OnlyOneWoman

Rickon, for his part, is deeply focused on his tortilla roll for a good fifteen minutes and then, without warning, he tugs Satin's good arm. "Yes, Rickon?" "When are you having a baby?" The table goes silent and Arya coughs. Satin is quite impressive of his own suppression of sudden laughter and turns to the six-year-old. "I am not having a baby, Rickon. Men can't carry babies." Rickon still looks confused and Robb asks: "Did you think Satin would have a baby like aunt Talisa, Rick?" "Yeah." "Why did you think that?" The six-year-old shrugs. "Because they're two."

"You being here, helps them. More than you might think, maybe more than it helps you." "I call horseshit on that, respectfully." "Call a whole stable full of it if you like, but I know what I see."

"Sorry, that was shitty of me…"

"I'm so sorry, lad. After everything with Jon, all you've done for him... And now this." A hand on his least sore shoulder, broad and soothing. The kind of hand you'd expect a father to have. Ned Stark's faults are normal and human, he's not cruel, Satin knows that. You don't raise someone like Jon Snow if you're cruel.

In the chaos, a crowd can mean more problems, but also be the solution.

"It's alright, little one... Shh... I'm here, we'll figure it out..."

"I... I was thinking about making some new ads again, some autumn theme before..." "Lovey?" "Huh?" "It's alright." Satin looks up, seeing the hollow face on the pillow, the soft lips that don't smile, the braid resting on the other shoulder and Jon holds his gaze. "You don't have to... pretend you're fine, Satin. I know I really scared you." https://archiveofourown.org/works/71269551/chapters/225731281

I'm OLD and the last thing I'd pay for in this economy, except from meme coins, is AI "art". You haven't created shit if you've used AI and that alone is depressing. The fact that you think we'd want to PAY for it, makes me miss the porn bots. If I some day really want fanart for a specific story, I'd reach out to one of the real artists I follow here, whom I know being into that specific fandom. Go and LEARN something for real, kids. AI isn't art and the best stories on AO3 are written by adults who have spent years working on their storytelling skills. If you don't even grasp the very base of what being a FAN means, you've failed at life.

"Hi, baby." "S'been a while..." Satin makes a sound that's partly a chuckle, mostly something else and Jon nods at him. "Too tired to... move..." "Your hands, I don't... Can I hug you?" "You better..." It was worth those unwanted hands, Jon thinks with Satin's arms around him, his curls tickling his face and Jon nuzzles into his wet cheek. "Don't cry, silly... I'm not dead, just pale and ugly..."

There are no customers there when he steps inside the admittedly neat place and no owner either. "Just a moment, please!" The voice coming from a room behind the counter, is light and warm and when the man it belongs to comes out, he looks a little startled. "Hello, sir, do you wish to make an appointment?" "No, thanks. I'm... Are you Satin Flowers?" "Yes, sir. Can I help you with something?" The man seems more nervous now and Benjen finally remembers how he must come across. "I'm Benjen Stark. Jon's uncle."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/71269551/chapters/221529726

"How are you holding up, Satin?" "Alive but not kicking, I guess. Don't tell me I look tired, I'm aware." "That would be to state the obvious and I've already insulted four people today." "Only four?" "I've had patients with unusually good manners." "Before or after they were sedated?" The man who often hides his worry behind dark humor, looks like he's spent every ounce of his energy on customer service this day and he slumps back in the chair, sighing. "I'd planned on making a video call with Ghost today... Totally forgot about it." "You know it's perfectly alright if you don't visit every day, right?" "Yeah, but I want to. Even if he doesn't know I'm here, it's just..." "What you need?"

"Valar Morghulis... Doesn't mean you should actively make it easy for it."

There's a special kind of cruelty in the isolation of pain all too many share in secret and the man who only just stopped screaming, is just another link in that chain of human misery that loves company yet pushes everyone away. Sometimes, the only way to address it is a needle, for there's no point in reasoning with a mind unable to separate nightmares from unbearable reality. Fear, after all, is a very efficient savior, but unfortunately known for its impaired precision. That is why the man who's screams have turned quieter, weaker, has been held down despite the obvious terror it stirred up. It's also why another man, who thought he was on his way home, finds himself walking from another part of the hospital down to the locker rooms, changing into new scrubs and turning right back into the elevator he just came out of.

The laptop beeps to inform it's almost out of power and Jon takes it as a sign to log off and put it away. There truly isn't anything else he can do today, especially not for poor Gwin who now lies in a freezer at the wildlife vet's office and with the way Ghost sticks to Satin, Jon knows his own direwolf dog feels neglected and that wont do. "Wanna make me and Ghost company outside? He needs to run." "Of course." So do I, Jon thinks, wishes he could, knows he can't. Gwin will never run again so it feels stupid to go on a self-pity rant.

"Mormont!" "Ygritte? There's a problem, lass?" "Aye, you could say that..." With the help of some cursing, Mormont forces his aching old body through the mist and almost walks right into Ygritte, who stares at the ground a few meters before her. "Look, boss." "Aye..." They're silent for a moment, both of them frozen by the scene as if they can't comprehend what they're seeing.