ᴀ sᴏɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀғᴇʟʟ.

ʟ̶ɪ̶ᴛ̶ᴛ̶ʟ̶ᴇ̶ ̶ʙ̶ɪ̶ʀ̶ᴅ ᴄᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴡᴏʟғ {♕} Be brave, she told herself. Be brave, like a lady in a song. ---- I am lord Eddard and lady Catelyn’s daughter, the blood of Winterfell. I am Sansa Stark. { -- }

[terushimasyuuji]

what they really thought

[terushimasyuuji]

sansa’s adventures at the eyrie

[stakhlijan]

❅ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ? {ᴛʏʀɪᴏɴ}

[iinculpatus-deactivated20140826]

He could bear it no longer.           He looked away, dropping his stare to the floor where it belonged.

Marriage— only a formality. A word given no meaning by a loveless union. To wed a prisoner of war in the hopes of securing all their blood promised seemed a Lannister brand of tactic. His thoughts turned to that fateful afternoon; a conversation that stemmed from a proud lion to his cubs. It had elicited nothing but displeasure from both, Cersei in far more of an uproar than her little brother. She hissed and spat upon the notion she should “breed" with a Tyrell, much less the one scorned for his preference in men, and for a lesser purpose that, despite the front she upheld for father’s sake, was of no interest to her. The Reach could get fucked, as far as she was concerned. Tyrion had far gentler thoughts of his own proposed marriage but, albeit loathing the idea, it presented an opportunity.

Lords and ladies would stay their hand against the daughter of a traitorous Stark. No-one dare lift a finger to strike a lion aside for the wolf it guarded.

He did his best, without want of gratitude or even kindness, to shield her from Joffrey’s wrath. Under his jurisdiction, a metaphorical wing, Tyrion kept her, in the hopes their now shared Lannister title would avert the judgements of whomsoever disparaged his lady wife for past aggressions— though none were her own. 

 『I could be good to you.』

Hair of flame spilling over her shoulders, that vibrantly-hued gaze and a mask of courtesy that endured the reign of cruelty thrust upon her. He admired her lady-like courage, and would find himself gazing at her laudable form for what seemed like hours. Proud, he could almost say, I’m proud of you, Sansa.

——Truly.

A brush of tenderness met with his tiny fingers, and their entwined hands drew his focus. Fingers limp, encased in her porcelain skin, Tyrion was at a loss for words. Her gentle features filled his sight now, and within minutes, emotion tightened his mouth, stubbled chin bulging, and knit his heavy brows together. A hint of a choked sob slipped through his defenses, the threat of tears glossing his eyes.

 He held her hand. No words needed uttering.

[stakhlijan]

She understood now better the meaning behind words she had embed in blood and flesh -- Winter is coming. And it did, unforgiving as ever. Land and man alike, vanished from existence and whoever was left behind could presume of such as a blessing or a curse. In this realm of uncertainty, what more damage can occur when she can only lose a life she cherished so little? I can only live for those who left me and even so, I would disappoint them with how I don't want. For that, all she can do is comfort a man as torn as herself despite she ignored those facts -- his malformed features were unpleasant to the sight, she is an hypocrite for being incapable to not notice. At most she can avoid speaking and keep a firm gaze on them.

One flesh.                One heart.                                One soul.

Hilarious, she should have found it peculiar to recall vows conformed of falsehood. Shackles hidden beneath a plead of love when obvious, as equally painful to realize; that love will never unite Lannister and Stark. Enough motives bred disdain, why the opposite would appear when she couldn't bring herself to trust him? What a farce, wasn't it? Gods, fortitude is not what she lacks to voice struggle ...

For being owner of an absent ill-will her heart was tarnished, but in exchange, ironclad resolve replaced naivety.

She didn't know what to make out of this silent exchange, her intuition proving itself wrong more than once nurtured a skeptical behavior.

Home has been a distant dream for as long as I remember.

"Will my lord accept me again?"

If he insists for me to leave, though...-- I may know what path I shall take.

[stakhlijan]

❅ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ? {ᴛʏʀɪᴏɴ}

[iinculpatus-deactivated20140826]

     Reluctance sent him into a backward stagger, slipping distance between him and the reminder of the atrocities his family had thrust upon innocence. The murky sense of right and wrong they weaponised in the form of cutting words and old logic to exact justice on those imagined slights. His family’s volatility had been the kindling for a devastating war; a war that plunged knives into unsuspecting spines and drowned Westeros in decay. A weight pressured his shoulders, and they sagged, defeated by a harsh reality that refused to relent— even here, thrust into a foreign setting with little hope of returning to the Seven Hells his family now governed.

