disrespect-”

“You’re lucky I’m not your king I wouldn’t let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag.” 

Robb was seeking your eye that was trained pointedly on his chest as he could feel you boiling up before him. Edmure did not make your frustration any easier, and the complete lack of comprehension only made Robb more angry and spiteful. But he kept it together, especially since you were the one right now having trouble with it, he took up that mantle. 

“My blunder sent Tywin Lannister’s mad dog scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs.” Your eyes flew up, meeting Robb’s as he ran his thumb over your stomach firmer with a warning in his expression to calm your nerves. Brynden could see the words ready to spill from Robb’s mouth at any moment the longer Edmure spoke. “I think King Robb understands we’re not going to win this war if he’s the only one winning any battles. No, there’s glory enough to go around.” 

“It’s not about glory.” Robb’s voice was not quite a shout, but it was loud and lecturing and caught Edmure off guard. As Robb moved to step forward he let his hand slid to the small of your back, gently keeping you within his touch as he narrowed his eyes at the man. “Your instructions were to wait for him to come to you.” 

“I seized an opportunity.” 

He was quiet and calm, and you were thankful he was better at this then you right now. Perhaps he was the only thing keeping you in your head. “What value was the mill?” Edmure explaining that it was the Mountain garrisoned across from it. “Is he there now?” 

The man still hadn’t gotten it. All three of you in the room understood except so far, for Edmure who almost went back to being proud of his last minute scheme. “Of course not. We took the fight to him, he could not withstand us.”

Robb almost hissed at him as he narrowed his eyes at his uncle. The blue a much darker as his touch on your was firmer. You beside him with eyes sharp and cutting into him with something silent that was just as unnerving. “I wanted to draw the Mountain into the west, into our country where we could surround him and kill him. I wanted him to chase us, which he would have done because he is a mad dog without a strategic thought in his head. I could have that head on a spike by now.” 

He seemed to pull you closer as he had stepped closer, as you gently grasped onto the arm your body was partially turned to face. Robb’s tone was like whisper but the distant look in Edmure’s eyes told him that he was starting to understand. “Instead I have a mill.”

Flickering between his own uncle, then to his King and Queen, he hesitate before speaking, this time much more uninspired by his hubris. “We took hostages. Willem Lannister, Martyn Lannister-”

You turned now to face him entirely as well. Only your voice went from rageful silence to offended volume that spoke louder then Robb’s quiet intimidation. “Willem and Martyn Lannister are fourteen years old.” A disgust that two teenage boys could be considered hostages, when boys barley younger then that, boys who were the King’s own brothers, were hostages and now found themselves dead. 

Robb looked him in the eye. “Tywin Lannister has my sisters. Have I sued for peace?” Edmure answering a dejected no, “Do you think he’ll sue for peace because we have his fathers brothers great grand sons?” 

Another no as you raised an eyebrow at him, “And how many men did you lose?” 

You bit your tongue remembering the number of bodies found at Harrenhal as he answered you, palm pressing into your forehead at the image still. “Two hundred and eight. But for every man we lost, the Lannisters-” 

Dropping your hand you stepped towards him, voice echoing off the walls as the image of the bay on fire tried painting yourself in you mind. “We need our men more then Tywin needs his.” 

Edmure stammered, finding none on his side as the entire plot to keep the Lannister forces away from Blackwater Bay was ruined. His simple job to follow his King’s instructions would have kept those very men from being pushed back into the west. Instead, they were chased out early, and it wasn’t a far ride east to get to King’s Landing where Tywin finally sat with the power of the crown at his fingers. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Robb had no more mind for this, “You would have. Right here today at this gathering if you had been patient.” Brynden commented with his own voice laced with irritation as he looked to his own nephew that there seemed to be a lack of patience around here. Robb nodded to the man, “We’re done for now.” 

The halls were quiet, not many roamed the castle that day and the ones who were there quietly did their duty or gathered together to mourn their loss. Much of Riverrun seemed to exist with large windows, letting in the light that looked out onto the greenery of one side or the Trident on the other. 

Not much space was there in the shadows, but down an empty hall Robb turned to gently rest your back against the stone, a small pillar keeping your vision from being spotted as he gently grasped your cheeks and leaned in to gently press your lips together. Your hands reached up instantly, finding his neck to run your nails over as he kept his own kiss soft, almost comforting that helped melt your tense muscles into his. 

Pulling back he pressed your forehead against his as he spoke in a low murmur. “I’m not telling you to not be angry, you have every right to be.” Another gentle kiss to your forehead, “But we will come back from this, I promise.” 

Looking up, the ease of going from King to just your husband always surprised you. The way he could give you that soft look that was boyish and sweet instead of powerful and commanding. “I know we will.” Sliding a hand back down to run through the facial hair at his jaw before nuzzling there and pressing a kiss to the scratching surface. “You’ve won this war all on your own so far, I’m not going to let one man’s mistake ruining that now.” 

He smiled, also looking much more boyish. “My wife is that confident, is she?” 

You kissed him one more time before running your hands down to press gently against his chest, feeling his heart beat under the thinner material. “I told you, you were born for this.” 

Narrowing his eyes playfully he nudged your nose with his, “Thought you said I was born to be lord of Winterfell.” 

Looking up at him, you felt yourself lean back casually against the wall, pulling at him to come closer and join. One hand pressed against the stone beside your head, the other running across your waist, his eyes narrowing at the fact that he couldn’t just tease the skin by your hips. Not even letting you respond he playfully bunched up one side of your dress as he smirked. Leaning in closer. 

“As much as I like you in these pretty dresses, I finally found something I hate about them.” Pressing a kiss to your neck and one right below your ear as he whispered into it. “Harder to touch you whenever I want if you’re always this covered up.” 

Breathing out a laugh, you pulled him in for a kiss that you both smiled into as you ran your hand through his curls. For a little moment you two felt so normal, just a husband and wife sneaking a moment together late in the day instead of being the King and Queen with too much weight looking at you like it’s your fault it was all thrown onto you. 

Robb gently holding your jaw to lean up more towards him as he crowded you closer to the wall, he would deepen it just a tad bit more each tiny sigh of need you gave into his kiss. Never pushing too far, but enough to keep you chasing his lips everytime he pulled back. And each time he gave in and kissed you right back. 

Grey Eyes and Black curls travelled far closer then he had been in years and yet still so long away that you may was well existed in different worlds. The gods were trying desperately to tell him something, he was sure of it. High up on the wall, there was a moment it truly felt like you saw one another. Like your eyes locked in shock to see the other’s gaze on you before the image shattered with a blow of cold wind. 

He didn’t know what they were saying, but he was starting to think that it was a message to stop lying to himself. The longer he trekked with them, with her, the more obvious it became how this had to work as long as he could keep it up. Then in moments like now, where he was so close to being able to trick himself into thinking this was normal, that it was fine, and that he wanted this, he would see you. 

He could see you, feel you as if you were there and before his eyes and when the world returned to him, it was all a lie. It was pretending to be someone that didn’t exist and lying to himself about ever wanting this, or even being okay with it. And even worse, he had a feeling that you’d see right through how much he was lying to himself right away. 

He was lying to every single one of them about his real intentions, and yet the lie you’d care about was the one he was telling himself. And the gods taunting him with images and sounds and feelings of you was just one big sign after the other that pretending to be one of these people, pretending like he hadn’t tricked himself into forcing an affection onto her, was just that. 

Something had been trying to guide him onto what felt like the right path since he came to the wall, and with each passing day it felt like that something was warning him that lying to himself about being this, being one of them and being with her? It was trying to tell him, that was the wrong path and he knew it. 

Jon didn’t however, know what seeing visions of you had to do with the rest of it.

The boys were around the same height, and clearly brothers. Dress them in the same clothes and one may think they were identical. On your person was a full skin of fresh water, and food sat down next to you by Olyvar, who was as good as your squire these days as Robb’s in honestly. 

They were short for teenage boys, kneeling down they eyed you as the slightly more wide eyed one stepped forward before the other reached an arm out. “Martyn Lannister, right?” Your eyebrows raised at him, who now looked at you with a suspicion. 

“How do you know?” 

You shrugged one shoulder, “Older brothers are usually the more protective ones.” Looking over them both, they were slightly covered in grime but nothing else stood out. “They haven’t hurt you at all, treating you well?” 

Willem nodded, but Martyn paused, looking at the things with you. “No. Unless your here to poison us.” The boys seemed to not be able to figure out how to feel about you, on one hand you knew you were the on the side that warred against their family, on the other hand you were knelt by their cell bars with food, water, and a calm and collected attitude towards them. 

Narrowing your eyes at them impressed, you picked the skin up and gestured to him with it. “Smart. You’re in a cell, you’re being held captive and your familiy’s enemy comes down offering drink.” Using your teeth to yank the cap off, you took a sip and swallowed it down before reaching through the bars with the rest of it. 

Slowly reaching, Willem took it with a gentleness and a nod as you found the energy to give him a little smile as he said, “Thank you.” 

Tilting to the food beside you at Martyn, “Trust me a little more now, or am I going to be leaving you boys a little less food to prove your safety.” The boys were too innocent to be Lannisters, sharing a little look and with a nod from Willem of please, Martyn approached. 

His hand reaching out before pausing mid air, looking at you with doubt. Blinking slowly, you grabbed parts of the food, sliding your fingers through the bars until he took it on his end, doing the same until all but their actual plate sat with them. Willem speaking through a mouthful. “Thank you.” 

Martyn narrowed his eyes, “You’re Robb Stark’s wife.” You gave a gentle nod as he looked to his brother before turning back. “Is it true? What they say about him? That he can turn into a wolf at night?”

It was difficult not to smile, there was a childlike wonder in the boys eyes as they looked at you. In a way, you didn’t think that was incorrect. Something wasn’t the normal state of things, the way he could control Grey Wind like he was somehow part of him. “Is it scary if I say yes?” Willem didn’t hesitate to nod, a soft laugh leaving you a the look in his eyes. “They do call him The Young Wolf afterall. Such a name doesn’t just come out of nowhere.” 

Martyn spoke up this time, “And does he really eat the flesh of his enemies?” 

Oh it had been a long time since you heard that whisper about him. You bit your tongue to not smirk not wanting to give the boys a scary impression. You mostly came down here to offer food and water, and to ensure an answer Robb’s inquiry that they hadn’t been mistreated in their capture. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Lion cubs aren’t in a wolves diet.” 

You had only just gotten up when Martyn jumped up and over to the bars. “Is he going to kill us? They all say that Robb Stark kills every Lannister he finds.” Swallowing his own nerves down you looked at him softly. When you were that age, you weren’t worried about anything more then not embarrassing yourself too much in front of the boys. But they were here. 

Tone much softer, more quiet but a sincerity you knew perfectly well you could tell them the truth on, “The King in the North does not punish a son for his fathers sins. For now, you two will remain here, but alive, and unharmed. I promise.” 

They both looked to you, a relief in each their green eyes. Martyn shouting, “Thank you for the food...your grace.” You nodded once and turned from them. Quietly telling the guards you’ll send for them to be able to bathe in the mornings before departing. 

Pulling you up onto his lap, Robb slowly begun to pull of your shift, his own shirt tossed off and his breeches undone as he carefully slid the sleeves down your arms. “I’ve sent word to Walder Frey, we agreed moving the wedding as soon as we can.” 

Letting him pull it up off of you, he gently tossed it onto the pile with his own as he flipped you onto the bed, slowly dragging your underwear as he paused to eye the growing wetness between your legs before climbing back up to hover over you. “It’s the least he can do, Edmure. I understand to the people it was important,” your hands begun to run through his hair. “But we don’t win wars fighting the small battles. He led a small battle, and it led to my father losing a bigger one.” 

Smoothing a hand down your side before he ran it over your stomach, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “He’s barley made a move since then, hasn’t he?” Shaking your head solemnly, Robb leaned down to capture your lips more firmly this time. 

His other hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you leaned up partially against him, slotting himself between your legs. Muttering through his barley held on ability to leave your lips for more then half a second, “We have to be more careful,” Kissing down the length of your neck, they were nibbling and light despite his beard leaving burns in it’s wake. Burns he learned you adored the feeling of it. “Tywin in Kings Landing, we have to watch out for each other. Especially now, especially with this.” 

His mouth leaving sloppier kisses down the middle of your chest until he reached your stomach, hovering over as he looked with a heavy gaze. As if he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have such a thing. There wasn’t even much there yet, a small bump that only Robb could see in moments like this but it didn’t matter. 

His son was in there, your son. A sight which for two years seemed like a distant fantasy only dreamt up in the luxury of your short time in Winterfell. His blue eyes were bright almost like there was water hiding behind them as he pressed one more gentle kiss to the skin there. The tenderness of a father to his infant before he lunged back up. 

One arm moving around your back to press your body into his and the other wrapping back behind your neck to seal you in a kiss. His teeth bit more roughly at you, opening you up for his tongue before he groaned. Feeling your hands gently reach between you to pull his cock free. Face twisting up in a sneer at your hand wrapped around his thick length, hardly letting you stroke him before reaching between you to snatch your hand. 

Leaning up with blazing eyes as he looked down at you his own chest heaving as he looked you over, your wet cunt so close to his cock, the very start of a bump at your stomach and your chest that was turning as sensitive as your neck. 

His free hand reached up, slowly dancing along your skin until he grasped at your breast, tightly groping and watching your head throw back at the instant spark of pleasure in your veins. “Is this the baby?” Leaning down you squirmed at his hot breathe over your nipple, “Making you this sensitive for me?” You swallowed heavily, nodding only to arch up with a cry as his teeth bit down as his fingers pulled at the other. His teeth gentle, but he yanked and tugged with a more sturdy force before grinding his cock along your soaked folds. 

“Robb, please,” 

Your vision spun around, Robb kneeling you up on your hands and knees. One hand roughly running through your hair, pulling it to the side as he bit along your ear. His knees spreading your thighs out more until you felt his cock slide between them. “There’s my good girl, letting her husband do whatever he wants with her.” 

Your lungs heaved, your chest felt like it stung and no doubt you’d have a barrage of new colours surrounding them and your neck come morning. “I’m yours, please, anything you want...” He slid in with no resistance, his own groan buried in your neck at how slick you were so fast. 

Taking all of him in one thrust as you cried out, arms shaking from the stretch and pressure inside of you. Pushing deep, he looked down at you with his hands tight on your hips, pounding forward as he pulled you back onto him. 

