mymothershumility asked: “Honey, you are not a subtle man.”
writing prompts - [ always accepting ]
[ @mymothershumility ]
“You know, it’s late.”
The comment was made as he spared a look over at his nightstand, eyes falling on the dim numbers of his alarm clock. It was already half past two. His gaze shifted from the clock to where his bathroom door was shut. Light was streaming out from beneath the space at the bottom of it and, every so often, a shadow would creep out from beneath it, darting across the floor before disappearing.
“Is it?”
The response that came from the other side of his bathroom door was muffled by the wood. But, Hal could have sworn he heard a quiet laugh lingering on the edges of the words.
It wasn’t the first time that they’d played this game. But, it was the first time since something casual had morphed into something steady. Regardless of the shift in label, it seemed that Laira still found some amusement in it.
There was a big part of Hal that was relieved about that... for one reason or another.
“Yeah,” he answered back, reaching back to drag his pillow down a little more so it bunched under his neck. He looked back to the closed door just steps away from him a second later. “No reason for you to try and drive back to your house this late.”
Again, Hal thought he heard a soft laugh. Only a second or two of silence followed after his statement. His bathroom door was swinging open before he could say anything more.
He watched as Laira leaned herself against the frame, auburn hair drawn over her shoulder as she worked to finish a loose braid. She’d already washed her face clean and thrown on one of his old Air Force t-shirts from his closet. The t-shirt practically swallowed her frame whole, but Hal could see a flicker of navy cotton peeking out from beneath the hemline of the shirt when she shifted on her feet.
Bits and pieces of Laira’s own things had slowly migrated to Hal’s apartment over time. Hal’s things had done the same at her own house. There was a spare hair brush and elastic hair ties that lived in the bottom drawer of his bathroom vanity along with a toothbrush, shampoo, basic cosmetics, and makeup remover towelettes. Some of her clothes had a spot in his closet as well, mostly leggings, a few oversized shirts, and undergarments. Hal thought there was a pair of shoes in there too. Ballet flats, if he was remembering right.
“Are you asking me to stay?” Laira asked him.
He could see the knowing looking before she ever asked her question. She was smiling when she spoke to him too. Hal always loved it when she smiled... loved it even more when she laughed.
“That obvious?” he questioned. He smiled back to her, laughing at the expression that she gave back to him. He really couldn’t fool her... not even when they were just playing one of their games.
“Honey, you are not a subtle man,” she told him. Her hands finished with her braid and the hair tied off at the end with an elastic tie, she pushed her braid back over her shoulder before reaching to cut the bathroom light off.
The light that was on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed cast enough light to cover the room in a pale muted glow, chasing off the darkness and the shadows that would have otherwise invaded.
Hal was laughing again as Laira forewent the short trek around the foot of the bed to reach her side in favor of crossing over him. One leg braced itself upon the edge of the bed before the other swung over him. Hal caught her before she could go any further, palms setting themselves against soft cotton and warm flesh.
“I thought you liked that about me,” he reminded her, his hands creeping higher upon her as she still at his waist. They settled along her sides, thumbs grazing carefully along her skin before beckoning her closer.
“I cannot recall complaining,” Laira returned. She leaned forward at his urging, bending until she was pressed chest-to-chest with him and her head was resting against his shoulder. She released a long sigh a few moments later, a faint buzzing catching her attention. Her phone had been giving alerts for missed calls and new text messages for the last hour and a half. She had been choosing to largely ignore them.
“Leave it,” Hal muttered to her, feeling her head shift against his shoulder. Whoever it was --her sisters or her friends-- they could wait until daylight. He sighed when she lifted off him completely, shifting to the opposite side of the bed.
When he saw that it was only to turn her phone off and extinguish the bedside lamp, he was quick to pull her back to him, fingers catching along the hemline of her shirt.
“You are insatiable,” she told him, slipping back into the space of his side just as he pulled the covers up over her.
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As a general note for those of you wishing to keep some secrecy between each other.
If you wish to ask or say something without others knowing you have messaged anything about it, state as much explicitly and instead of publishing the message I will publish a response out of context that responds to your message without any context.
With the differences in communication, and already occurred miscommunications, handling it this way will be much easier.
The only people that see the messages you send are myself, and I suppose the Router, so trying to discretely send messages seems needlessly complicated. Even if you want me to know something and the Router to not, discrete messaging surely won’t work since the Router is more familiar with how you all message than I am and will catch on to your actual meaning before I do.
Thankfully, according to some of you all the Router is generally trustworthy if not highly cryptic, and even I believe they’re at worst unhelpful and indifferent. So I don’t see much an issue with them seeing the messages.
As for the possibility of others in the future. I wouldn’t allow anyone on this computer unsupervised that I didn’t trust to communicate with you all. You could send something in explicit code if you don’t wish for Fiddleford to read it though, if that is a worry for any of you.