     Whether or not Tyrion deemed her arrival a blessing was veiled by the echoes of grief that resonated following the events that transpired prior to his apparent escape. A loveless marriage to seize the Stark girl’s claim to the North and assimilate it unto their own. Lannister rule had been a poison from the start, creeping its way o’er mountain tops and castle spires, through veins of rivers, blood and treachery thriving in its wake. Guilt was a dagger; a stinging reminder of how he’d been a party to this devastation.

                                            And so was she.

     Her melancholy cut past the iron fort he’d freshly erected, breaching his defenses with ease. It reeled him another step back, and her approach— another. A confrontation, where his lady wife was no longer bound by fear of death or worse. There were no sweet words awaiting him, no forgiveness in honeyed tones nor gentle smile—-

                                                  After all                                 a songbird could never come to love its gilded cage.

          “….. My lady——”

                                                           He wanted to run.

     A fresh tear fell just short of a weathered boot.

                             I’m sorry                                         he wanted so desperately to utter                                                     to make his regret and remorse known.

          “—-You needn’t care any longer. You’re free of this prison we called marriage.” 

                                Would it sicken her?                                                  If I had said her good health gladdened me?

[stakhlijan]

A tainted perception cannot differ wrong from right, blurred by weariness that experience has etched in her tortured soul that has become foreign to genuine kindness. Her world was infinitely reduced and paid no mind to everything else, concern never going beyond her personal well-being after being robbed from all she deemed precious -- haunted by memories of better days, she is brought back into a present were the quiet weep of a lion caused disturbance in her distant demeanor.

Pity or empathy, she couldn't tell which is at fault.

Scornful desire to accomplish is restrained thanks to a sentence she initially cannot comprehend. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, taken aback by what he spoke.

Am I truly free to do as my heart dictates? What destiny fares for him should not be of my incumbency...but I have no idea what I truly want.

She should be glad and not perplexed as her expression revealed, none of the assumptions made satiated most queries that dared to worsen part of her doubts.

       Whether this is bad or not, I will see it myself. I am not afraid.

The following wasn't something she planned throughly. Taking his hand into hers' is the most she can offer, attempt of reassuring worries she knew nothing about. Countless of things she ignored, the reason behind his sorrow among them. However, she still opted to imitate vaguely what he often tried to grant and what she rejected with disdain in return -- solace.

Duty may be part to blame and hatred should have prevented such, judgment tangled among sentiments she didn't understand but solely decided to not repudiate his presence now that both were as meaningless as anyone else.

Though I've always been meaningless. I was just a piece in their game, no one cared about me as a person.

Not a syllable will leave her lips but neither she will dare to turn away.

[cuoresausto]

« But you were Robert’s  q u e e n… » « And you’ll be Joffrey’s. Enjoy! »

[celeritatemotus-deactivated2014]

cяιρρƖєɗ Ɩιση'ѕ тαƖє

[celeritatemotus-deactivated2014]

     The former Lady of the North seemed to sing from her daughter’s lips, that same tone collected and proper though not lacking her own fire spilled from her throat and Jaime found himself blinking at her for a moment, trying to recall the last time he had in fact seen Catelyn Stark. It felt as if he was within her audience then, his eyes casting downwards from his grand height to instead fix themselves upon her eldest daughter, one of the few remaining wolves to roam the lands. Perhaps the only one to have even made it this far. She appeared how he felt, most likely, her gaze troubled and her voice undoubtedly full of contempt for the person before her. Not that he could have blamed her one inch for that hatred she harboured. He wondered how much of her will it was taking to stand there and not just reach for that sword and plunge it within one of the weaker spots beneath his regal armour, why she spoke to him softly instead of screaming. So much like her mother, he thought, clasping his only hand around the golden piece before using a free finger to tug at his sleeve.

                         "Thank you, my lady."

     She was technically family to him now, a sister-in-law, no matter how greatly she detested the idea. A Lannister stood before him, though he knew she would much rather be anything but. The resentment was so fierce it bubbled between them, warning his skin as if she emitted a harsh flame. No, she was of the North. This was the icy burn of Winter against his chest, prompting him to keep his distance still. 

          "I am…surprised to see that you are here. I know not many who passed through to this new land, even less those whose names I already knew."