The way Robb would flip, how earlier you both leaned against a corridor wall kissing sweetly like teenagers, and now he had you bent over in front of him like you were the whore he paid and he the brute to use you for his own cock. But worse was how you’d let him, how much you wanted him to treat you like meat in bed, because outside of it you knew a truly loving man was behind it. 

It was as if this was the only times you had. Robb would keep you at his side, a hand on you at all times but he preferred to only ever have you in a bed. A long drawn out event leaving you both breathless and thoroughly spent. As his cock fucked into you now, one hand dancing between to rub and tug at your clit the same way he fucked against the sensitive part of your walls.

You moaned and cried and had no knowledge if you were speaking words that even made sense other then his own name as pleas. The first time you both came, he spilled deep inside of you as you were kept as much on his cock as possible, the second he painted your cunt and upper thighs completely as you shook from your second orgasm, that had you shake. 

Carefully draping the sheets over you, Robb had turned you on your back, him on his side as he kissed you so sweetly, murmuring whispers of gentle praises and love as you came down when the knock came. 

He pulled the sheet up on you as much as possible and wrapped it slightly behind you as he pulled you up to his chest, arm wrapped around your front and splayed his large hand over your stomach as he told them to enter. 

What you didn’t expect, was his squire there rushing out there had been an incident. Somewhat had happened, and Lord Edmure and the Blackfish required both of your presence in the main hall. It was quite late, throwing on enough to cover the both of you as he led you to the sight. 

Standing there, Robb stood partially behind you. You both seethed, your insides shaking in disgusted horror at the sight. Willem and Martyn Lannister laid dead, mutilated as they they had been forced out of their cell and into their deaths. 

You couldn’t stop seeing the slightly awe inspired boys that had thanked you so kindly after you just showed them some kindness of your own. Edmure stood with Brynden with their own more controlled reaction, and poor Catelyn sat to the side like she couldn’t decide between looking at them once more and breaking entirely. 

The rage inside of you was burning. Out of all the things he could have done, he chose the most horrific path of betrayal he could imagine. Robb’s voice was rough as he spoke trying to keep it even. “Bring them in.” 

Tearing your eyes away from the sight, their eyes still wide open as they died in what must have been such fear to watch five men walk in led by Lord Rickard Karstark who had none of the decency to look ashamed. Robb looked to Brynden asking if that was all, getting a confirming nod in return. Your teeth gritted as you looked at them with no reason to hold back your contempt. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?” 

Lord Karstark looking to you with a fire in his own eyes that you wanted to burn out. “Not murder, your grace. Vengeance.” 

Robb was never as intimidating as he was standing beside you with an energy that could strangle with how heavy and intense it was. “Vengeance? Those boys didn’t kill your sons. I saw Harrion die on the battlefield, and Torrhen-” 

“Was strangled by the Kingslayer.” Karstark trying to justify what no one could. “They were his kin-” 

“They were boys,” Robb’s voice echoed in such an angry roar to them it vibrated through your bloodstream. The men said nothing, and he spat out “Look at them.” 

Lord Karstark nor his men behind him had any courage to do so. Instead he looked to Catelyn and did anything he could to pretend he was justified. “Tell your mother to look at them. She killed them as much as I.” 

Catelyn, who had released Jaime Lannister once he had already been brought back from the escape that killed Torrhen. You didn’t buy it, and neither did Robb. “My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason.” 

Yelling back at his own King like he had the right after what he’d done, made you feel like you were ready to knock the man into the floor. “It’s treason to free your enemies, in war you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that boy-”

As Brynden knocked him to his knees with a hit to the gut, you also felt yourself step forward on your own before Robb firmly grasped you around the waist. Tugging you right up to his side as you partially faced one another. “Leave him.” 

Slinking his head up like a snake that never knew when to stop. “Aye, leave me to the King. He wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That’s how he deals with treason, our King in the North.” 

You looked up to Robb as he did you, your eyes both with the same understanding that had him holding onto you so tightly. His hand almost coming around to your stomach, he looked down to you. Full knowing you were telling him exactly what he was thinking. “Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon. Hang the rest.” 

Finally you both looked away from the other, back to the spineless lot of them as one plead a pathetic case. “Mercy, Sire, I didn’t kill anyone, I only watched for the guards.” 

Looking at his men Robb was confident and unwavering. “This one was only the watcher. Hang him last so he can watch the others die.” The man pleading the entire time as they were escorted out until Edmure closed the door, sealing you all back in the quiet with the murdered boys. 

“Word of this can’t leave Riverrun.” Robb refused to let you pull away from him but slid his hand up to run soothingly over your back as he felt the tension shimmer down a bit. Edmure continuing, “They were Tywin Lannister’s nephews, the Lannisters pay their debts. They’ll never stop talking about it.” 

Robb rightly refused the notion. “Would you make me a liar as well as a murderer?” Taking all of the responsibility on his shoulders as King, and men like Lord Karstark had the audacity to question his authority. 

Edmure tried to suggest a compromise. “It wouldn’t be lying. We will bury them and remain silent until the war is done.” 

Robb looked to him, his own anger trying to keep at bay. “I’m not fighting for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks. No matter how high born. He dies for this.” 

Catelyn stood, trying to come to a sense that neither you nor her son would agree with. “The Karstarks are northmen. They won’t forgive you for murdering their Lord. Spare his life, keep him as a hostage.” 

You managed to pull away, your hand pressing against your forehead as you exhaled deeply as you walked to the window. “That’s the solution, he murders two innocent boys and commits treason and his punishment is to what? Keep him here and hope that sends a message?” 

Catelyn looked to you but found nothing to plead with just as she did the choice in her son. “They are loyal men to us, we show their family kindness and they will continue to fight at our side-”

You turned in place. Leaning against the window with your arms crossing over your chest. The boys right in your eyeline when you were the one to tell them they would be safe here. “Show too much kindness people won’t fear you. They don’t fear you, they don’t follow you. We can’t show that kind of mercy for this.”

Robb looked at both his mother and uncle with no room for question. “I’m not fighting for a free North if the kind of people I fight with are traitors and child murderers. Lord Karstark committed his crime and he knows his judgment for it. His men choose to stay they will not be punished for his crimes, but if they leave then it’s their choice as well to break their oaths to our House.” 

“And their vow to their King.” 

Your eyes met and in that silence, Robb watched as you nodded once. He was right, and you would stand by it. “Come the first light of dawn, bring him to the courtyard and I will execute him myself. That is my decision, and my decision is final.” 

The bodies were taken from the room, and the remaining Tully’s left as well. Your back had turned to the rain pouring onto the river out in the dark when you felt Robb wrap his arms around you, pulling you back into him. “I need you to watch that temper,” Your eyes narrowed but he kept you firmly in his loving hold. “It’s not good for you, either of you to be this angry. You leave that to me, I want you calm and healthy.” 

You sighed out, the sizzling anger still there but you didn’t want to risk anything harming your boy. Your hands found Robb’s pulling them to lay over your stomach. “You’re making the right choice. We can’t just fight a war to win, we have to fight and prove the kind of people we want to be in the process. And that out there is not it.” 

His head leaned over yours, running his nose down the side of your hair gently. “You shouldn’t come. To the execution.” You tried to protest but he continued. “It’s my crime to punish, not yours. You shouldn’t have to bear the weight of my choices and theirs, when you’re in this state.”

Robb allowed you to turn in his arms. Your hands finding the sides of his face as he found your waist, running his hands up and down them. “My place, is by your side, my king.” Robb sighed out deeply, but his eyes were thankful. “I will not have these men judge you but not me for serving due justice. Your actions are mine to stand by, and I will stand beside you on this in here and out there.” 

Leaning to press his forehead against yours, the weight of a love only the two of you could provide at that point was palpable. Leaning down, Robb kissed you once more. 

The rain continued into the morning, refusing to let up as if even down here the gods understood the weight of the actions. Not many were present for it, not many needed to be. Two men bringing Lord Karstark out to the still dark court, Catelyn, Edmure, and Brynden to the side as witnesses with the few scattered who dared show, and on the main steps stood Robb, and by his side, you. 

In every punishment there was a protest to do it with mercy or kindness, but you had shown those boys kindness and they were not shown mercy in response. Justice was justice and what kind of rulers were you and Robb if you showed that kind of mercy to lawbreakers. 

Standing before him, Lord Karstark looked unashamed. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as yours, boy. I fought the Mad King for your father. I fought Joffery for you. We are Kin. Stark and Karstark.” 

Robb didn’t blink even as the rain poured down. “That didn’t stop you from betraying me, and it won’t save you now.” 

Like he was the lecturer when two children’s blood drenched his veins, he spoke. “I don’t want you to save me. I want it to haunt you for the rest of your days.” He looked to you, only to find the same expression as the man before him.

A voice full of ire as Robb commanded. “Kneel, my lord.” 

His sword, strong and unsheathed as you held its holding. Robb holding the high sword, blade pointed to the ground with both hands on the hilt. Knelt over it slightly as he spoke his judgment. “Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold. Here in sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die. Would you speak a final word?” 

A man with nothing to be shamed for blaming Robb for actions that were not his, and yelling of a justice he brought on himself. Your eyes blazing with a fury and Robb’s with an anger that fed his delivery of a Just King. “Kill me and be cursed. You are no King of mine.” 

Robb gave one powerful slice, and it was over. 

The only person to follow his rage out of the court, was you. His arm pulling you close and as soon as you both got into private, you let him take that rage out on you once more. You both needed it, and right now the only peace was found in the other. 

Peace, and a gentle hand in the quiet of your bedroom running over your stomach with yours covering his much larger one. Nothing of Riverrun had brought any good to you both, but at least in this quite bubble, there was still a family that had nothing but love and promise surrounding you. 

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine

[autisticlancemcclain]

It was Coran’s idea, the watches.

He’s really quite proud of them. Small, lightweight devices strapped to the paladins wrists, all connected to each other, so no one is ever stranded alone on a mission without a way to talk to the team or even monitor themselves. Devices that house within them a scanner and a database, so they can measure their own life systems and use the information to help keep themselves alive.

The inputted ‘chore chart’ was the black paladin’s idea, and Coran must say that Shiro’s idea is an excellent one.

The paladins are teenagers, you see. Or at least they were when this all started. And since they have all found themselves on a massive castle-ship that is tragically without its crew, there’s a grand many tasks to be completed to keep the castle up and running. Coran had initially thought that there wouldn’t be much of an issue, but as good as these kids are, they’re still kids, and attempting to convince teenagers to complete a task they do not want to do is harder than convincing a weblum to eat its own tail.

And so, the chore charts. Training charts, too, to reduce squabbling over the space and equipment. Originally there had been actual charts hanging on the refrigerator in the kitchen, with everyone’s tasks easily laid out and clear, but that had lasted only three days before some of the paladins (Coran shall not name names, but he will provide initials: a certain P.A., K.K., and L.M.) decided they would switch chores around. And then when Coran had enough of that and put the chore charts under lock and key, it was only a matter of one day before two more paladins (again, no names — H.G. and P.H.) decided to take the lock as a personal challenge and pick their way inside.

Clearly, grown-up and mature chore charts were not going to work.

But after observing the young team for several movements, Coran began to notice a certain…spirit, among each of its members. An…ambition.

Competitiveness. The team is competitive. The most competitive group of people Coran has ever met, in fact.

And so he devised a plan. One day, after several months together, Coran casually brought up an old, Altean tradition, older than Allura — the training games. To an audience of faux-casual teenagers who were so obviously intrigued that even an eyeless Snorflgump could see it, Coran explained how ancient Altean warriors would keep up a points system during the entirety of any war they were fighting — for every varga of chore or training session completed, they would gain a point. Whoever had garnered the most points by the end of the war would win, and be crowned the champion.

Very, very simple psychology. Childish, really. But none of the team — not even Shiro — could fight the thrall of such a challenge, and so Coran installed the software on their watches. It would monitor their activity levels, and when it noted a change in heart rate, blood flow, and other such indicators of exercise, the points would start piling up. For chores, they must simply scan a chore before and after it is completed, and they will gain a point.

It worked just as well as Coran hoped. Now, whenever a paladin completes a point-worthy task, a small notification goes off on each of the other paladin’s watches, keeping the competition constantly alive.

Coran is endlessly proud of himself. Watching the team’s faces when a notification goes off is truly some of the best entertainment Coran has seen in his life. They’ve been together four years, now, and Coran is amused every time.

“Aw, man,” Hunk curses, as two distinct beeps sound on everyone’s watches. “They’re the worst! They’re always sparring now. I wish we could go back to when they hated each other.”

Coran glances down in interest at his watch, seeing a notification that both Lance and Keith have finished an hour of training.

He narrows his eyes. That’s strange. He’s almost certain Shiro is the only one in the training room right now, and he could have sworn that Lance told him that he and Keith were going to watch a film this afternoon.

He freezes as the implication finally hits him.

Oh, dear.

“I’m sure they’re both simply…eager,” Coran says, fighting back a smile.

“Ugh,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes. “Eagerly annoying. There’s no way I’m letting Lance beat me. I’m gonna go clean the kitchen. Hunk, you wanna help?”

“It almost time for dinner, anyway,” Hunk agrees, accepting her offered hand. They set down the project they were working on and make their way down the hallways. Once Coran is sure they’re both out of earshot, he takes a moment to laugh.

Oh, this is going to be hilarious.

———

To everyone’s mild exasperation except Coran’s, Keith and Lance are late to dinner.

“Goodness, they must be training hard today,” Allura comments, checking her watch. “I’ve been getting notifications every hour about all the training sessions they’ve completed. I’ve tried to catch up on my own, but I suppose I don’t have their energy today.”

Shiro frowns thoughtfully. “You know, I was in the training room for a couple hours this afternoon, and I didn’t see them. I got their notifications too, though.”

“Maybe they were on the long range training deck?” Hunk offers, passing Pidge a plate piled with roasted vegetables. She tries passing it on to Shiro, but huffs and scoops some onto her plate at the man’s admonishing look.

“Alright, mom,” she mutters, but her lips are twitching in amusement. “And who knows. Maybe they’re in the pool, or something.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

There are various murmurs of agreement from the rest of the table, before they move to another topic.

Coran bites hard at the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

A few minutes later, the wayward paladins themselves stumble into the dining hall, rolling their eyes at the team’s heckling at their tardiness and grabbing a couple plates.

Coran can’t help but notice that Lance’s shirt is inside out, and Keith’s hair is the messiest he’s ever seen it.

