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@minetotorment
hey guys, i'm sorry to say it but i don't have the time for multiple blogs anymore. so, i'm gonna have to close out this one and focus more on my main muse. i loved writing with everyone, and you guys made it a very wicked brand of fun. thank you everyone! come and find me on my main muse!
{ you can find me → here }
rosewaterknight replied to your post:
[cry no thx. i value my muses life]
I KNOW RIGHT? LIKE IDK MAN I LIKE PLAYING JOFF BUT HE ENJOYS HUMILIATING PEOPLE TOO MUCH?? IF I SHIPPED HIM IT WOULD BE WORSE THAN WHAT HE DID TO SANSA???
people who followed this blog hoping for smut/ship
are you sure
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
The Gods help her! She cannot stop the fear clouding her eyes, not for her— not quite— but of what he is making her do. He is too close, far too close and his breath is hot on her neck. She saved kittens and send a rabbit to its death. By crossbow, of all things.
If she were competent, she could attempt a clean death, an accurate shot but her hand trembles and her heart can’t keep a rhythm and the bow is weighed down by every sin she has ever committed, from the small lies to the well-intentioned murderous truth.
As if desperate, so desperate, Sansa thinks if only she can twist out of his grip to shoot him instead. She will die, she is sure of it— but so will he and the world might balance itself out all over again. Reckless Sansa would have done it, but she has a better control of her emotions now and is able to will down her bloodlust.
Instead, she lets the tremors show in her hand and voice. Seconds tick by.
”Your Grace, I am not— I am not a good shot, what if i miss—”
Joffrey enjoyed the way she trembled against him, like a frightened little animal. Even so, it displeased him the way her hands shook.
"You won't," he snapped, his hands suddenly covering hers. His grip was iron tight, bordering on painful even, as he steadied her aim. "You won't, because I won't let you." Even though he himself was a poor shot at most times, it was very easy to hit a still target.
"Have you ever killed something, Sansa?" Joffrey asked, when he had aimed right for the rabbit's heart. "Have you ever wanted to kill something?" Before she could even answer, his finger forced her to pull the trigger, putting a thick bolt right through the poor creature, sending it skidding across the lawn. He let out an amused laugh, before yanking the bow out of her hands.
"Look- Prince Joffrey. He’s just over th-"
"Why is Arya holding that spoon like that?"
"Oh- oh- no.."
"NOT THE LEMON CAKES. YOU CAN’T JUST THROW LEMON CAKES."
"..."
hover over my url now, peasants
More sobs escaped the Stark as she lowered her head in shame. Arya would not have cried, nor Robb, or Bran. She was weak and she was broken, and each and every tormenting word that hit her, she broke a little more. “Yes, your grace.” Replied she, placing her hands flat on the floor in an attempt to raise herself. As she stood however, her foot tore the silk of her dress and forced her back onto the floor. “I- I’m sorry your grace.” I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Joffrey turned on his heel halfway up the steps when he heard the rip, finding himself amused that she tore her fine gown. She was, very clearly, humiliated, and he liked that. The court was silent as he watched her, too frightened to voice their disapproval of the King's abject cruelty towards an innocent girl he labeled a traitor.
"You're sorry?" He asked her. "What are you sorry for?"
"I look forward to seeing it, your grace." he said before he departed to prepare. Not too long after that, Sandor stood waiting for his king to go out for the hunt. Joffery was so eager. He liked killing, but more than that, he liked to hurt things. More than anyone Sandor had ever met in his life, even his own sadistic brother, Joffery delighted in suffering.
Joffrey handed off his bow to his squire, before climbing up into the saddle. Only when he was settled did he take it again, before grinning at his faithful dog. "Are you ready?" The others in the hunting party were reining in around them, but Joffrey couldn't have cared less about most of them. He liked it best when the Hound was at his side, just as eager to kill as he was. Or so he thought.
As the king walked on through the hall, Ser Balon kept to his left side, flanking the young king as close as was permitted - and, may he say, dared - for the kingsguard. The king was not so far ahead that he could not protect him should a threat emerge. And while the right side remained vulernable, most of the turns the king took to reach the throne room were on the left so he might at least reach an attack before it could reach the king.
In answer to the question, he thought a moment on the whispers that were passed around every so often and could find nothing of interest to the king. And as he had not been the brother of the Kingsguard to accompany the king to the small council the previous night, he had not the rapid fire conversations that oft warred between the Queen Mother and her son.
"I do not, your majesty." He followed the king past a left turn, his hand reaching for the pommel of his morning star before he saw that the corridor was clear of people. The morning mist is probably still about the gardens at this hour, he thought in passing.
Joffrey gave him a mean little smile as they walked. "No? Then you might find it very interesting," he replied. "I heard that your dear brother used to support that rebel Renly. Now that my dear uncle is dead, he's changed his cloak for my other rebel uncle."
Coming to a stop before the Throne room, he turned his green gaze on his sworn sword. "I'm told Stannis and what's left of Renly's men are already marching south. They'll be at the gates soon." His gaze flickered over the man clad in all white enamel. "That means you're going to cross swords with him. I ask you, Ser Balon, where does your loyalty lie? With your traitorous blood, or with your king?"
winterfellsnowdrifts:
"Oh, you’re in the business of mounting your own head on your wall? Hopefully your aim is as good as your conscience- which would mean I’m safe. You kill me, you had better pray to the gods that you can reload faster than lightning as a massive white direwolf rips your throat to shreds. In summation, you leave my brother in peace or you’ll end up in pieces, I don’t care if they’re royal pieces or not."
How dare he! How dare he call his King a bastard! It angered him more than anything, even more than the fact that this ugly rumor spread so far over the kingdom.