     Was that meant to be comforting? Not even he knew, but as he began to tie the straps around his stump of an arm to hoist the contraption to his severed limb, he did not know what else to offer her. He knew no words of comfort strong enough to heal the wounds she bore, but he knew she hurt. He knew that she was repulsed and scorned by near enough his own doings. 

     "Wont you take a seat with me, Sansa? There must be a place around here more comfortable for you to reside within than out here on the streets.” 

     He scooped up the sword, again surprised by its weight before struggling to return it to it’s sheath. He felt clumsy, unable to return it at first and only after fumbling for a few seconds was he able to slide it back into place. The shame was phenomenal. 

[stakhlijan]

I'm a fool, it is not as if I will find someone from home who isn't a liar... Whilst an actual grudge in regard Jaime as a individual didn't exist, she had a hundred of reasons to act weary due the blood that ran through his veins. In contrast to his brother -- her husband -- he was more dangerous in a way but she wasn't sure what would impulse him to inflict any harm. He doesn't need justification but if he wanted, he would already have. He can't fight but it wouldn't be difficult to kill me. What he is meant to represent once left her breathless, bravery and chivalry now formed part of childish but mostly idiotic fantasies. It is still foreign to observe a knight acting so hopeless, was it pity she felt for him? For this to be taken as a mere coincidence, it made her wonder if the Gods had arranged this meeting with the unique purpose to cause discord and mock causality. It is not as if peace can be attained with the mere banishment of a few but now circumstances deepens distraught.

Her stomach is tied in a knot but outwardly, calm reigns as the common norm dictates. She watches him, avoiding any sort of expression and awaiting quietly for his words, unsure how to approach topics that will soon start tormenting her mind.

                   Familiarity should induce calm, not unease.

His suggestion robbed her from her thoughts, a shy "Sure," quickly blurted in a lack of courage to deny his invitation and walk few steps apart without a direction in mind. She is inadequate to rebel or present opposition through more forward methods, she cannot be a vile person even if she desired to -- now she wondered what he would be capable of.

"Yes, it is certainly a surprise...I thought myself alone." And she would have sacrificed half of her soul for this sentiment to be more recent.

I've been alone in forever, how this is any different?

 "Ah but...I've might heard word of my Lord husband." Cautious in her speech, keeping certain details to herself in order to prevent what she thought would upbring a catastrophe. What can they do, though? I am nothing in this realm and so they are. "Everyone else, I ignore."

[bunnybookman]

Flying solo || open/intro

Hospitals always had that same feeling. They always had that sad feeling to them. It was somewhat understandable, the people there were either in bad shape or worrying about the people who were. With his line of work, Lavi was in and out of these places. He preferred being out of them. But, considering the circumstances, he couldn’t help but lay there until the nurse was finished and allowed him to leave. The images of what seemed like only moments ago to the teenager were fresh in his mind. He had no clue how long he had been in this new… world. That was going to take some getting used to.

As Lavi walked down the halls of this seemingly… human hospital, the thoughts of his friends came to mind. He hated doubting their capabilities, but with how Earth was when he last saw it. No, there was no need to doubt them. Besides, if these people got him here, they surely could have gotten everyone else.

A smirk came to his face at a thought. How pissed the Old Panda would be, now that Earth’s gone. All that research he’d been doing was gone. A small chuckle came from the tall redhead as he finally exited the building, stretching as he did so. At the first glance, it looked just like Earth. There were minute differences, but overall it still looked like home.

Not paying attention to what was in front of him, Lavi began walking down the pathway out to the street. Since Bookman wasn’t around, it looked like he was going to have to be the one to step up and collect information on this place. At least, until the old panda showed up again. So, the first step to gaining information was to look around. The second, was finding people to tell him about it. The latter seemed like it would be tough at first, until he felt the presence of someone coming up to his right. He couldn’t see what they looked like because it was on the side of his eye patch, but he decided to call out to them with that dumb grin of his anyway.

"Hey! Do you think you could help me out?"

[stakhlijan]

Being called out of nowhere is an incentive to remain weary, reacting in a fashion that made her seem willing to cooperate despite how she could differ how her physique trembled. A grin addressed her first and foremost, followed by an innocent question that somewhat calmed down an already altered stance. No, I can't be afraid of anyone... Her azure gaze inspected dubiously his features, slowly processing his approach and outward appearance that can as well be labeled as friendly. It is hard to tell, her judgement proving countless of times how disappointingly erroneous it often has been.