“We were just talking about you guys,” Hunk says. “What’ve you two been up to all day? Our training notifications have been going off like crazy!”

Both Keith and Lance’s faces light up with a brilliant blush, at the exact same time.

Coran smirks. “Very strange, since Shiro never noticed either of you in the training room. And both of you look quite disheveled, so you’ve clearly been busy.”

If at all possible, both of them go redder.

“Yep,” Lance squeaks, pushing the food around his plate. “Super duper busy. Lots of — important training.”

Keith clears his throat, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Uh, yeah. Lance was — we were wrestling.”

“In the long range training room?” Allura questions, tilting her head in confusion. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to share the space with Shiro? The regular training room is better equipped for that, you know. Much more equipment.”

Coran snorts. “I’m sure they were very well equipped.”

Lance makes another high pitched noise. Keith looks at Coran in panic, clearly noticing that Coran knows exactly what they were up to.

“We were safe!” he assures, much louder than necessary. “We were — totally safe! And gentle! And —”

“Gentle,” Hunk says, raising an eyebrow. “Why were you wrestling gently?”

“We weren’t! It was normal wrestling! In my room! Carefully!”

“Please shut the fuck up,” Lance begs Keith, but the damage is already done. Shiro is the first to clue in, fork clattering to his plate as he clamps his hand over his mouth with a gleeful “oh, my God.”

Lance hides his face in his hands. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

“What? What is?” Hunk demands, narrowing his eyes at the duo. Keith stretches his collar, nervous at the scrutiny, but it’s a mistake — the motion reveals a bruise right in the centre of his collarbone.

Hunk screeches. “No way!”

It dawns on Allura and Pidge at the exact same time, both of them looking frantically at each other and then back at Lance and Keith, who are both so red that Coran would be worried for their health if he wasn’t laughing so hard at their misfortune.

“Are the two of you genuinely —”

“—fucking?! You two are fucking?!”

“That term’s a little juvenile, I think,” Keith protests weakly. He clears his throat again, embarrassed at the admittedly over-the-top reactions from the rest of the team. He reaches over and gently pulls one of Lance’s hands off his face, squeezing gently. “Sorry for blowing it,” he whispers.

Lance blows out a breath, allowing a slight quirk of his lips. “I think we blew it together a few hours ago.”

“Several times!” Shiro wheezes. “Holy shit!”

Keith glares at his brother, pointing his fork at the man. “Shiro I swear to God I will thrust this through your eyeball —”

“I’m sure you have lots of thrusting practice,” Allura says coyly, which sets Pidge and Hunk right off, both of them howling with laughter.

Keith makes a frustrated noise and throws the fork at Shiro.

“Hey,” Lance says, and he’s smiling slightly despite his heavy blush. “I don’t — this is as good of a way as any to tell them, right?”

“I could have done without the humiliation,” Keith mumbles, but he starts to smile, too, almost as if it’s a reflex to Lance’s soft look.

Lance’s brown eyes shine with mirth. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek, whispering something in Keith’s ear that Coran just barely catches.

“As long as it’s with you, Samurai.”

———

based on this post

#this is so so so so stupid lmfao #vld #voltron #coran #coran coran the gorgeous man #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #pidge #pidge holt #allura #princess allura #hunk #hunk garrett #shiro #takashi shirogane #klance #established klance #team as family #secret klance #secret relationship #brown-eyed lance #innuendo #my writing #longpost #fic #tall keith #fluff and humour

[queeninthesouth-side]

not a request, I’m just fixating on Tywin Lannister <3 the timeline of this rather ignores canon, but as it is, Tywin is about 15 years older than !reader, Jaime and Cersei are about 8 years younger than !reader. Joanna died giving birth to the twins, so no Tyrion (sorry!), and there’s no Robert’s Rebellion, so no War of the Five Kings either. There’s allusion to a battle in the Capitol when Jaime and Cersei are toddlers, and i pretended this was to overthrow aerys in my head, though I gave zero details about it. Anyway, enjoy!

Edit: it’s nearly 6k words whoops

A Fool’s Errand

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

Loving Tywin Lannister was a fool’s errand, or so everyone said. But you, the sweet young daughter of the Warrior Lord Dumain, had never shied from a challenge yet. Not in our blood, your father would say. Warriors fight for what is right, and for what they want, my girl. And you wanted the Old Lion himself.

It had begun quite accidentally, and not even because of Lord Lannister, but his wife. She had hosted a tourney you’d gone to as a girl, and you thought her the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen (the portrait of your long dead mother non-withstanding). She had glided around the Rock, where the tourney was held, and her golden hair and dress had caught the eye of everyone, naturally.

The first day you’d followed her around, a girl of no more than eight having an easy time staying hidden in order to sate your curiosity. On the third day, Lady Joanna had spoken.

“Come out from there, my little shadow,” she hummed from her bench in the gardens. Shyly, you stepped out from behind an enormous pot and looked at your feet. Your father told you not to get in the way of anyone and to listen to your septa (who you’d managed to slip away from every day since your arrival). Your worry must’ve been evident, for she reached out a graceful hand and beckoned you closer. She must’ve tired easily from her round belly, which was too large to hold just one babe, you’d overheard your septa mention.

“You must be Lord Renhaal’s little girl,” her sweet voice said, pulling you from your childish musing.

“Yes, my lady,” you replied softly. She smiled, and you understood how people loved her instantly. You felt you’d do anything to keep her smiling at you.

“And what wonderful manners, forgetting all the spying, of course.” Though her words were chastisement, her face belied no displeasure.

“I wasn’t spying, my lady,” you defended, desperate to clear up the misunderstanding. “Father said, before we came here, that Lord Lannister was a serious man, and not to get in his way out of everyone here. And you’re so nice! I was only curious about what sort of lady would make a serious man happy… my lady.”

Drawing you closer so you were sat next to her on the bench, Lady Joanna began to impart knowledge you would never forget.

“My mother used to tell me that even the most stoic of men need a lady to love them. Because, little shadow, good women make good men better, and that makes a good man’s wife the best sort of woman. And I have always wanted to be the best I can.”

You nodded, understanding that love was important to men and women both, if what Lady Joanna was saying was true. Loving a man like Tywin Lannister was made to seem easy with this knowledge. And perhaps, that is where you’d gotten the lesson wrong.

“You will love a serious man one day, little lady.” The knowing glimmer in green eyes was lost on you.

“My little warrior,” your father started. Stood at the docks, twenty and one summers old, an accomplished archer and peerless sailor, you will always be your father’s little girl. “Do not be rash out there. I know you are excited and adventure is in our bones, but you surely cannot fault a father for worrying over his daughter.”

Smiling and stepping closer to him, his large body older but no less impressive, you reassure him that you were raised by the most battle-experienced man in the realm, and the most successful to boot. You would be fine, you told him, and he trusted your words enough to let you board your ship, one he’d had made just for you for your nameday two years earlier.

The Shadow Maiden was a fine ship made of Essosi ashwood, a dark, grey-stained wood with sails green as your family’s house colours, and a hooded maiden figurehead dark as the rest of the ship with golden accents in the dagger and map held in her hands. It was small, which meant fast, but solid from the heavier wood that comprised the ship. For where you were going, you’d be thankful for these qualities.

“There is no need to worry, father. I do not mean to break our streak of victories, and so I will not. I will return with what I seek, I assure you.”

“And you still won’t tell me what it is you endeavour to find?” You shake your head, eyes turning down lest he read your thoughts. “It hasn’t got anything to do with Lord Lannister, does it? I cannot force him to accept a marriage contract, even for all the treasure in the world, and neither can you, my dear.”

It was a sore topic of conversation, the two rejected marriage proposals that had been sent at your behest to Lord Lannister, one by raven and one by you in person. His wife had been gone for nearly a decade and a half, and somehow, in your limited interactions with the Old Lion, the late Lady Joanna’s words made more and more sense. You could see plain as day his desire to have his wife back, and though you ached to be able to give him this, the next best thing was you, yourself. A woman who understood and was understood by his late wife.

Shaking your thoughts away, you accept your father’s kiss upon your cheek and his tight embrace before embarking your ship, beginning the month long trip to Essos.

“My Lady,” you heard behind you. Turning to see Lord Kevan Lannister, you dipped into a perfect curtsy, and greeted him demurely. At twenty summers old, you were considered the fairest and most eligible of Westerosi nobility. Everyone could see this but Lord Lannister, whom you had come to convince a betrothal to. Lord Kevan was a gentleman, and a doting father and husband to his young son and pregnant wife.

“My Lord. What may I do for you?”

He frowned, the furrowing of brows a far cry from his usually pleasant expression.

“My Lady, I fear you will not be received well in your request. I only wish to impart some insight into my Lord brother, whom I know well, of course. He is not a kindly man, and nothing and no one could sway him once he’s made a decision. I only say this to warn you, but knowing your father, you are likely as determined as he in all things.”

Heart dropping but smile staying firm, you considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I am determined, yes, but mostly, your brother is the only man, save my father, who will do what needs to be done to carry on a legacy. Your brother has only one son, and I hear he is rather keen on the Knight’s Guild… And I confess, I do not wish him to be—“ lonely, was the word you would have used about anyone else, but to imply that would certainly offend, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. “—well, someone told me that even the most stoic of men need a lady, and I’m rather set on him. If he rejects me, I will graciously excuse myself and not bother him again. But I must try, or I’ll never forgive myself.”

Your skirts whispered as you slowly paced in the parlour you’d settled in. The gold was a bit much, you thought privately, but the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea was worth the ostentatiousness.

Lord Kevan looked at you for a long moment, as though he’d heard the words before himself, before nodding and offering his arm to escort you to Lord Lannister’s solar.

It had gone worse than you’d imagined, and you’d imagined the worst case scenario. The truth was, Tywin Lannister was not just serious. He was borderline cruel, sly as a fox and intimidating as his house’s sigil. He’d all but snarled at you when you finished your proposal.

“You wasted my time for that? I have already rejected your offer—twice now. I have better things to be doing,” he said, standing above you where you sat opposite him. “There is nothing marriageable to me about a slip of a woman who fancies herself a lady and an adventurer, a mere girl inexperienced in life and cavorting as though she is touched by the Maiden herself. Hear me now, girl,” he growled, green eyes spitting like wildfire, “even if you marched in here with Brightroar in your arms, I would not marry you.”

And of course, the sweet image of him even reluctantly agreeing and you supporting his lordship over his subjects for the rest of your days faded away like a dying sun. Face placid, hands steady and voice clear, you simply said, “that sounds like a challenge.” He didn’t have time to berate you for your insolence, for you were already out the door and making your way to your wheelhouse, insisting on leaving that instant.

The people of the Rock would no doubt think you a cowardess who tucked tail and ran in the face of the Lion’s roar. But they did not know you, did not know the sparkle in your eye was not tears, but determination.

Docking in Essos was made simpler by the permits your father had arranged for you, even if the dock master insisted you pay extra. Your men, men you’d known since they were capable of getting seasick still, had made promises to ensure your safety, but even twelve broad sailors were not enough to sway a man’s greed. It mattered little in the end, you would restock water and food as much as possible before circumnavigating the coast of Essos. Another sennight of sailing the coast, then a moon navigating open waters and finally, you’d made it to the ruins of Valyria.

The once great castle by the cliffside had mostly fallen into the sea, and the jagged protrusions of stone were less than ideal for a galleon, but your little ship was nimbler and sleeker than any hulking vessels that thought to shortcut through these waters.

“My Lady, we’re nearing the Ruins. Shall we anchor and rest through the night?” You agreed that was best, and though the anticipation thrummed through you all night, you were rested enough by dawn to begin what you’d spent over two months sailing for.

For two days you’d steered your ship through previously untraversable waters, before coming across what seemed yet another shipwreck. At first, it looked like every other one you’d passed: broken, rotted and empty. You’d nearly sailed right by it when you caught sight of a lioness figurehead.

In the history book that had found its way across Westeros to you (anonymously, though you suspected Lord Kevan would be the only one to have possession of such a tome) it said King Tommen of the Rock, First of His Name, had sailed the Vibrant Lionness named for his wife who had hair red as the setting sun. And here it was, you thought, anchoring and row-boating to the half-submerged wreckage. By the light of the midday sun, and your own willingness to get dirty (thank goodness you were among good men who wouldn’t think twice of you wearing breeches for the duration of the journey) you had begun searching for your boon.

And in what would’ve been the captain’s quarters, next to a curled up skeleton in rags, was a scabbard holding a sword. You held your breath, stepping cautiously to avoid the most rotten planks of wood on the uneven floor, before grabbing the sheath, and revealing Brightroar. The smile you wore as you rowed back to the Shadow Maiden was nothing short of radiant. Welcomed with a great cheer, you promised your men that weather and gods willing, you’d be home in six short weeks.

It was closer to being seven weeks, but finally being docked at the port by your father’s Keep, you were able to breathe. You’d done it. You’d retrieved what all of Westeros knew Tywin Lannister desired most. And though your heart panged, the desire to be his wife hardly diminishing even after being eviscerated by him, your pride won out. If anything, Lord Lannister would owe you a debt, even if you’d never collect on it.

“My girl!” your father roared as you disembarked the ship, arms wrapping around you and swinging you in a wide arc. It was nearing your nameday again, and he worried you wouldn’t be home in time to celebrate. “And dare I ask if you found what you were looking for?”

You smiled beatifically, and it was answer enough for you lord father. He insisted you stay for your nameday, which was a week after your return, and would go for a week at least. Being his only daughter, and one of only two surviving children of his, there would never be a year he didn’t revel in having you with him still.

During this fortnight, you’d learned that Jaime Lannister had in fact been selected by the Knight’s Guild as the youngest member in history, and would therefore not inherit his family’s seat. Jaime had been a sweet boy, and you’d doted on him on the many occasions you’d seen him in his childhood. Cersei, while a little cold at first, had followed her brother’s adoration of you after a time. You were happy to know Jaime was doing what he loved most, even if you felt a twinge of guilt at how it proved you right to the Old Lion after all.

Having made the arrangements with Lord Kevan (Lord Lannister would not even respond to any ravens from you, he’d mentioned in a letter once) to visit the Rock under the guise of the twins’ name day celebration, you set off once again to the far Westerlands.