However much he was seething, he only gave him a supercilious smile. An amused smile. "You're right. I always forget the wolves." As if he might have forgotten how that mongrel had mangled his arm. "I'll have Ser Ilyn see to your pet before I see to you. He's beheaded wolves before."
aloneinmycage:
Sansa’s brow furrowed deeply and she pulled the sheets up to her chest, as if covering herself despite the soft white night dress. Something was amiss, clearly. “….The old gods look out for me, your grace, though I….appreciate your concern.” She eyed his silk robes once more and frowned. “….Why did you come to me, your grace? Perhaps one of your servants could bring you warm milk or…something to ease your mind.”
"The old gods?" Joffrey laughed, sitting up in her bed before something wild lit up in his eyes. Something frightening. "I have a surprise for you, my lady. Come and see." Only then did he climb out of bed, pausing to look at her handmaiden. "You, get her out of bed and get her a candle to see by."
Perhaps before, Sansa may have feigned a smile to try and please Joffrey- but not anymore. Now she had nothing to lose. Hre Tully eyes, now surrounded by red puffy skin where she had cried and rubbed them, gazed up at him as his words made her shiver. Sansa wanted to turn away, to hide her face. But she could not. There was nowhere to run.
"I am grateful, your grace." Answered she, her words shaking as they formed. Each lie less convincing than the last.
"Good," he answered her, staring down into her face with open distaste. And then, he smiled. She was prettiest when she cried, he was sure of it. Her bright eyes always seemed brighter. It gave him a sick sense of joy to see it. He let her go, and turned to climb the dais again. "Clean yourself up."
He followed the boy into the room, feeling as first thing when he walked in Robert’s laughter. The King looked very little regal, with crumbs in his beard and cheeks red from too much drinking. It was amazing how just a few years before that man was completely different. Once Robert Baratheon looked like a real King. Tall and muscular, with blue eyes and a courage that often slipped into recklesness. But now a fat man took his place. Stannis took a step forward when Joffrey finished to describe what it had happened from his point of view. «Your Grace. What Joffrey says is almost true. I took his sword, yes, but I’m going to give it back next time I’ll come back here. Because I hope that in the meanwhile he learns from his mistakes.» «I have a very good reason to do so.» Stannis said in a calm tone looking at his older brother and without giving much attention to his nephew. «He was testing the sword, slashing the air and almost hitting me. Anyone could have been in my place and be slower to react. So I think it’s a fair punishment.»
Robert listened with a stoic look on his face, even as he sipped more wine. As if he needed more. The part of Joffrey that resented his father's neglect was sure that if someone pricked him, he would bleed wine instead.
"Is that true, boy?" Robert asked his son, who twisted his hands together nervously and gave a silent nod. Was he going to lose his precious sword? But he'd just named it! It wasn't fair!
His thoughts were interrupted by Robert's uproarious laughter, who was clutching his belly as he did. "Stannis, leave the boy be. He jus' wants to be as strong as his father, doesn't he? So he took a swing at you, but how many times have I?"
Joffrey, surprised at first, suddenly wore a smug grin.
"Give 'em back his sword and leave 'em be. I'll see to it that he trains in the yard with the Master at Arms and not in the corridor. You won't do it again, will you, boy?" Robert asked, before a thick paw ruffled Joffrey's golden hair, who shook his head and seemed undignified to have his hair mussed. "That's my boy, just like his father."
Yet as Joffrey stood beside Robert, no two had ever looked so unlike one another. "You heard him Uncle! Give it back."
”.. Punished with death? My.. This certainly must be a truly important message. How do you know that I will not read it then go on the run?” He attempted to joke. ” … And what if I decline? Hm? Let me guess I’ll be tortured and killed for my crimes?”
Tywin gave the man a steely gaze when he dared to question the Hand of the King. For a long moment, there was only silence, before he deigned to speak again. "If you run, you will be hunted. If you decline this task, then the King himself will see to your punishment as he sees fit."
There were worse things than death. Joffrey sat up straighter, giving a rather gleeful smile to the messenger as if they were old friends who were going out to play in the yard.
You win or you die //
:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::
She very carefully kept her silence, for she was praying it not be a kitten. Her small exhale could be heard but maybe he’ll attribute it to something else other than relief. Fear mayhaps. That will please him, Sansa thinks as he focuses his attentions on her. Clasping her hands together so he would not be tempted to drag her again, she shakes her head.
“No, Your Grace. I was never allowed to follow on hunts.” Desperate to please his ego, she continues. “I'm sure you have done well in them, Your Grace. You handle that crossbow expertly.”
"No?" he repeated back with a nasty grin on his face. "What a shame! Here, why don't we start tonight!" Joffrey led her out into the training yard instead, where his rabbits were kept for target practice. By the torchlight, the field was lit up, and it made the golden crossbow glimmer dangerously as he hefted it right into her arms. "You're going to kill something, and you're not going to bed until you do."
Opening the rabbit hutch, he let one hop free, and it sleepily stood still, twitching its ears as it looked around. Joffrey, however, moved to stand behind Sansa, guiding her hands as she lifted the bow. He was pressed so close to her, his arms around her and his mouth at her ear as he breathed poisonous words for her and her alone. Helping her aim, he then moved her finger towards the trigger.
"If you don't kill it, if you miss on purpose, I'll put a bolt in you instead."
” yeah uhm, of course I am. I guess? ——But that isn’t important right now! “ He wanted to avoid the topic of where he possibly was from as much as he could. He knew he was a great liar but making up something of where he was from? It wasn’t his favorite thing to do and next to that it’d only make him sound suspicious.
He wasn't like the Westerosi people at all. People from across the sea were certainly... odd.
"If the place you were born in isn't important... then what is?" Joffrey laughed, an unkind, mocking sort of laugh.