However, she remained quiet for a long while and took out of her courage to blurt the following, "I suppose I can." Uncertain of how to deny his request, she follows accordingly what she has been taught all along -- a subtle nod, a smile that lasts little but enough how pleasant is to be of use. It is strange, different of what normalcy dictates but insecurity cannot interfere, mainly when you no longer know how to differ who is trustworthy.

Will I make enemies here? It's not as if I could be of benefit to them but I don't want to discover otherwise. 

"How may I assist you?"

[stakhlijan]

❅ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ? {ᴛʏʀɪᴏɴ}

[iinculpatus-deactivated20140826]

               The stench of unfamiliarity and cleanliness dissimilar to that of the Red Keep, in which his imminent death made its home, putrefied Tyrion Lannister’s nostrils. It coerced what clarity he’d managed to sift past recent events into use, forcing anguish aside in favour of the present and its modern splendour. Structures of no design he’d ever seen before loomed above, cloaking the masses in a single gathering of shadows. Architectural leaps had clearly been made ten times over within a single falter of his mismatched focus. No steel gates, no fort of stone encasing the corruption that slumbered within amidst silken sheets and streets of squalor. No promise justice by way of some archaic hand, nor blood soaking the breeze— 

                                                                        No.

     Freedom filled his lungs, but betrayal was an anchor—- its chain grazing a bare throat. Misery contorted his bisected features, twisting his expression into that of a heart suffering. The gash that stained his face was but the first of many that would mark his form with tales of treachery. Here he stood; man whose pain told a long and crippling story. 

                  Tyrion’s head hung                                      agony forcing his eyes shut                                                       wet with tears that threatened to fall

     When they’d finally carved their sodden path down his cheek, one lost to the crevice across his jowl, the halfman was forced to an attentive stance— head snapping up to meet a Tully-painted gaze he knew so well. It was unfortunate, how intimate he’d become with every detail of her face; the auburn locks that fell about her shoulders and framed an alabaster complexion. His stomach lurched in recognition, his eyes red with sorrow.

                                             Of all people; her.

          "…. Sansa——"

[stakhlijan]

She was used to be far away from home, the cage merely changed and now it was impossible to return. Maybe that is why she did not care enough, everything she cherished was long gone before this catastrophe. It only pilled up more reasons to keep mourning, unsure who to blame. It did not matter, however. Every attempt to make someone responsible is futile, she can barely digest the fact everything is gone and maybe indifference is the only way to prevent breaking down yet again. She has built walls, how long they will last before she crumbles?

"My lord -- No, Tyrion." Turning back cannot be that difficult, to prove how they no longer had control over her should be a delighting experience. Then, why is she kneeling down to reach his height, inspecting his features whilst concern cradles on her own? What I am trying to play at? I do not need to appease him and yet... Sadness did a terrible justice to his face, disgust brims but gaze is not averted anyhow. Nonetheless, the sentiment is contagious. Heart and mind debate, her body defying both and impulse brings her hand to reach for his shoulder but hesitance prevents its fulfillment.

                 I do not want to console him. So, why...? Why am I doing this?

"I am a stupid little girl without use to you." Though cruelty was meant to profess inner struggle, the opposite seemed to overthrow resentment. "My value is nonexistent but you may still hate me...--" As I despise your Lannister blood too."...for leaving and for being who I am." His kindness back then should be false, is normal to assume everyone's intentions were purely ulterior and now their ties could be severed and nothing but ephemeral emotions will haunt her nights.

Guilt may as well devour her as a whole if it can attest her newly gained freedom.

"Everything was fake in King's landing, I beg for my lord's honesty at least in these moments..."

[celeritatemotus-deactivated2014]

cяιρρƖєɗ Ɩιση'ѕ тαƖє

                               Destroyed…

     Though difficult to believe, what other facts were there for his single hand to clutch at, to grasp and cling to and ride out his remaining days cradling? His world was gone, the Seven Kingdoms apparently wiped clean. Or so these others said. He had been of little faith for a long while, though he may have sworn upon those Gods he never once admitted that he doubted their power. Yet, somehow, he had ended up here, wherever here was. Folk spouted words he never really caught, place names he did not recognise and spoke of things he could not comprehend. Everywhere indications of godly presence seemed to hide; lights with no wick, which seemed to burn forever. Clothes which seemed even outlandish for a man of the distant lands from which Jaime came. What else was he to think? Nought seemed like the truth, no matter how sincere their words felt.