Your skin had gotten some shades darker from the expedition to Valyria, and your hair had lightened at the ends slightly. You’d grown more lean, but stronger, your muscles toned as opposed to bulky, like your older brother’s. In short, you were more formidable in appearance than the last time you’d been to the Rock. Your dress, the same deep green as your family’s colour, flattered your waist and hips, the neckline revealing only the top of your collarbones and a small sliver of your shoulder with long, wide sleeves that fluttered around you as you walked up the steps and into the maw of the lion.

Most of Westeros had heard of your expedition and many at the Rock who’d travelled far and wide were certain you’d present Jaime and Cersei with a priceless gift. It was priceless, you thought, but not quite for the twins. For Jaime, you’d actually gotten a fine stallion, one bred by your father and brother personally some years ago, and for Cersei, a necklace of diamonds cut to appear as shards of sparking glass inlaid in Valyrian steel. You knew Cersei was jealous over the Valyrian steel dagger her brother had gotten some namedays ago, and thought this may be enough to settle that dissatisfaction she still carried.

Three days of celebration gave way to the dawn of the twins’ actual nameday, which would be the day you presented Jaime and Cersei their gifts, and a final gift for the House of Lannister as a whole.

A fine spread was laid out for everyone to break their fast, and per tradition (which began when the twins were much younger and far too impatient to wait until dinner to open gifts) presents were prepared to be opened during the feast. The gardens where the meal was held were expansive and bittersweet to sit in. They reminded you of the Golden Lady, who despite being noble of birth, had tended her own garden herself. Lord Lannister now paid a slew of gardeners to preserve it exactly as it had been left by its keeper.

“We saved yours for last,” Jaime whispered beside you with a mischievous grin. You had not sat far from the Lannister family, mostly due to the Lord’s children’s fondness of you, to his chagrin. He hadn’t looked at you once, pointedly ignoring your entire side of the table, even with the guests he didn’t despise surrounding you on either side.

“Yours are always the best ones,” Cersei added with a secret grin. You laughed at that, and called your men to escort the war horse for Jaime into the gardens. A hush fell over the table as the great Arabian horse, golden of coat, trotted to you at your whistle. He was enormous, as horses bred by your family were known to be, but this horse looked large next to large horses.

“Every great knight needs a steed attuned to him, one that will fight as much for him as with him. He will never listen to another, never let himself be mounted by another. Only you, my lord,” you explain to Jaime as he marvels at the hulking beast.

“I’m honoured, my lady, to receive such a prestigious gift… I shall never fear battle with a mount like this.”

“And with your lion’s heart,” you added fondly, watching as Jaime, as near to manhood a boy can be, gently stroked the horse’s nose before letting it be led to the stables. You felt a heavy gaze on you then, but refused to look at the exact pair of green eyes that had settled on you. “And for the young lionness,” you announce, revealing the fine necklace, “jewellery and dresses are a lady’s armour, and there is no finer necklace than this in all the lands. Made of Valyrian steel, with shards of diamond, it will cut through anything should you use it right. It may save your life one day, my lady, though I shall pray that you never find need of it for that.”

Cersei’s eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated for nary a second before lifting her elaborate braid from her neck and turning for you to fasten it. With her dress of pale gold (so like the image of her mother now that she’d grown) the necklace looked like it was made with the dress in mind.

“Your gifts, as usual, delight my children,” a low voice intoned from the head of the table, the gardens, still silent enough for it, seemed to echo his voice. And once again, you are reminded of what a powerful man he is. Though you are not the lady he desires help from, you delight in his attention nonetheless.

“I have one more gift, if it pleases you, my Lord? I travelled very far to acquire this treasure, and there is no one in Westeros but you who could accept it.” A murmur slithered through the guests, and many eyes were now glued to you in interest, surely anticipating the revelation for the reason of your expedition on the sea they’d all heard about.

“You are most generous,” he said tonelessly, pure disinterest coating each syllable. You nodded gracefully, and with the lessons in ladyhood that had been drilled into you, you curtsied and glided to Ser Romnack, who held a slender, rectangular box engraved with lions with rubies for eyes and golden fangs. Walking back to where Lord Lannister sat upon a dais at a grand table perpendicular to the others, you presented him with the fine box, not looking at him but at the table.

He took it, and with little fanfare, flicked the latch of the box and swung the lid open. His brow furrowed, you noticed from your periphery, but it melted away as fast as it manifested. Instead, Lord Tywin Lannister wore a look of true surprise, his lips parted and eyes fixed on the contents of the box. He stands, looking deeply at you, though you do not look at him. From the box, he revealed Brightroar, the ancestral sword lost to the Lannisters for nearly three centuries. And now it was home, thanks to you.

The crowd’s reaction was far more animated, and almost at once people were clapping and cheering for you, to your embarrassment. You demurely wave away the cheers, accept the grateful embrace from Cersei and the gentlemanly way Jaime held your hand for a few long moments, then returned to your seat to finish the rest of the feast. Shortly after, festivities began again, and it was easy to slip away from the crowd, even if everyone seemed to be seeking you out.

You’d been to the Rock many times before, so finding your way to the parlour you favoured in your visits was possibly as easy with your eyes closed. The parlour with the wide window that overlooked the sea, that was rarely frequented, or so Lord Kevan had mentioned. You settled into a plush settee and began to mentally plan out your return home.

You had promised your father that once you returned from the Rock, you’d marry a lord or heir of his choosing, since he had given you two attempts of your own and you’d used them both on the Lord of the Keep you were in. Perhaps you could admit to a preference for blonds, though your father hardly seemed the type to care about a superficial detail like that.

“I have not known you to shy away from a celebration, especially if my children are involved.”

You hummed, not moving to stand or curtsy, fatigued and uncaring of the consequences therein. “Ah, but you do not know me, my Lord.”

“No,” he agreed, stood by the other side of the settee. “I know little about you, especially if I am to believe you retrieved Brightroar yourself.”

“I had twelve men with me. Men who I trust and who trust me with their lives. It rather makes impossible expeditions that much easier. Trusting them, that is.”

He was silent for a moment, then he spoke once more.

“I told you I would not marry you, even if you had Brightroar in your arms.”

Turning to glare at him, you stood. “I did not travel for four months across seas to find a way to marry you, Lord Lannister,” you said firmly. “Jaime will be the finest knight Westeros has seen in centuries, and he deserves to fight with his family’s sword, as my brother does, as my father and all his fathers before him did.”

He glared fiercely at you, wildfire eyes attempting to burn you with their scorching anger. You returned the glare with an ice cold one of your own, one you’d steadily become known for.

“I suppose you expect this Lannister to pay you the debt you are owed,” he said as though bored. Your glare broke, expression turning neutral.

“I want nothing from you that you are unwilling to give, Lord Lannister. And I’m a woman with enough dignity to bestow my companionship with a man who might appreciate it someday. So, no. I do not expect any repayment. Good day, my Lord.”

The door had barely opened before a large hand flew passed your shoulder to slam it shut.

“Do not walk away from me, girl.”

“I am no girl. I have sailed across the Sunset Sea, traversed the Ruins of Valyria and lived to tell the tale. And beside that, I have honoured the name Lannister by bringing back your greatest desire. I am no more a girl than you are a coward.”

And with that, you’d wrenched the door open and walked speedily to your apartments where your handmaidens awaited you. You told them to arrange for an early departure, and they began packing immediately, sensing your irritation.

It was early evening, and nearing the time of your departure when Jaime and Cersei made to visit. Cersei was, in private, far more emotional than she ever let on in public, and her anger and sadness at you leaving was plain to you. You’d seen her as a little sister when you were younger, but now you wondered if she’d viewed as more of an aunt, or a godsmother. Either way, your long embrace and promises to write were just enough to pacify her. Jaime was more stoic, you’d noticed, trying to be strong for his sister but also leaning into his impression of how a good man acts. It had made you smile, and a little teary, to see them so grown. You’d known them since they were babes, of course, and had even visited frequently for long intervals when they were barely walking while your father fought and won battles in the Capitol with Lord Lannister.

“Don’t fret, my little lions,” you said, holding Cersei again and cupping Jaime’s cheek in your spare palm. “There is nowhere in the world I would not travel to see you both. Even if my future husband forbids me.”

“Husband!?” Cersei shrieked, and strange panic in her eyes as she shared a look with Jaime.

“But I thought you were going to speak to father about a betrothal?” she asked.

“I have made two proposals to your Lord Father, and both were rejected, my darling.”

“But you brought Brightroar home,” Cersei argued. “He’ll marry you now if you ask him! He owes you a debt, and Lannisters—“

“—always pay their debts, I know, Cersei,” you sigh tiredly. “I do not want any man to marry me because he feels indebted to me.”

“But you’ve been dedicated to father forever!”

None of you noticed another visitor silently enter, too closely embraced and focussed on each other to pay attention.

“I will find another man to dedicate myself to, and I will bear him sons as is my duty. I could no sooner force your father’s hand than I could bring harm to either of you. That is what love makes of us at times…” you trailed off.

“What’s that, my Lady?” Jaime asked.

“Fools, darling. And I have been a fool twice already for him. I will not disgrace myself or my family by asking a third time.”

“No,” the Old Lion said from behind you all, causing the three of you to turn and face him. “You will not. Children, leave us.”

Cersei’s grip around your waist tightened in impertinence. “Are you going to upset her? She was upset when we got here,” she says boldly to her father. He glared at his daughter, and a battle of wills that had no clear winner began and ended in a few seconds.

“Off you go, little lions. I will be fine,” you said, shooing them gently, even if Cersei looked unconvinced. With a final glare to her father and a tug from her twin, the young lions were gone, the door closed, you and Lord Lannister alone once again.

“What did they speak of,” he asked bluntly.

“Which part, my Lord,” you ask as you gathered a ring from your bedside that you’d taken off that morning and forgotten to put back on. An emerald ring, once belonging to your mother, that rarely left your hand.

“You are not scheduled to depart for another three days hence.”

“A change in circumstances, I’m afraid,” you answer.

“And what changes are those,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“It is past time I marry, my Lord. My Lord Father has allowed me my adventures, but I grow wearier every day of the spinster I am sure people think me to become.”

“The opinions of sheep matter not to lions,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“I am not a lion, my Lord.”

“Not yet,” he agreed.

You turned then, and looked at him. He had Brightroar fastened to his hip, and in the finery he wore for the celebrations, he made a striking image. Shoulders broad and chest puffed with the confidence of a Lord reunited with his family’s blade, you’d thought he never looked more handsome, though you knew better than to let the opinion show.

“I won’t marry one of your brothers, or a son of a vassal house. I am a lady of highest birth, and will find myself a husband fitting my status, my Lord,” you explained evenly, looking away to gather your shawl, the last of your personal effects in the room. You made to the door at that, and once again, Lord Lannister prevented you from leaving.

“That is twice you have walked away from me. The debt is repaid,” he purred beside your left ear. Goosebumps raised at his vicinity, and many questions at his comment. “Twice I have rejected you, and twice you have walked away from me. I have killed men for less. That debt is repaid.”

Thinking the interaction some sort of taunt, which he was not above in the slightest, you disregarded him and attempted to open the door with force. This time, however, he did lot let you walk out. He simply slammed the door again.

“Thrice, my Lady,” he said lowly. “And now you owe me a debt.”

A warrior’s daughter you may be, but even your heart could not protect itself from the cracks beginning to show. How foolish could you have been? It was a fool’s errand to love a man like Tywin Lannister, and gods, had you been a fool. You should never have followed the Lady Joanna around her own home. You’d known better even then, and you should not have sat with her, or listened to her, or decided to be a great lady like her. Why couldn’t you have just sat quietly at that tourney with your septa as you’d been told to? And you had risked your life and the lives of men you’d known all your life to give this man the only treasure he could not buy. All you’ve done, and only to owe him, as he said.

“Remove your hand, my Lord. I am leaving.”

“No. You owe me a debt and I intend to collect.”

“Then I suggest, my Lord,” you said cuttingly, “you allow me to return to my father so he can settle this perceived debt. Send him a raven with the sum of gold you don’t truly need, and let us be done here.”

He did not budge, and you felt the horrifying sting of frustrated tears burn your eyes.

“I’m afraid there is only one thing that could settle this debt. Your hand.”

Rage filled you.

“Then have the left,” you muttered angrily, turning and holding out your wrist. “Give your blade the blood of the hand that brought it back to you. That’s poetic, even for you.”

You expected to see that dark resolve you saw in your father’s eyes when he would sentence a man to death. That grim satisfaction and humanitarian dread combined. But his eyes were not angry, no wildfire spitting and flaring in his gaze. In fact, they rather resembled the rolling hills of lush green pastures and forests that surround the Rock. And for once, you noticed, his mouth was not held in a grim line, nor was his face set in stony dissatisfaction as it so often was. He looked softer, face relaxed and… almost open.

“I do not mean it quite so literally,” he said, bringing the hand by his side to gently hold the wrist you’d bared to him. It was the first time he had touched you, you realised.

And then his words untangled in your head and made a little more sense. Only, he could not mean to ask for your hand after rejecting it twice, could he?

“My late wife,” he began solemnly, “would say that a woman’s dedication is rarer than dragon eggs and infinitely more precious as well. She rejected my proposal to her twice, and on the third she agreed, because, she said, any man willing to make a fool of himself for her hand was a man she could be dedicated to.”

“I… I do not understand, my Lord,” you uttered quietly.

“I expected you to ask a third time, my lady. Expected you would return in a matter of weeks and insist on a betrothal. And I would have accepted then. But you did not,” he explained, voice low, meant to soothe rather than intimidate. “I was furious when I heard you’d left Westeros. I thought it was to sail east to find a husband, and had a mind to send a fleet after you. My brother insisted you’d return, and I trusted him. He was right.”

Mind working, you could only dumbly stare at him as he told a tale of how his twins had begged him to propose a betrothal to you when you’d been eight and ten, and how he knew you were not ready to be a wife, the call for adventure itching under your skin needed to be sated first. How he had rejected the first proposal easily, but the second one was much more difficult.

“I expected you to doggedly pursue your goals to be wedded to me as your father might’ve pursued his in battle, but for as similar as you are to him, you are not the same at all. And then I thought you would surely perish on your expedition, especially as the moons passed without word of your return. And now, here you are at my children’s nameday celebrations, the finest mount in the realm for my son, the finest jewels in the realm for my daughter, and my own greatest desire, second to one.”

You blinked, looking at him suspiciously, as though his brothers and guests might pour out of some alcove and laugh at your folly to half believe him.

“And the debt I owe you, my Lord? How is that to be paid.”

