SEND ☼ TO HEAR THE WORDS THAT MY MUSE WOULD WHISPER TO YOURS ONLY WHEN YOUR MUSE IS FAST ASLEEP
”You’ll be okay without me. You’ve lost
me once. I know you can survive it..”
Send me a ⊕ for a pro and con list of our characters hooking upPro:
- Cutest cutie pie that ever lived
- But jesuschrist Sansaaaa
- So much to teach!
Con:
- So much to teach!
- Asha is already 200 types of protective okay don’t go there
- You’re like a baby
Send me a ≡ for my muse's reaction to yours suddenly hugging them very tightlyThe agegap between himself and the Stark children wasn’t always easy to deal with. Robb was usually the most mature out of the
7 (no, he did not count),6 (Jon didn’t count either), 5 of them. As such, Theon tended to hang around the eldest most often.But Robb wasn’t around and it must have shown on Theon’s face how miserable he felt that day on his own.
Sansa’s slender arms were around him before he comprehended what she was doing. The girl hugged him tighter than anyone had since…since forever. It felt absurdly good to be embraced in such a manner. Without a word, he returned the embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder while holding her as close as she seemed to hold him.
Just for a little while longer, that was all he needed.
❝ Why leave?
There’s nothing for you there. ❞The dilapidated gates of Winterfell canopied their scene; a family tearing itself in two beneath it. A general hustle buzzed around them, House Stark’s venture south with the King well deserving of some hullabaloo. Theon’s smile was bittersweet as he nodded farewell, one by one, to the only people he’d dare call family. In return, somewhat disinterested hugs farewell. Formalities. As the auburn tresses of the eldest girl crossed his frame to embrace him, he’d let slip a fatal phrase. Don’t go.
It wasn’t for her per-say. It was for the sake of their reality, their bubble of perfect isolation that sheltered them from the winds of change that sought to infect the realm. In his mind, he could already hear Bran’s silent tears at night, Jon’s moody sighs. He could already sense his best friend’s surliness take hold as he attempted to adopt his future title of Warden of the North. Today was the beginning of growing up, and Theon had never dreaded anything more.
❝You’ll regret leavin’ here before long, I’d say.
That blonde yapper you’ve got your eye on
looks like a right prick. ❞
Voice gruff, he rolled his eyes in signature disapproval. The words that yearned to flee his thoughts caught in his throat. We’re a family. The pack survives as the lone wolf dies. But he could imagine her piercing gaze of disdain. You’re just a ward, she’d say, before giggling to one of her posse. She never did care for him, nor he for her. But at that moment, their farewell felt like stepping off a precipice into an ocean too volatile to swim in.
Shaking his head as if to dismiss their words, he gave her a gentle nudge, wondering to himself if he would ever see her again.
❝ Just…- Show those southern stiffs what a real
seamstress looks like, yeah? ❞❝ Travel safe, Sansa. ❞
Send a ♡ to hear how my character would tell your character that they loved them without actually using the word "love."
Thirteen years. She thinks about how thirteen
is an unlucky number, supposedly, and how
their family ran out of luck a long time ago.
She thinks about thirteen birthdays spent
alone and no phone calls and no emails
and not a word to say hey I’m alive I’m
okay and I’m coming home. She thinks
about thirteen days spent visiting father’s
grave and thirteen more days for mother.
She thinks about how at thirteen she
learned where femoral arteries were
located and how to get close enough
to cut them. She thinks about the
number thirteen until it doesn’t mean
anything anymore. Thirteen years and
they don’t mean anything because at
least Sansa’s here now, right? At least
they’re here, even if she’s looking at her
like she’s a goddamn ghost with those
large blue eyes. Copper hair and perfect
skin and she’s just as beautiful as every
body knew she would turn out to be.
Arya steps forward and hugs this stranger,
this stranger that’s her sister and feels
thirteen years start to chip away, feels that
vast gulf between herself and her family
begin to shrink. Sansa hugs her back.
”I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
Send a ♚. Your character falls asleep on mine, I’ll reply with what mine does.
They’re not often like this, Sansa usually seems to be more preoccupied with stitchwork and being a lady like their mother. She had always been like that though, before Bran was born it seemed to she wanted to be a little lady and was eager to please their visitors by gracing them with polite manners, and wide smiles. Bran was more clumsy, he’d arrive late with dirt on his face from climbing and running about; but she never scowled at him like their mother did for it. ”Sansa—” they had been talking about something, Bran wasn’t sure what to be honest, he was sort of day dreaming as he was listening and soon found his sister’s head in his lap, her eyes closed and red hair spread out like a halo around her head. ”Goodnight then.” The little Stark said with a bit of a laugh, wondering if he should wake her or not; but decided against it.
xrightfulking-deactivated201406:
even more drabbles [x]Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.The sun was setting over the horizon, making way for a cold, cloudless night at the Wall and the King sat in his makeshift solar. Unused to the harsh cold that seemed to seep through the layers and layers of furs that covered him, the middle-aged man felt his bones getting harsher and harsher by the day, his already stiff joints getting even stiffer, causing his movements to become slower, more stone-like. Yet, the cold didn’t stop him. If the harsh Dragonstone winds didn’t stop him, the bone-chilling cold at the Wall wouldn’t stop him either. There was a realm to protect and and a war to win. To many, it would appear as if the war was already over and that Stannis had surrendered, but he had not — he had merely done what all the others refused to do; he put the kingdom first.
The man sat in a wooden chair, a soft, worn-out pillow making it more comfortable — though comfortable isn’t exactly the word, given that the small pillow only served to make sitting on that chair borderline bearable — when a steward entered the room, panting, gasping for air, as if he had been running. Sansa Stark had reached the Wall, Stannis was informed. Rapidly getting up from his chair, he quickly made his way to where the girl was, telling the steward to call Lord Snow, the girl’s half brother.
Upon reaching the small chamber where they had put the girl, he instantly recognized her. Not that he had seen her before, which he had not, but he knew that she resembled her Tully mother as much as her deceased brother Robb, auburn hair and blue eyes giving her identity away quite easily. There was someone attending to the girl’s cuts and wounds, which apparently were spread throughout her entire body. Stannis meant to talk to the girl alone and so he dismissed whoever it was that was there.
After closing the door behind him, the middle-aged man approached the auburn-haired girl, her thin frame shrunken by the cold and the obvious discomfort, evident in both her eyes and her position. “You needn’t worry, child. I am not here to harm you.” Stannis remarked, turning around to face the small table where vials and pots stood along with a few bandages. “If I wanted you dead, I would have done it already.” he added, applying some ointment on a particularly large gash on the girl’s arm. “Your brother Jon is here and he will soon join you here.” the man added, as a way to reassure the girl, wrapping a bandage over the gash.
After properly taking care of a few other large gashes, Stannis offered her the long fur cloak that covered his shoulders and back, seeing how the girl was still shivering, even after having pulled her dress over her frame. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door — it was Jon Snow. Stannis decided it was better to leave the girl alone with her brother, to allow them relish in whatever it was they could find together. It wasn’t often that Stannis took in his own hands the responsibility of taking care of someone — in fact, he had only done it for Shireen three times before — but the girl seemed so frightened, so utterly lost, that he simply had to help her. So that one day she could help him, by keeping the North faithful to Stannis once the war was over.