     The blade felt heavy in his hand, his fingers seemingly unable to hold the weight of the weapon he had been granted to take with him. Tied to his name was the most bitter assumptions, as well as that title to entirety of Westeros seemed to whisper within their darkened shadows, doorways and hidden cracks. Kingslayer. He was no stranger to a sword, no child wielding a knife as a play thing. He was a soldier, a murderer. He had taken life as much as he had given it… Briefly his thoughts shifted to his sweet sister. Her golden curls about her face and how he wished he’d had the chance to press his lips against those locks for that last final time before his departure…

                                   The sword fell with a clunk to the floor. 

     It bounced briefly, clattering with a loud ring that interrupted the almost-silent atmosphere of the street he had been idly walking down. With cautious eyes he glanced about, only before reaching automatically with his right hand. That was it, wasn’t it? The cruel irony at play that seemed to have stripped him of both honour and entitlement to his role as a Kingsguard. The make-shift golden hand fell from its straps beneath his sleeve and fell to land alongside the weapon at his feet, clanging louder than the sword had done, though rendering the man, clad in his regal armour of gold and white, to fumble at both items with just a single working limb. 

     The shame was incomparable to nothing, aside from that glance his Lord father had offered him when Jaime had returned crippled and bruised from his capturing, sporting just that one weaker hand. 

[stakhlijan]

Adjusting is a task she plans to deter as long as possible, from the environs to her personal stance in this realm of unknown wonder. At most, it was enjoyable to be no one and not needed to hide. Any danger that once existed succumbed with every person in Westeros, not like she really cared about anyone and those who she loved already had perished. I'm alone, more than before. As easy as her hope was regained, it slipped right away when she was walking aimlessly, avoiding her housing quartets on purpose.

She could have mocked, verbally or physically it did no matter which form; the man she saw before her when she can recognize those features from afar. The colors he bears more than anything. It is tempting to act upon her most vile intentions as the option is there. She can do it without having to pay any sort of consequences other than a slight remorse, a moral reprimand that after some time would no longer be relevant.

         Is this the freedom the wildlings so often celebrate? I might end becoming a savage.

Her frail fingers traced subtly the sword's hilt before being retrieved with both hands after a failed first attempt. It's rather heavy, how do they manage to fight alongside these? The armour must be troublesome too...

Dragging it in a clumsy manner, she drops it near his feet in order to reach for the golden limb instead. Am I not lucky to be in one piece? Joffrey could have done to me something similar if my mother was responsible of this. How stupid, Joff didn't really care about anyone to that extent. It could have been a magnificent excuse if he knew, though. The idea alone sent chills down her spine and shook it off when she managed to get closer to the acclaimed 'Kingslayer' while carrying with difficulty his missing extension.

"I believe this belongs to you."

[porkayla]

"I won’t ever hurt you."

[stakhlijan]

❅ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ? {ᴛʏʀɪᴏɴ}

Her composure teetered on a thin thread, despite of being capable to withstand certain situations ...now the strength built crumbled. Many thoughts have assaulted her while she awaited in the station. Whether she was shunning her tears due the newfound circumstances or because this sudden loneliness upon her shoulders, now they mattered little. How foolish was to think she would ever be free from them -- why of all people it had to be the Imp?

Would he try hurting me? Though that would seem more logical, she couldn't picture such but then again, why should she think otherwise? He's a Lannister.That alone prevented more questions to appear, it all fell on managing to stand against him -- what harm can he do when he was no one anymore? And Sansa as well, the Stark name meant nothing.

               But I have my pride.

"I...--" Dry throat inhibited a normal flow of her words, how easily she could notice her hands were trembling but even so, she kept a firm gaze while standing up from her seat. Few steps distanced her from the man she was forced to call husband, how come they felt like an eternity until reaching his side? "I thought my lord perished..."

[stakhlijan]

iinculpatus replied to your post:iinculpatus replied to your post: { bUT WIFE……....

{ HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO MEEEEE, I’VE MADE MY MISTAAAAKES—- yes plz thread w/ me, wife ; v ; }

IF YOU WANT I CAN WRITE A STARTER

[stakhlijan]

iinculpatus replied to your post:

{ bUT WIFE……. }

ew lannister scum

[stakhlijan]

[stakhlijan]

I'll try to tag spoilers accordingly since the fourth season is airing case and update my canon as the episodes advance, since I'm catching up with the books too.

If anyone wants to contact me ooc, my inbox is open over there and if now, I'm in twitter over here! The account is set as private since I got it hacked once but I accept others rather quick.

[katiegeckko]

"I lie awake all night thinking about how they died."

[luke-naberrie]