“I answered this already, my Lady. Your hand.”

“My hand.” You repeated.

“Since it is unlikely you will propose a betrothal with me a third time, I must insist upon it myself. It is the only way I shall consider the slight of walking away from the Lion of Casterly Rock repaid.”

He looked down at you, watching quietly for a turn in your expression, anything really. You were still as marble, and your hand felt as cold as it too. Then he saw it, that faint glimmer of hope that he’d seen in your gaze on at least two occasions prior. It was there again, barely, and tentatively. But it was there, and it was all he needed.

He swooped down to press a gentle kiss upon your soft mouth, holding himself back from kissing you as he wanted to. It took a short second for your brain to shut off and for your body to move as it wanted. You leaned forward into the kiss, bring your hand to his chest, the other still held in his large hand, thumb gently stroking over the pulse that sped up under the delicate skin.

“You have not answered me, my Lady,” Lord Lannister said, pulling his mouth from yours to trail kisses across your cheek to your ear, nibbling gently on your lobe and halting any clever answer you might’ve been able to give.

“What?” you asked dazedly. Lord Lannister’s lips quirked at your ineloquent reply.

“Will you give me your hand?”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, and now his lips were not touching you, you could think a little clearer.

“Only if you will give me yours.”

Predatory though it was, the Old Lion grinned at his victory.

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #kevan lannister #brightroar #reader insert #not a request #let me know if you want a sequel #i can make it spicy

[in-death-we-fall]

The Ultimate Rockstar Test

This week: Joey Jordison, Slipknot/Murderdolls

Bands like to think they’re badass, but who’s truly the most rock’n’roll of them all? We test them and find out who’s top of the class for chaos!

Words: John Longbottom

(drive link)(Wednesday's Rockstar Test)

Have you ever broken an instrument in anger? “Absolutely! One time was when I was playing with the Murderdolls in Glasgow. We got to the end of Let’s Go To War and my guitar was short-circuiting, so I took it off and I smashed it really hard on the floor and then picked it up and threw it across the stage. The neck snapped off as soon as it landed and I immediately just thought, ‘Fuck, I really wish I hadn’t done that!’ My guitar tech ended up fixing the fucker for me, so it all ended up okay!” Bet it looked cool at the time, though. You owe your tech some crisps. Pass ✔

What’s been your most diva-ish rider request? “Slipknot try to keep our tour riders to a minimum. Most bands ask for complete shit and then they don’t even use half of it. Here’s what a band wants; they want booze, tea, water and enough food to feed everybody. That’s basically it. Slipknot always asks for loads of disinfectant for our overalls. All the sweat combines when you’re playing and sometimes if we have two shows back to back we can’t get them cleaned properly, so we have to wear our sweaty suits from the night before. It’s fucking gross climbing back into those things sometimes, I can tell you! Oh yeah, and we need wet wipes to get all of the greasepaint off our faces.” We were expecting some goat heads on the rider. But wet wipes? Fail ✘

Have you ever had a run-in with the law? “Let’s just say I shouldn’t have been driving. I went to jail for the night. I do regret it but everybody has to go to jail at least once in their lives! Honestly, I can’t remember much about it, I was too fucked-up to remember anything! That made the whole situation a lot easier, I guess.” If you shouldn’t have been driving, the police were right. Fail ✘

When was the last time you threw a punch? “A while ago. I used to be a bit of a fighter in the early Slipknot days; we all did! We’d get in big fights with other bands. In 1995-’97 we were basically in an all-out war with everybody – that whole time in our lives we were all fucking crazy. We’d play shows and drink and get in fights – we didn’t take shit from anybody and we still don’t. Looking back on that whole era, I just can’t believe some of the fights we used to get into!” Now that’s more like what we wanted. Pass ✔

Have you ever trashed a hotel room? “No! I don’t do that kind of shit; it’s childish. I think most people just do it to say that they’ve done it. I don’t need to do that – I’m respectful. It’s peoples’ jobs to take care of that stuff, to clean up those hotel rooms. I’m not juvenile enough to just fuck their day up just for the sake of it!” Ooh, I’m in the world’s scariest band and I’m really considerate. Fail ✘

What’s been the most extravagant thing you’ve ever bought? “That would definitely have to be my house. It’s in Des Moines, Iowa, and it’s a very nice house – not a completely crazy mansion like some MTV Cribs shit, but a very sweet house. It looks very proper from the outside, but inside it’s very gothic-looking. You walk in the front door and you’re in a fucking different dimension. You could be out in the blazing sunlight, but step into my house and close the door behind you and you’re in the chamber. You won’t even know what time it is in there – I don’t have any clocks in my house! There are cobwebs painted on the walls – it’s very, very cool.” We think that’s, ahem, time for another pass, then ✔

Joey scored 75% Something is very, very wrong here. We once saw the Slipknot drummer do a toilet on the street outside his bus to prove how rock’n’roll he was. That version of Joey Jordison must have been taking the day off, because this is a pretty disappointing score. He’s better – or at least, more unhinged – than this.

2013 Leaderboard ↑Perry Farrell, Jane’s Addiction - 98% Cronos, Venom - 92% Nikki Sixx, Mötley Crüe - 91% ↓Devin Townsend - 12%

#joey jordison #slipknot #murderdolls #interview #at least kerrang doesn't condone drunk driving

[anonymooseforever007]

His Aunt's Stories

(Platonic Arthur Shelby x Female reader)

Summary: In which we learn about the irony in a friendship Arthur made during the war, and why he came back with so many unheard of stories. But are they really that unheard of....

A/N:  Hi, y’all! Warnings for Fluff and Angst! So this is literally just a repost of the old version except it's edited and I had to repost it because tumblr was being evil and turned off the replies with out telling me and it won't let me turn it back on. But yeah! I think this is still one of my favourite things I've written just because of the idea behind it! I hope y'all enjoy it! ❤️

WC-1.8k Main Masterlist

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-Arthur Shelby met a nurse during the war and they became great friends.

-And only friends because she was married, but even still, somehow Arthur never learned her last name, only the nickname given to her by the people around camp. 

-They all called her Angel, because that’s what everyone who she fixed up saw her as, an Angel sent to come to make them better. And so they were never more than great friends but they still grew close enough to the point of writing to their families about each other.

-She would write to her husband about the great Arthur Shelby, who could draw well and made her laugh, reminding her of her brother in law. She also wrote to her husband about how Arthur would always make sure she was safe from the more “needy” patients. The ones who didn’t care about the ring she wore around her neck to keep it from getting dirty. One “friendly reminder” from him and she was treated with respect from any man who dared cross that boundary. Angel always told Arthur that her husband was grateful for that bit, for keeping his beloved safe while he was fighting somewhere else.

-And in turn, Arthur would write about her to his family, about the nurse who reminded him of Ada and had a spark in her eye that he hadn’t seen since his mother was alive. The nurse with the husband who Arthur never met (as he himself was fighting far away) but who Arthur admired for catching such a woman. A man who he never caught the last name of, and was only referred to by the nurse as, “My husband” or “My Ally”

-Arthur would also write to his family of the stories that the Angel nurse would tell him. Stories of her own making, fantastical tales that she apparently told her own nephew before the war.

-Now why would a grown woman be telling a grown man children’s stories? Because a story was a story of course, and during a time when the world surrounding seemed to be full of violence and chaos, it was nice to have something a little childish to hold on to.

-And so for months this went on, nearly a full year with the two friends growing closer and the nurse often telling Arthur new stories and helping him write them out, so his Aunt Polly could read then to his little brother.

-In fact, His littlest brother (in age not height) still had these stories today, as Finn kept all the letters his brothers sent to him during the war, even if he couldn’t read them. Because during the war, for a young boy who hadn’t seen his brothers in years, holding the letters were the closest he could get to hugging the men themselves when he was sacred during the time they were gone. And many years later, for one of Finn’s brothers, holding the the letters would be the closest he could get to being with his brother ever again. But that’s a story for another time.

-So time went by as Arthur and the nurse became great friends who enjoyed spending time together and comforting each other after a hard day (or one that was harder than most during a war as they were all hard now). And it was likely with the way things were going, the two would be friends even after the war was over, as the bond they built was deeper than the trenches they often took cover in.…

-At least until the day the smoke drowned the moon in the crest of the night.

-It was an enemy attack which none had anticipated, and fewer were ready for. Bombs had been set off by the camp, leading the enemy to enter the boundaries in the cover of grey air and choking smoke.

-But many thought Lady Luck must have been generous that night, as even though they were unprepared and outnumbered, Arthur’s Unit managed to fend off the attack with little injury to their own men. They called it a miracle…

-It wasn’t until later when he saw the hands of his beloved nurse friend (sister), covered in blood. Which wouldn’t have been unusual, except for the fact the blood didn’t belong to another person this time. She wasn’t lying on the ground  because she was trying to stitch up a wounded man…

-The blood was her own.

-And while Arthur never truly learned what happened that night, with so sudden the chaos of the attack, he always knew it was never directly his fault.

-But there would always be a little piece of him in the back of his mind, telling him it was his fault it ended this way, it was his fault no one was there to protect her.

-Even if she quietly told him otherwise, as he kneeled down beside her, his blood now mixing with her own,as he desperately tried to slow the flow coming out a woman he considered another sister. Even if she was weakly smiling at him trying to make a joke about what her husband would do to Arthur if he saw where the man’s hands laid now. Even if the gentle way she was barely squeezing his hand, as she told him he’d have to finish the newest story for his brother on his own, told otherwise.

-And sometimes even years later after the war ended, Arthur would close his eyes at night and be greeted by the same spark he watched fade so long ago.

-Because nurses were sent to the front to patch those who were dying. But when the nurse is the one that’s dying, who does the patching…

-After the war Arthur was a different man, far different than who he was before, but that didn’t stop some things from being the same. He still smoked and drank and slept around. And he still did “business” as Shelby family grew its reach, often finding his hands covered in blood and who knows what else. He still loved his family to the ends of the earth, and because of his ability to do fun voices he was still always the first his many nieces and nephews would come to for a story.

-And maybe now after the war he had some new stories, ones nobody had heard before because they were original stories, that came from an author long since lost.

-Stories that the kids loved to hear over and over as the imaginative tales brought dreams to their head that would make anyone smile. And so it was because of the joys the tales brought to the children that Arthur kept telling them too.

-Because he knew how happy their creator would be to know her stories still helped children smile. That was her favorite part of making her stories. Using them to makes others forget their troubles and smile… even if Arthur often wanted to cry after telling them these days.

-Though that part, the children never knew… for Arthur telling the stories was a way for his head to retell her story. The one of the friendship the between them. The story of a woman who many thought deserved the whole world. Who deserved the life she would have had…. if it weren’t cut short. The story of a woman who was one of the kindest Arthur had ever met and even now he considered one of his closest friends.

-And as close as they were Arthur rarely liked being reminded of her story together, because he never liked the ending… not one bit.

.

Bonus (maybe): (I.e. me trying to to back the original idea)

      So for years Arthur would tell the stories that the Angel told him, sometimes with Finn chiming in to help too. Finn knew the stories by heart, having made Polly read them over and over in the time it took between his brothers letters for a new one to arrive while they were far away. Finn didn’t know how the nurse’s story ended either, and so to him they really were just stories his brother Arthur learned during the war.

     And a few times, when Arthur was gone Finn would be the one to tell the tales to his brothers’ children, even dragging Bonnie and Isaiah into to help him act the words out to better distract the kids from the business occurring in the next room.

     One time when the Shelby’s were on more friendly terms with the Solomons, the boys even tried to drag Goliath into the stories while the older men talked in the other room.

     They had noticed the giant standing close by, as he heard them speak with a frown on his face, one that didn’t quite show anger, but rather confusion as if he was remembering something he had heard long ago. He didn’t join of course, but he still stood there, listening as Finn and the others sat by the children telling the old stories.

      He stood listening, even as he prayed his uncle didn’t in fact hear the stories, as Goliath didn’t know how he’d react. Goliath wasn’t sure where Finn learned the stories, but he knew how his uncle felt about them. Goliath knew how his uncle felt about her, even all these years later. He knew how his uncle felt about what happened to her, and even suspected it played into his feeling towards a certain eldest Shelby, but never brought it up. No,…bringing it up would reveal to many cards, too many weaknesses.

      But still, Goliath listened to the stories now told by Finn, praying his uncle wouldn’t hear them. Stories, Goliath himself actually knew already the ending of, even if he hadn’t heard a Shelby tell them before.

      He knew how these stories ended, even if he wasn’t sure how the one about the author herself ended. He had heard them when he was young, her stories, made just for him, as he sat on the lap of a woman he hadn’t seen since before the war. A woman who he never saw after the war. A woman whose story only one man truly knew the ending of.

     Because as far as anyone was knew, no one was there when she got hurt. No one was there for her in the midst of the fighting, on the night the smoke drowned out the moon….But one man was there only a few minutes after.

     One man was a few minutes too late…

     One man was there trying to stop the blood from flowing, with tears in his eyes as she made a joke about where he was putting his hands. One man was there, kneeling in a growing puddle of blood, his mixing with her own, as she gently squeezed his hand and told him it wasn’t his fault. One man was there as she weakly smiled up at him, encouraging him to finish the newest story for his brother by himself. She knew he could do it, he just had to believe he could do it too.

     One man was there…

     Only one. And it was not the one who wished he was there the most…

     Goliath knew how the stories themselves ended but he wasn’t exactly sure how the one about their author did. 

      In the end, only one man was there the night the breath left her chest and the blood left her heart. On the night when the Angel became an Angel, only one man was there, holding his friend close. Only one man was certain how her story ended. That was the night the spark finally faded in the eyes of Goliath’s late aunt.

.

.

.

.

A/N: Ok that’s it… :) I was thinking one night and decided that I really liked the idea of Arthur making friends with a nurse who loved stories and died during the war (and he couldn’t save her), not realizing (until possibly later) that the nurse was in fact Alfie’s late wife and that’s kinda why Alfie dislikes Arthur more than the others…but I didn’t know how to write the full story and here we are! 

