#ofice

[slipkorn]

[naomy-mikol]

Mi estudio de trabajo 💙 #study #studyroom #sketchbook #Zelda #calendar #pinku #pen #pencil #coffe #roomdecor #room #ofice #scrapbooking #mac #wacom #magic #sketch #playstation #organised

[antiame]

[reodwulf-archive]

DEAR JONJON- YOU'VE DONE A SHIT JOB KILLING MY POTENTIAL LOVE INTERESTS SO FAR. THE TYRELLS HAD TO TAKE CARE OF JOFFERY AND PETYR IS STILL ALIVE. STEP UP UR GAME OR LET ME LIVE MY LIFE. LOVE, SALSA.

[jacqueminct-blog]

                                     Whispered Farewells II Jon & Melisandre II @ofice​

     Blind loyalty, if it is not properly contained can lead the follower astray - such was the case with Melisandre. Lack of perceptiveness had made her lose everything; her King, friends and now a potential home. She had done all of this to herself by reading the flames wrong, or had her Lord of Light sent her the wrong signals all along to lead her to this point in her life? Is he testing me or have I truly failed him? It is a question she asks herself the minute her eyelids flutter open in the morning and the moment they close before she sleeps. Such doubts have lead her to believe that she is not near as useful as she once thought, but that didn’t stop her from trying to convince Jon Snow that he was in need of her. She had tried to assure him that she was not disposable, that the war of the dead would be something he needed her aid in, but she was not certain her words were truly getting through to him. Alas, he did not see a great need for her either, banishing her from the North forever. Such an action had not only surprised her, but had hurt her despite her efforts to bury her feelings deep within herself. He had become her new King, a new man to follow, but he did not wish to have her as a follower. Cast out once more, she is alone in her sorrows, her eyes threatening to spill tears - yet they do not. It will not do to look weak as she is leaving the North. Thus, she stands tall and makes her way to the stables, her icy stare greeting anyone who dares challenge her. These onlookers will remember her as an evil sorceress, but they will never say she did not have dignity. 

     Once at the stables, her dainty hands grip a saddle before slinging it over the back of a horse. For a moment, she halts her actions, her eyes roaming the scenery before her, taking in the look of Winterfell for the last time. Snow is lightly falling, dusting the ground in its pale innocence, removing the sin that had once resided there. Snowflakes land on her lashes, causing her to blink more rapidly to clear her vision. It is beautiful, even if it is the opposite of the fire that burns within her veins. She catches herself thinking this before her hands move to saddle her horse once more. The smell of winter becomes more powerful as she hears footsteps approaching, her attention immediately turning to its source. Her gaze is met with one that catches her off guard, his brown hues meeting her own bluer ones - Jon Snow. A moment passes and her lips part to let words escape, but they catch in her throat, her mouth pressing into a thin line as she looks downwards to avoid his eyes. Shame etches across her features, a soft sigh escaping her ruby lips as she holds onto her horse, making no move to go around the animal. Why he has come to speak to her is beyond her comprehension, as he had made it quite clear where he stood in regards to her. 

     “I suppose you have come to say goodbye,” Her words trail off as she thinks of what else she might wish to say to him, but nothing comes to mind. What is there to say to someone who threatens to hang you if they ever see your face again? There are no words in her vocabulary that could properly express her feelings in that moment, thus she remains silent. 

     The silence lingers between them like an unwelcome guest, both unwilling to acknowledge it, but both are obligated to greet it. She will not be the one to break it once more though, her eyes trained on the saddle her nimble fingers are coiled around. At one time, she might have had something to say, as she had been bolder before, but now she was just another woman at the whims of a man. With such a thought, a sigh passes her lips and her head raises so that she might look at him one last time. She wants to remember the curves of his face, the tinge of sadness in his eyes, the curl of his hair; because she knows that he will be the true savior, the true chosen one, someone who will go down in history over all others. Jon Snow will rise, he will endure, he will reign: such things she saw in the flames. 

[fifthbornforrester]

@ofice // idk i mean we were joking about them bickering after her having a nightmare but she really wouldn’t yell at him 

He was touching her everywhere, his rough hands roaming where she wished not to be touched. She remembered his touch from when he grasped her arm in the Great Hall. She remembered his hand grasping her’s as he dragged her along through the woods to look upon Arthur Whitehill in his final moments. But this was different. This was violating. If only her mind could scream at her to wake up. If only her mind could cut through her unconsciousness to let her know he was dead and gone: ripped apart by his own hounds. 

“Tell me that it’s lovely,” he purred in her ear. She could see it so clearly, his menacing smile that could tear a person in half from the inside out. She lurched out of her slumber, a high pitched scream ringing through the air and echoing throughout her room. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream until her throat went raw. But she had to remind herself it was only a nightmare. Ramsay was dead. Ryon was safe wherever he was. She heaved for breath, brushing the strands of sweaty hair that clung to her forehead. Hopefully the scream did not awake anyone. Silently, she tried to compose herself. It would be some time until she was comfortable enough to fall back asleep. 

[tiscomics]

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[antiame]