#Arthur Shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders x reader #arthur shelby headcanon #arthur shelby imagine #alfie Solomons x reader #Arthur shelby #alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcannon

[transskywardsword]

so i love this post by nello-0 and i just HAD to make something inspired by it so have a lil bullet point ficlet

link, general, bearer of the hero's spirit, chosen by the gods, who totally had not been scrubbing latrines not even a week ago for lippin' off to a superior officer without even the rank of private to his name, had thought the Other Link was eight when the kid showed up, trailing behind the rest, a keaton mask on one hip and a too big sword on the other

(he'd see other masks, later, each cared for with adoration and feral protection, like they were real people and not chunks of wood, and one mask, reserved for the heat of battle, the power in it so old that the master sword would seem jealous at times)

The Other Link was not eight, it seemed. he took a great dislike to being called it, despite his chubby, tiny legs and chubby, tiny arms, and chubby button face. link told him such the first time they met, in the midst of a screaming match with the princess--

(his superior officer, superior officer, what was he doing?)

(this was a child, a child in a warzone, and regardless of how many promises of fealty he might swear, link was a hero to the people first and a Hero to the Princess second, and people included children too far in over their heads--)

"i will not serve behind some tiny, chubby eight year old!"

his hands move fast and proxi works just as fast to translate, though her twinkle toe voice does little to tame the snarl on his face, the fury in his fingers

"I'm not eight" Other Link spat

(his voice carried an accent that spoke of a nonnative hylian speaker, faded in a way that spoke of a childhood spent elsewhere and a life lived far from home, as if he wasn't just tall enough to only just see over the war table)

(where did such long, deep vowels come from? such bright, rolled 'r's?)

(it reminded link of a summer day, of time spent running barefoot through shrubbery and crawling up trees, of a child's dream)

"excuse me, kid" link signed, "I'll gladly watch a ten year old get run through instead!"

Other Link huffed, blowing curtain bangs off his face, and stormed out the war room, the most childish thing link had ever seen

"i will not" he tells his princess, "lead a child into battle."

he leads a child into battle.

Other Link was not ten. He drinks like an adult, but has a kid's taste in liquor, taking the moonshine when the flask is passed to him and pouring shot after shot into milk. it must taste terrible

it leaves a mustache on his tiny little face. a baby faced thirteen then. teenagers drank while hating the taste, and no one over the age of thirteen drank milk

Other Link was not thirteen. He fights like he's lived a thousand lives, like the blade is an old friend, the grip of his too-big sword as natural in his hand, and his eyes are ages old. no child fights like that, even at thirteen. no teen knew how to move so fast, how to have such control over gangly limbs, how to have such proper balance. hells, link was nineteen, and every inch he still somehow grew put him off his game for at least a week-- teens were nothing but growth, and the changes didn't phase Other Link at all

"okay." link finally signs, dropping beside Other Link during meals, snatching hardtack from his hand. it is stale and salty. they are running low on rations, and link has been slipping Other Link his own for days now. growing kids need food. stress stunts their growth

could that be it?

stress stunting growth?

the princess knows, knows something about this strange kid with his strange masks, a history, a place where he'd come from, the title he hides from them all.

"hero of--" she whispers behind closed doors, "hyrule's greatest hero, the hero across ages..."

link knows jack shit about heroes. he dropped out of school not long after learning to read and still counts his fingers for long-division

"okay. how old are you?"

Other Link snatches back his hardtack, scowling.

"I'm seventeen. eighteen soonish."

link laughs. Other Link doesn't.

"okay. how old are you really?"

Other Link still isn't laughing. He just stares, smirks, and goes back to his rations.

"keep guessin', city boy." he says. "go on. maybe you'll get a prize if you do."

years later, at the end of the war, the Hero of Time stands before him, just turned nineteen and still only just reaching link's elbow. link loves him so much it burns, and letting him go through that portal back to his somewhere-home is like cutting out a part of him.

"kid." he says instead with a nod of his head. Other Link grins.

"see ya around, city boy."

with time as fucked as it often proved to be, link was surprisingly sure he would

#my writing #hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors link #oot link #ocarina of time link #loz: hw #scarfy

[thebigsl33p]

We Were Angels Once, Don't You Remember?

A/NM: I love this musical and no one can stop me from titling my fics after it, or just general War and Peace quotes. (Natasha, Pierre and The Great Comet of 1812). (I also tattoeed myself with the comet yesterday and idk abt it I reckon it'll be gone in three weeks)

Bold : Aleksander's letters

Italics: The Reader's lettersb

My Dear wife,

I have no intention to bore you with my journey to The Fold, nor the details of the First or Second Army. In summary, the armies are well, as was the journey save for the major flaw that you were not by my side. I suppose, however, that it is good to be with and among our soldiers, to see your plans into action.

Despite my previous words, I will tell you of something I saw during the journey. On horseback and taking a different route from everybody else on the journey, as usual, I came across a field. It was too early in the season for the flowers to have bloomed, however I could see many green, unopened stems and buds, and stopped to think of you. I would very much like to take you there when summer comes, to witness a natural beauty secondary to yours.

I do sincerely believe it will be a sight you will favour, and we could make a nice break out of it - something different from our usual afternoon horseriding, and a savoured rest from The Little Palace. Do tell me what you think.

I beg of you to write me about the most trivial aspects of your day, just so I may have more of you with me while we are apart. Even though it is only a couple days we must spend away from each other I think of you endlessly. I must confess it is hard to work without thinking of you but if I had to choose any distraction, it would be you. In your absence, I see you in everything: in the maps the otkazat'sya cartographers, in the patches of greenery around the camp, in the ruins of the buildings we passed and the lights of the tents.

You haunt me, and yet you are not dead. I know you wait for me at home, and still I cannot help but feel grief over being apart from you.

I beg of you to write me swiftly, milaya,

All my love,

Aleksander.

-

To my love, Aleksander,

How you are so charming through pen and paper, I will never understand.

Moreover, I am well. Genya has been keeping me company between the Tsar and Tsarita, but she does not have your looks. On a serious note, I miss you terribly. A few days since reading your last letter has built a thousand years of longing inside me.

I find myself turning to speak to you in the library or in meetings which results in Genya's teasing when she sees my words catch in my throat. The bed feels unbelievably big and cold, and I'm reluctant to tell you that I have taken to falling asleep next to, or wearing, your old Keftas. Silly and childish, I know, but at night I can dream it is you.

There is not much else to tell. The Little Palace is... well, The Little Palace: teeming with gossip about who is betrothed to who, about us and so forth, Preparations have begun for the next upcoming ball, which I trust you will have returned for. I hope you, my husband, will not leave me to face those horrible people alone.

And you know how much I enjoy our private conversations in front of others. The little looks of distaste, slight taps of our fingers and slight turns of the head. They are very entertaining, even if the company is boresome.

I fantasise about your return too much. It doesn't matter how - whether day or night, whether I fall into your arms or wake up with you beside me - all that matters is that you are finally back with me, in our Little Palace. I long to sleep beside you, to hold you in the night and to wake up with the soft spring sun across us, soft sheets and your ever-inviting eyes.

I have spoken enough about myself. How are you, my love? How has The Fold been treating you? I send my deepest wishes that the work is not too hard... and there are not too many fights.

I wish for you to know that I wait for you, painfully. Though may I urge you to return soon, unless you wish to find Genya sharing your side of the bed...

My heart,

Y/N.

#aleksander X reader #aleksander morozova X reader #general kirigan X reader #kirigan X reader #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone X reader #the darkling X reader #letter styled fanfic #idk abt this tbh #thebigsl33p

[unabashedmoonlight]

If Nikolai didn't exist:

I love Nikolai but I think him being right there kinda took away some conflicts I would have loved in the story. He was such a convenient person for the throne.

It would have been interesting if with the civil war, the grisha rebelling against the darkling had the additional task of arranging their own coup. Instead of the Lantsovs vs Darkling in terms of who will get the throne, it would have been Alina (their most convenient option, even if it's actually Zoya or someone else ruling from the background, she would have to be the figurehead) vs the Darkling.

The grisha are fighting amongst each other and the king and apparat are pulling their own strings, calling their allies and what not to take both sides down while they are distracted and weakened, instigating the public, etc.

Nikolai was a good person, a good option for the throne as well as for the marriage of alliance. The Lantsov king was none of those. He also had disdain towards grisha and on hearing of the coup would definitely have preferred to turn them all into dust. So, even the winning side wouldn't be safe, no matter if they support him or not, he would not ally with them without trying to backstab them.

With Nikolai, Alina would have gotten the support of those who support the monarchy too, but without him, she would just have her cult (that too, the Apparat might try to mess with), and the relatively few people who see her as the lesser of all evils in the equation while still trusting her to be capable enough to not get them all killed and her side would have to make a lot more additional efforts for her to be accepted as queen and be seen as someone strong enough to not deliver them right on the pyre with her victory.

She would have to try to manipulate the Apparat, use her status as the Sun Summoner to manipulate the masses, try to get the king's help even knowing that he is doing this till she gets rid of the other side and then he will try and get rid of her. And she is new to these things so her allies would mostly be the ones telling her what to do while the Apparat, King and Darkling are trying to get her to do something else. It would be everybody manipulating each other while knowing each others' intentions and still trying to out-manipulate the other. The whole going from a puppet in the hands of several people who are all pulling her in different directions to becoming her own player would come out nicely.

And if the Fjerdans backstabbed the Darkling and were on secretly Lantsov's side because of course with the second army gone, he would easily be defeatable anyway. Would that make the Darkling think of the questions he did in Rule of Wolves? He most certainly would double down on blaming it on Alina, on how she should join him or she would kill them all instead of analysing why she is not joining him in the first place. Initially. But in face of defeat? He is willing to sacrifice as many individual grisha for his goals as there need to be but if it comes down to a threat on the existence of grisha as a whole? To everything he has built and to his chance to ever get the throne? Would he then compromise, however unwillingly? It could be a relearning the importance of diplomacy moment for him. He certainly did know of that before he snapped.

I don't think he would stop believing that he is always right, but if he has to go along with some demands of the other side because the other option is well..that - I think he will. Also, he isn't having to completely give up on the throne here. With Nikolai not a threat to his position, even if he doesn't immediately get the throne he would always have the hope that he would succeed in sitting alongside Alina one day, that she is still under his control even if he has to listen to some of her 'childish demands'.

And when he is not compromising for so long, his followers would inwardly question his priorities too, they would be worried about the future of their kind too.

Every character on either side would have a greater inner turmoil.

#nikolai lantsov #the darkling #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #zoya nazyalensky #grishaverse #rule of wolves #grishaverse meta #darklina #nikolina

[onigiri-dorkk]

Some Erwin, Levi and Armin thoughts/analysis after rewatching S3!

This watch-through of AOT has been sooo fun for so many reasons!! I'm excited for 3/3 and having new animated content to indulge together.

This time, I feel like Erwin stood out to me the most as a character. I had this realization that he is very much like Shigure Sohma of Fruits Basket -- both Erwin and Shigure are characters who are seen as 'good' because they do all the things to help others and better them... However, we find out that all that they've done for others was really just motivated by their own selfish and childish desire of attaining the thing they wanted. For Shigure, it was Akito. For Erwin, it was learning the truth. And because of this, it almost clouds the good things they've done for others, making them teeter between being inherently 'good' or 'bad' characters.

Erwin was the Commander of the Scouts -- the one who would always lead people to victory or to advancement (in truth, in strength, etc). People trusted him, saw that he was special, and they said yes to literally everything he would suggest or plan because they trusted that he was doing all things for the sake of humanity. Even Levi devoutly followed Erwin because of this. Erwin simply used this mask of 'Commander for Humanity' to do whatever the hell he wanted in order to advance himself to the truth that his father died for.

Because of this facade, throughout the entire series we only ever see him operating as a Commander -- all of his actions, mannerisms, words, decisions are made and done as a Commander in authority. Literally we never see him just... live or operate as a human. Of course, it is a time of war so there isn't much time to see any of them operate that way, but at least with the Scouts, Hange, Levi, etc. we still get some scenes of them just sitting and having meals or drinking tea, etc. Erwin though? Zero. It's like he was so fixated on his dreams, and the reliance of utilizing his identity as the Commander, that he never let his guard down and never let himself just be human.

When Levi and Scouts found out Titans were just humans, Levi was distraught that he'd been killing humans. When Erwin found out, though, he smiled with excitement 1) emphasizing how much he didn't care totally about humanity, since they really were killing humans and 2) also emphasizing his desire for truth, even if those truths were, well, terrible. It was that moment of Levi asking Erwin why he was smiling that started the trajectory of Levi realizing Erwin, the man he had been following and obeying for years, was never really fighting for humanity at all.

Then, the scene in Erwin's office when Levi threatens him to stay back for the mission -- Levi asks, "Is it more important to you than the survival of humanity?" And Erwin says yes -- you can feel the disappointment and almost anger that Levi had towards Erwin, like he'd been deceived this whole time. After this scene is when Levi goes into the mess hall and beats up Eren and Jean fighting (lol). They say that it was actually Levi's pent up anger about Erwin that made him beat them up.

Then it's followed by Levi sitting on the ground (which, tbh!!! I can't imagine Levi willingly sitting on the ground unless it's swept and bleached LOL) overhearing Eren, Mikasa and Armin's conversation. This is interesting because there's some supplementary material that suggests Levi had meals etc with Erwin -- however you interpret that (shipper or not) they were indeed close, so it goes to show how angry/disappointed Levi must have been to have chosen to sit alone and away from people at that moment.

And of course, the classic Armin scene where he's raving about the sea. Like Erwin, Armin had a dream of seeking if something he had heard from his parents was really true. The only difference is that Armin was genuine about it; he had been willing from the start to let go of his dream which was further exemplified in "Hero" where HE himself chooses to give up his dream so that Eren can live that dream for him -- whereas Levi technically had to be the one to tell Erwin to give up on his dreams and die. Armin wanted to bring others along with his dream: he shared his dream to Eren and Mikasa, and he wanted to see the sea with Eren and Mikasa. Erwin kept it all to himself, only wanting the truth for the sake of himself -- and only revealing his dream when he was about to die.

For Levi to overhear the EMA conversation about the sea was so timely. If Levi hadn't had that telling conversation with Erwin that revealed Erwin's false and disappointing leadership, Levi wouldn't have angrily sat outside to overhear Armin talking about the sea, and then Levi would not have considered choosing Armin over Erwin in the end.

That said, it would have been suuuuper interesting to see Erwin survive. I used to think Erwin would have been part of the Jaegerists, but now that I really stop to think of it, with how obsessed he was about discovering truth, I am actually confident he would have been against Eren's Rumbling, which would destroy the very outside world he had lived his entire life trying to find out about.

Personally, the moment Erwin would have read Grisha's books about the outside world, part of me head canons that Erwin would have tried to escape Paradis Island. Or maybe when they'd all go to Marley, he'd disappear to live in the outside world.

Anyway, wow this was a lot more than I expected to write about LOL but just thought I'd give some Erwin appreciation! I was really taken by his character in this 312903801283th watch-through of AOT!

#attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki #erwin smith #commander erwin #aot analysis #onigirianalyzes #levi #Levi ackerman #captain levi #armin #armin arlelt

[underratedbananawerewolf]

Fictober Day 3

Prompt 3: "Okay, show me." 

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail 

Rating: G 

Warnings: None 

Since bringing Yanqing home with him, Jing Yuan had had to make some adjustments to his life; ones that he hadn’t made when he first brought Mimi home. But a toddler was much different than a kitten and he couldn’t just leave the care of the boy to someone else, not after the whole ordeal of adopting him in the first place.  

So, in the end, paperwork had come home with him so he could work while watching Yanqing. The Seat of Divine Foresight was hardly the place for a baby, especially one who had just learned that he could run. Still, the general couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the happy giggles as he chased Yanqing during the times he could spare. The happiness in the child’s eyes lifted some of the weight that had settled on his shoulders for longer than he cared to remember.  

Still, there was one facet of his work that the man could not neglect, nor could he have a baby get in the way of. Jing Yuan led the soldiers of the Luofu as a war general and that meant he needed to stay in peak condition. Lazy he might be in everything else, but it didn’t tend to show in his training. He was far too disciplined, and he knew the folly of being lax when it came to fighting skill.  

IN those early days it was easy to take up his glaive while Yanqing was napping but as he grew older the need for mid-day naps diminished. It was far harder to slip away now before the child came looking for him. Yanqing may have only been three, but he was already showing a remarkable level of intelligence. It made keeping him behind closed doors long enough to be out of danger far more difficult than Jing Yuan could ever imagine. There were times when he questioned his judgement in adopting this tiny menace but the bright smile and large gleaming eyes when turned towards him always chased those thoughts.  

Finally deciding that the best thing to do with Yanqing was sit him down and explain why he had to be careful around the glaive or any other weapon he might find. He might as well try even though he had to wonder just how much the boy grasped.  

Shockingly, perhaps, Yanqing obeyed to the letter. He sat on the bench in the garden, simply watching Jing Yuan’s every move with an intensity that most toddlers didn’t possess.  

It was one afternoon when Jing Yuan had finished his workout, taking a moment to drink the water he had set down when he looked down to see Yanqing standing at his feet and tugging on his pant leg. “Yes, Yanqing?”  

“Look!” The boy held up a stick he had found, one that was nearly as tall as himself and possessed two offshoots that made it look like a crude sword. “I can fight too, Baba.” He grinned up at the man.  

Jing Yuan couldn’t help the smile that he gave in return, the sunshine in that childish smile contagious. Bapa. The name always made his heart melt just a little bit, the sting of a tear or two felt in his eyes. Never had he imagined in his long life that he would be called that. His life had never been granted the opportunity for a family and, he had to admit, he never really pursued it. That dream wasn’t his. He had others. And yet here he was, an old man even by Xianzhou standards and he had a son that lit up his life in ways he hadn’t expected. What started out as a debt to repay no longer felt like a duty but a privilege.  

“Fight like me, huh?” He teased. “You must have been practicing hard then.”  

Yanqing nodded vigorously. “For days and days and days.” He smiled again. “You were working.”  

“Ah, I should be worried now that you know how to sneak around me.”  

That brought about another giggle. “I’m very very quiet.”  

“You must be for me to not notice.” Jing Yuan had noticed Yanqing had left, of course, but he figured the boy had simply gone off to play. It wasn’t as if there was anyplace he could reach that would endanger him. The thought that he had gone to imitate him of all people was a surprise. “Alright, if you can fight like me,” He smiled fondly at his son. “Then show me.” 

#fictober23 #honkai star rail fic #fictober day 2

[grishaverse-chaos]

The thing is that I think the sentiment of secord army aka grisha having it better would always remain. As coworkers, the grisha according to their abilities or profession would have an advantage over the humans, that can be something that makes them a bit more efficient or something that lets them complete the work in an hour while the humans are struggling for a day. The ground will never really even out. Jealousy and a feeling of unfairness would always remain. The second army had it better and they most definitely also helped the King more than the first army ever could. So equal pay for equal work kind of thing would always be biased in favour of Grisha. Also it's like a time bomb situation. One grisha got pissed off one day and stopped multiple people's heart, sure people can say not all grisha but then there will be conversations on what is the cost? There is a chance that this grisha might not do the sams but is the risk worth it? How many lives need to be lost just to give this minority a benefit of doubt. I would also say that the segregation aspect as children was borderline necessary because a) children don't have that much hold on their power, might accidentally hurt people b) children are also prone to tantrums and childish fights might take a deadly turn. Also even in that separation the second army was still helping first army by sending food etc yet they were called smug and the jealousy remained. Gratefulness would simply never overrule the inherent unfairness of this situation. Also sorry but I definitely didn't like the age of saints nonsense 😭. How quickly they just went ahead and got rid of so many prejudices was completely unbelievable to me. I do not think they would just accept Zoya especially when so many people had died because of the Darkling not too long ago.

first off, I think that if grisha were less prominent and less in the public eye, there are so few of them that it would be fairly even and wouldn't create much resentment. we see how small the second army is compared to the first army, showing what a small proportion of the population is grisha

I'm also just not sure about the psychology behind this argument - humans aren't particularly prone to massive resentment: how often do you see people hating pro athletes, for example? post-canon, when ravka is no longer at war and the army is less essential, soldiers wouldn't be held in such high regard and so the utility of grisha to an army would be almost irrelevant

I also think that it isn't necessary to segregate grisha children, as long as they're being taught properly. ravka doesn't have a formal education system, but there could be grisha trainers who travel around town to educate young grisha, for instance

the danger posed by grisha would be relatively little during peacetime. grisha aren't born as dangerous heartrenders or inferni etc - they're born into an order and then trained to become a specific grisha type. they're mostly trained to be useful to the army because that's what ravka needs, but during peacetime that wouldn't be necessary and thus grisha talents would be directed to the improvement of society as a whole, so grisha wouldn't be as dangerous

honestly I really like the age of saints plotline! religions evolve over time, and it's realistic for people in this time period to be highly superstitious. the influence nina has in fjerda (her manipulation of the queen, for instance) makes it possible for her to enact change. and when zoya appears on the battlefield as a dragon, it's entirely understandable for a superstitious population to interpret this as a divine omen

#but yeah im always going to be pro-integration tbh #grishaverse #mayhem.txt #answered

[saerayofsunshine]

Two Times; One Time

Summary: Two times Naito hated her, one time were he just couldn’t get enough of her, even when they were destined to fight each other. TW: Mentions of Blood, Violence and Death Word Count: 2.1K A/N: This chapter is a bit darker than the first one, so be aware of that and read accordingly to that. Hope it hurts in the most wonderful ways :))))

feel free to reblog + like + comment if you liked my writing and enjoy the reads!

cross-posted on ao3

chapter one / chapter two (current chapter) / chapter three

Was it possible for a momotarou and an oni to love each other? To overcome the hatred that had been accumulating ever since the early days, which was one of the causes of the continuous war oni’s and momotarou’s had to partake in? Would they be able to let the gashes they had inflicted on each other heal; to evade the teachings that had been engraved within their young minds and find their own path to walk on?

Could a momotarou and an oni ever face each other without noticing the faction the other person represents? Could they see behind the façade and spot the hidden personality that laid deep down in slumber? Could they overcome the layers of hatred and actually see that individual for themselves, and not a race that person was a part of?

His younger self wouldn’t even hesitate to give the answer that was expected of him. Without a trace of doubt, the expected words would have slipped out of his mouth: “No, oni’s and momotarou’s are enemies. There is no way love could bloom between two individuals that differ from each other in every way possible.”

That would have been his answer if you asked him when he was younger.

Right now, though? He wasn’t so sure anymore, as his faith had been shaken too much by the events he had to witness so far.

…Maybe. Maybe, if the pair was independent enough from all the gruesome happenings, could separate work and private life effectively, could see the person for who they really were and what they stand for, then maybe, they could learn to love each other in earnest, as it should be in between lovers.

Sometimes, during lonesome nights when insomnia hit Naito particularly hard, he was left wondering how it would feel to love someone to the point that it wouldn’t matter where they came from, what they did in their life to become who they are, what their background was like… all that would matter was the feeling they could ignite within each other with just one look, one touch.

In those particular nights, he felt more lonesome and hopeless than ever.

He would shake his head, rid himself of such foolish thoughts, for he had a duty to perform, friends and families to protect. Wishful thinking for the future wasn’t going to bring him anything, not when the universe was hellbent on giving him one hardship after another.

The years had hardened his soft heart: with every gruesome death he had the misfortune to witness, the invisible walls within his heart would rise even higher, so much so that it would be impossible to cross over. That childish naivety that every kid possessed had left him long ago, replaced with bitterness, as the reality of the situation had finally sunk into him.

Through the hardship the universe kept pilling onto him, he learned that the world wasn’t as black and white as the teachings had made it seem out to be.

For every friend he lost during an unexpected ambush, he would let blood rain onto his enemies, drowning, quenching them in their own and his blood; for every mother, every child, every brother that was caught in the crossfire, he would hunt down his prey nonstop, interminably searching for his hunt until justice was brought upon.

He truly had become the bane of his enemies.

But for the sake of his people’s rights, he would do it all over again.

So, even when his utmost inner self felt horribly disgusted with himself, feeling particularly shackled to his responsibility whenever he glanced down at the bloodied corpses that laid within his vicinity, unmoving, simply staring blankly at the sky above, he would continue on with his duty. Even if it destroyed him on the inside, seeing all the blank faces staring at him as he looked from above, masking the anguish he felt with having to take lives as a means of survival, he had no choice but to fight on.

He stared at the lifeless mass, observing the different emotions they had displayed on during their last seconds, before inevitable death had taken their life from them: some expressions displaying clear anger at having died by his hand, some fearful, having stayed wide eyed even after they had taken their last breath ever. Different emotions and expressions on every man he swept his gaze on, though one thing was the same: none of them blinked, breathed or moved in any way, for the soul had left the vessel long ago.

…was this what his people witnessed when they were clutching to stay alive with all their might in naught, seconds away from departing this life?

The more this scenario seem to happen, the more aware he become of his own feelings, the helplessness he felt every time without a fail, the feeling of being bound to his responsibility.

Afterwards, without a fail, he would ask himself, was this the right path to take, what could have been avoided, what could he have done different?

Was this the right path to take?

If not, what was the right path to take in the first place, and did he have the luxury of choosing which path he wanted to take?

In times like these, Naito realized just how fast he had grown up, how hardship made him become a man; a person that clearly differed from his younger self, not just physically, but mentally.

Though, every win was accompanied by a loss. You win some, you lose some.

And right now, he felt the heartbreaking lost.

It shouldn’t have been this complicated, and it definitely shouldn’t have led to what he was witnessing right now. The patrol unit had been doing thorough research in the area, and had provided an appropriate gateway for the combat unit to finally strike the momotarou where it hurt. They took the opportunity and, accordingly to the information provided, had split into two groups: the first team had been tasked with ambushing the momotarou within their own building and take everyone they came across down, whereas the second team had been assigned to stay in the base and await the enemy that was surely on their way there.

The Momotarou had foolishly planned an attack on the oni base, not expecting the combat and patrol unit to be two steps ahead. When Naito had found out about this, he had insisted on being assigned on the second team, though all was for naught, for he found himself leading the first team to the momotarou base.

What went wrong? The information couldn’t have been false, he thought when they arrived back to their own base, walking down the silent hallway, the ‘tack, tack!’ of his heels the only sound that echoed in the long corridor, dark eyes darting back and forth, overly cautious of his surroundings.

The more he trudged along, the clearer became the trail of blood that was smearing the floor, as if somebody had been harshly dragged along them. That didn’t faze him. What did faze him, however, was the pile of corpses that laid in one of the rooms, fresh blood flowing down from the pile, creating a blood river with the way it flowed from their open wounds. They had been carelessly stacked on top of each other, as if they were nothing but trash that was to be collected. The culprit of the massacre was standing nearby, handkerchief in hand, cleaning the blood-stains that decorated her face, a small pout on her pink lips.

“…it’s you,” she uttered when she heard Naito come close, turning around to face him, dark eyes meeting her own. Naito had to strain himself from showing any kind of vulnerability in front of her, masking his pain behind a façade of calmness.

Both of them stepped forward, sauntering towards each other, coming to a stop in the middle of the blood painted room. And amidst his own despair and anger that clouded his mind, Naito recognized the emotions swirling within her eyes perfectly: sadness, rage, despair… similar emotions to what he was experiencing.

Eyes were the window to the soul, and hers certainly showed the anguish within them.

“Imagine my surprise when my boss called me, hacking and coughing, appointing me as the new commanding officer. He told me with his last breath… ‘make them suffer as they made us suffer…’. Imagine my surprise when I arrived too late, and saw all my subordinates already dead. It’s not a good feeling, is it?” she said, practically twisting the dragger that pierced his heart with every word she told. Bittersweetly smiling, she continued, pouring all her feelings into her words, not daring to hold anything back. “How are you feeling? You must be in pain, right? You must feel the same pain I am feeling right now… you must hate me, right?” she asked, tears brimming at the corner of her eyes, though, she exhaled slowly, calmly, in hopes of collecting her thoughts, not allowing herself to let him see her precious tears.

In contrast to her, Naito looked as calm as ever, though only he felt the storm brewing within his soul as he observed the broken woman before him.

“I sure hate you right now for killing my team, but no matter. I took my revenge, and I shall be content with that. All I can hope for is that they are resting peacefully right now…

…So, are you going to take revenge as well? Shall we dance once more, Naito-kun?”

At that moment he realized, the two might be part of different factions, but they sure shared similar attributes, feelings and thoughts. How else could she have known that he wanted to strangle her to death, to make her feel the pain his subordinates felt when they were dying at her hand?

What had his comrades, his friends thought about while she had slaughtered them like she was killing squealing pigs? Were they calling for him with their last breath, or had they been fighting with all their might against this monstrous momotarou?

Could Naito have saved them, if he had been swifter with his mission?

Among the fury that was clouding his rational thinking, he remembered asking, “Where are the others? What did you do to them?”

“Others… you mean the supporters?” quirking an eyebrow at the glare she received, she cheekily answered, trying to provoke Naito even more than he already was. “Well… unfortunately, they left already. I would have loved to give them a piece of my mind. Don’t worry though, I made sure to give that doctor a nice scar to remember me by. What was his name again… Kouta, Kouya, or was it Kouji?”

He felt a lump form in his throat at her words, hissing out, “…if anything happened to him I will-“

“Relax… as I said, I only gave him a nice accessory that he has to wear now, if you catch my drift,” she jested, narrowing her eyes at the oni in front of her.

Naito might start to despite having to go the length he had to go to prove himself and defend his and his people’s rights, but as long as the momotarou didn’t abandon their foolish ideals, they would have to fight on; the weak didn’t get a say in the decision making, though the oni were anything but weak, and for them to prove that, they need to fight on…

…to the bitter end.

So, fight on he did. Matter of fact, both of them did: not wasting more time than necessary, they both summoned their abilities, blood versus bacteria; blood umbrella against black strings, going against each other without an ounce of mercy, hellbent of killing each other and taking revenge for their fallen comrades. With a heavy heart he fought on, even whenever he had to pierce through his slain acquaintances due to her annoying strings manipulating them; he kept on pushing, dancing and prancing around with her, just like the first time they had seen each other.

Joke was on them, for both of them were mercilessly shackled to their responsibility of serving their people, trapped within those obligations they had to fulfill; even when they didn’t want to attack, fight, kill… they had to.

So, with a hardened heart and resolution flowing within their veins, they kept going against each other, even when their morals and personal thoughts were at dissonance with their actions, for to reach their own goal, they need to latch onto the principle that were drilled into them since they were young:

In this side of the war, it was kill or be killed…

…whether you liked it or not.

#mudano naito #naito mudano #mudano x reader #mudano naito x reader #tougen anki x reader #tougen anki #naito x reader #naito mudano x reader #fanfiction #writing #saeray writes

[1-1-s1ay-2-2]

Slay this way! 💜

Girls can do this. Girls can have fun doing stuff that seems silly to men. Girls can have fun like they never grew up because we are always in touch with our softer, more whimsical, and tender side.

We're not afraid to let our hair down and be spontaneous for a while, even if we look immature or childish or goofy or "out of touch"...ironically, it's the men who grew up already who are out of touch. They lost touch with their innocence, and that is never a good thing. Bye, innocence.

This is why w/w work. It's not about sex...it's about true love and having a good time together doing what brings you joy.

Sex, of course, is a personal matter, so if two people choose to have sex, that's not something that's open for discussion. That's a private matter between those two people. What we're talking about here is mutual love and respect and honor and honesty and...partnership in life. A relationship of true love and best friends and companions during this journey.

Men...just...don't...seem...to...get...that!

Women understand. Women understand because women are natural nurturers. Women have had the delicate touch for thousands of years while men were fighting wars.

If it's not about sex or money or working for money with a man, he ain't interested. If he can't powertrip his way through a relationship, he gets restless. His time is way too valuable to take you to the fair and actually spend his hard-earned money on something that would make your hardened heart melt like ice in his hands.

He doesn't seem to grasp the emotional aspect of it because he's too stuck on the physical aspect of it. His money and what you're going to do to earn him spending some of his money on you. You better be ready and willing to put out and tend to his physical needs when you get home if you want that plushie, girl!

Forget that it would mean a lot and the thought of him caring about your happiness is enough to make any girl swoon. Forget that it's about how he makes you feel and not actually how much he spends on you. Forget that it's the language of the heart, and showing that he cares is more important than saying he cares.

A man doesn't seem to fathom the idea of whimsical romance and how it's the little things that matter most...it's the thought that counts. It's the equity of his intention to partake in bringing you joy and sharing happiness with you because he can. Because God gave him the ability and the knowledge of how to make a woman happy...but...he...just...doesn't.

He must work first...that is always a man's priority, and making you feel like you're a walking pleasure dispensary for him during his time off from work.

You become nothing more than his "down time"...but no woman should ever settle for less than what she wants. A man will leave you alone for eight hours a day, five days a week for life, and expect you to want him -- without considering what you truly want. He assumes it's always him. Meanwhile, you're just over here wishing for a girl to take you to the fair and win you some plushies!

If he's got his work, his money, and his on-call pleasure holes, a man considers himself to have it good.

My husband would never play a game at a fair -- he would be emotionally cold and distant about it and act like that was a waste of money, nor would he win plushies for me...anywhere.

If he couldn't find a place over in the corner to lose his religion and grab my v-jay, he would not be in his happy place. He would just walk around with a grumpy look on his face making me feel alone and out of place. My husband is NOT a good carnie partner, needless to say.

Actually, he's not that great of a life partner. Rather boring like stagnant water. I feel horrible to feel this way, but it is how I feel after spending twenty-two years of my adult life with him.

He doesn't know how to naturally have a good time. It's like being married to a stick in the mud. I like to have tons of fun, but he is always so serious and hardly ever smiles or laughs. He's the toughest crowd, and honestly, as a free-spirited, fire personality, I have been dying a very slow death for the last two decades.

#girls just wanna have fun #explained

[xylem-sap]

"Why has monkey ooh ooh ah ah had so much screen time of its not canon?" "why does byler not have more screen time if you think they're gonna be canon?"

You silly goofy goobers don't ask someone who literally loves writing and analysis questions like this you're gonna get an actual essay

Cue essay:

To quote Neil Gaiman, "The rules on what is possible and impossible in the arts were made by people who had not tested the bounds of the possible by going beyond them. And you can." ("Make Good Art" Speech) When it comes to the creation of any form of art, in this case a TV show, there are no rules. Rules put you in boxes, they don't allow you to truely expand where you should to test the limits to see what will work and what will not. So whenever you question, 'why would they do xyz?' remember this.

Because tropes, while helpful to new writers or to figuring out the basics of a story, are boring. They're tropes for a reason, they've been done before. Often they're overused, and create stories where you can find far to many similarities between that and others. (Harry Potter and Star Wars are funnily enough great examples)

So why would writers do odd things? Sometimes, it's simply because it can create striking plots and stories. Oftentimes it's also because as a story develops its going to be characters that drive the plot and those striking plot points. When writing a story you must think, 'is this realistic to character a?' 'how would character b react to this?' I mean have you ever read something and gone, 'wow I don't think this character would do this,' or ' this is totally what this character would do'? It's important to write consistent characters with a steady development and arc or else you have viewers/readers ending up thinking the former of the two statements above.

So let's take a look at the one of the three characters surrounding these questions, El, Mike, and Will.

As Mike is the link between both these questions, he would of course be the most telling of a character, so we'll choose him.

What are his motivations when it comes to these relationships? From the common viewer's eyes one is romantic and the other platonic. But, it's important to discuss it in the lens of the question. 'why would m!leven continue on this long?'

Mike isn't ready to leave this relationship, it's clear that while he's not doing the best job at being a bf, he's trying to do at least the bare minimum to keep El his gf. If m!leven ended in s3 it simply wouldn't be realistic. Maybe it would be healthier for them, but neither of them, at the time truely wanted it to end. The temporary breakup was very similar to previous lvmax breakups, where it was probably for a stupid reason, but they ended up back together.

However in season 4 it's clear that the tensions are much more high, and their childish fights, which, were filmed in such a way as to not be very serious, disappear. They begin to have legit relationship problems, the lack of communication, the fact that Mike doesn't feel like his relationship makes sense (it was dumb luck that they met El according to him). But why not breakup mileven then?

Because Mike wouldn't let that happen. He's not ready to let go of that, and he's trying to help El in the only way he thinks he can, but in the end it will probably only cause more problems.

And to answer the second question, 'why would byler not have more screentime' is because it wouldn't make sense.

To break it down by season 1, byler moments are practically impossible, however we do get those hints of Will not even bring able to lie to Mike, Mike needing to feel Will's heartbeat when they find him, etc etc.

In season 2, this is clearly the most Byler strong season. Crazy together, hand holding, the best thing I've ever done, all of these have some sort of romantic implication, even if they can be perceived as platonic.

Seaosn 3 is interesting becuase many argue that if they really wanted to hype up Byler to be endgame, they'd do it here. However, as I talked about, having striking and interesting and tropes often make viewers more interested. But I digress.

This season in many ways represents growing up, its the last summer before highschool, people begin to change (Mike most noticeably), so it doesn't quite make sense to hype byler here. We of course have the rain fight, which gives us a dive into Mike's motivations as a character, the idea that he'll be passive for El as opsoed to bring active for Will, but other than that Mike's really pushing the friendship away.

Wow, conflict! Instead of hyping up Byler, they give Byler a lot of conflict! This is one of those examples of being striking, because everything with Will and Mike in this season is striking.

And then season 4. We have plenty of byler moments, but maybe not enough for it to seem like endgame to the GA. One of the reasons is we still have conflict, both between Mike and Will, but Mike and himself as well. It's pretty clear there's something bouncing around in his brain. While a good chunk of it seems to be resolved, it's pretty clear there still some left for season five. And while M!leven seems fixed, there are bound to be more problems in season 5.

By making these writing choices, the duffers will make byler seem like a striking and maybe shocking choice. Making a choice like that will leave the show bring talked about for a while, it's making its own rule, one thars not 'sad gay boy has crush on strisght friend' unrequited type of love. It's setting the grounds for soemthing different. Which is what all writers aspire to do, and what good writers accomplish.

#byler #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #will x mike #anti m!leven #anti milkvan #anti mileven #I wrote an actual essay I'm so sorry

[blake-wukong]

Given the rwby fandom is what it is, I'm hoping there's no romance of any kind going forward in the anime. Toxic shipping corrupted the fandom and the writing in original RWBY and I'd like that stuff far away from the anime. Focus on the stuff that brings fans together not drive them apart.👍

The thing about having a romance subplot & shipping, is that it’s suppose to be fun. It’s suppose to be enjoyable & give audience some sense of relief from the actual plot. It’s just meant to be something to enjoy if you aren’t a fan of romance or shipping or if the ship is straight or not. Sometimes it can contribute to world building.

What ruins it are the people. In RWBY’s unique case it’s the lack of proper character writing AND the people.

Somebody mentioned this before & even hbomberguy also provided evidence that the characters Ruby, Weiss, Blake, & Yang, were all just fighting styles & colors before they were flushed out characters. Monty would animate the fights first & THEN Miles & Kerry would write the story to piece it all together.

I have said this before a long time ago, but I only ever touched on it briefly. Having improper or unfinished characters can lead the audience into have some vastly different assumptions about who they are, their motives, & even their character moments. Let me clear this up; It’s a good character if when we see a character moment & the audience is able to come to the same conclusion. An example is Nobara from JJK or Eren from AOT.

Nobara in EP 17 makes it clear in her conversation with Momo that; “I don’t care about your ‘women this’ or ‘men have to be that!’ I love myself when I’m pretty & all dressed up & I love myself when I’m kicking ass.” That she doesn’t give a fuck about gender roles or whatever. While she didn’t have enough screen time in season one of JJK, her character has remain consistent & because of that, in this moment the audience just learns more about her. Some people will say oh she doesn’t care about the patriarchy, others will say she just doesn’t care what people have to say. Regardless the thing that stays consistent that 90% of the audience will agree with is that she’s a very confident girl who simply doesn’t give a fuck about what anybody says. People will take away from this moment with different ideas, but again the people will & should have some similar interpretations.

Our main girls from RWBY are not flushed out enough to give people the same or similar interpretations. As someone who use to have childish arguments about the BlackSun vs BumbleBy (Cause let’s be honest, it’s mainly these two who have been at war & are what ruined the fandom) ship let me just say people will come out having vastly different interpretations of any of the moments these three characters in particular had.

From how Blake & Sun meant to Yang opening up to Blake. BlackSun moment was clearly romantic because of the angelic music along with the wink. However BB would argue that Yang opening up to Blake about her mother was also romantic because of the sunset lighting & Yang’s wink along with her subtitle pun. Even though we don’t know anything about the queer community or queer culture in the world of RWBY so wtf does “And if you feel like coming out” suppose to mean? But many argue it’s a valid argument because of queer subtext. There isn’t any. (We’ll get to V6) Most if these are just headcanons & people would take their headcanon & run with it.

People will say Blake & Yang have the closest relationship which is actually very false. Rewatch all of V1 to V3 & if you count how many one on one conversations they had; it’s less than five. But people will insist because Blake called out to Yang during the Torwick fight & because Yang opened up to Blake & because Blake didn’t know to trust Yang while Yang was crying that it means something when this is just simply stretching. Unless we see some flashback moments that indicate they had more going on, these moments literally mean nothing. But still they are given to us & we have to intérprete them but we still don’t have anything. One can easily ignore these moments, others can say Yang is just really sensitive since she’s got tempered or some will say they are gay. Again we don’t know because they were never fully developed nor were their interactions.

Yet somehow Yang opening up to Blake is seen as romantic by many, but Blake opening up to Sun about her past, Adam, & how she feels about her teammates isn’t. It’s just a girl & guy being friends. Yang pushing Blake to open up is romantic (She never did btw), but Sun following Blake to make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless like fighting the white fang on her own (Valid assumption btw) is seen as pushy & stalker behavior. Wat were some clues that Blake felt stalk or said Sun was stalking her? He clearly didn’t know what we’re her motivations. He assumed his assumption because of past experiences of Blake said she felt responsible. This is the most consistent & common interpretation, but again we don’t know for sure because Sun never said that this was the reason why he felt motivated to follow her. However to others, because Blake didn’t know he was following her, it’s seen as stalking or trying to get into her pants because Sun also doesn’t have a character & people are quick to call him an incel. You can bring up Blake’s line of “No concept of privacy,” in V4 but what does that even allude too? Sun following her or Sun standing outside the door? Was Sun actually listening in or was he trying to see when the conversation was over? Again not just shippers, but the audience is torn between two very different ideas & can not come up with a consistent interpretation. This is not good writing.

So again because of lack of actual character development & proper structures, the audience is left with so little information that we have to piece it all together with headcanons & theories & vastly different interpretations that leads to nothing but toxicity & childish arguments.

Personally I agree with your statement anon. However if the characters are flushed out perfectly, maybe then we can have an actual romance subplot without such a negativity to follow along with it

#anonymous #asks #blacksun #bumbleby #rwby shipping #rwby ships #nobara kugisaki #jjk #rwby