Really, even if I let anyone else on this computer, most people aren’t familiar with code and at the rate messages are sent most times I believe it would be quickly enough overlooked.
So, to summarize, please don’t send any more discretely coded messages.
If you don’t wish Fiddleford to know what you’re saying, you can message in code and I will respond in code. I can promise you that Fiddleford will respect this and not attempt to break the code.
If you don’t wish others from your dimension to know what you’re saying, send a message explicitly saying you don’t wish your message to be published or wish this to remain secret, and if the message warrants a response then I will do so in a separate post without clarifying anything that would be enough information to know what the message was about or who it was from.
LOTTIE ! it's almost the end of the year & i'm here to cry over how happy i am we started talking ? your jack has brought me SO many smiles , like i do this thing where i read threads & just go over blogs whenever i'm sad & your blog has been a source of happiness especially during my uni induced stress periods where i just need to chill a bit ?? your writing & portrayal are just ? beautiful & so true to who jack is ! ( 1 / 2 )
cont. & your ability to incorporate jack into different lores? i cry like HOW do you manage that ?? but writing & your talent aside, you’re such a phenomenal person, & you’re just so fun to talk to & go wild meta-wise ! my biggest regret is not talking to you enough this year !! but i really hope you have an amazing 2020 & that every day outshines the one before because you deserve it !! ( 2 / 2 )
DORY !!!!! oh my gosh this is just the sweetest message, i’ve been reading it over and over since you sent it and i just <3 thank you, omg. honestly, if i’m not writing jack for my own enjoyment ( which is always, lbr ), then i’m writing it for the exact reasons you’ve mentioned and i have never been exaggerating when i say that it always makes me so happy to know that other people enjoy what i do on this blog. i’m SO happy that we started talking and writing together this year and that i get to not only see your wonderful enthusiasm and passion for margaery ( and milady!!! and our boy james!!!! ) on the dash, but experience it through our chats and meta’ing at each other too. best of luck for the new semester at uni and have an absolutely wonderful 2020 ( where we will definitely talk more okay, it’s a new years resolution now it’s gotta happen! ) <3 <3
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mymothershumilty said: “Promise me you will come back.”
writing prompts - [ always accepting ]
[ @mymothershumility ]
Hal had faced raiders before traveling to court in the capital. It had only been a few short weeks before the tourney at Raventree Hall celebrating the Queen’s nameday that he had ridden out with his father to turn back raiders from the coast. He had been a part of his father’s retinue then. Now, he would be leading his own to where they were most needed.
The Manderlys had sent scouting reports just that morning, detailing the numbers that were lingering just beyond the coast and those that had already been apprehended and dealt with. If the Manderlys were able to maintain their current position and hold the raiders where they were, it would be an easy dilemma to remedy.
At the sound of footsteps upon flagstones, Hal looked up from cinching the girth of his horse’s saddle and smiled when Laira appeared in the stable’s doorway. Moone trailed her like a silent shadow, trotting happily along the stones only half a step behind.
He’d been uncertain if Laira would come to see him off.
Lyanna had fled somewhere within the godswood when he’d made his decision to take a retinue of his own to the coast. His mother had given a similar reaction, storming from the Great Hall and barring herself in her rooms. Even though his wife’s reaction to his decision had been the mildest of those that he had witnessed, Hal still knew she did not care for the idea.
Things between them still remained odd. Much like back at Riverrun, Hal had meant to discuss it, to at least make it known that something seemed different. There had been little peace since arriving at Winterfell, though. His focus had soon fallen to the concerns there within the Northern seat and deterring his mother’s continuous protests over the marriage pact that his father had accepted.
Why his mother had always favored the Baratheons as she had, Hal would never understand. He thought highly of Lord Ormund and Princess Rhaelle. He even thought highly of Ser Steffon and Lady Cassana. As for the rest of the Stags, he could not say the same.
Hal could only be thankful that his father had seen the same that he had.
The rustle of fabric brought his attention back to his side, gaze turning to where Laira had stepped up beside him. His cloak was folded in her arms, held surely in her hold as he made the final adjustments to his horse’s saddle.
“Lyanna is waiting for you by the gates,” Laira told him, shifting nearer to him when he turned to her. She reached around him when he did, the cloak in her arms unfurling as she set it about his shoulders. “Your mother’s maids informed me that she would not venture out.” She went quiet, focus devoted to setting the cloak and pinning it where it was needed. “I am sorry I could not convince her otherwise.”
Hal made a muttering noise as she talked, reaching up to touch her hand where her fingers still worked to adjust the buckles and pins to secure the cloak to his shoulders and chest. “Mother never saw Father off when he left either,” Hal told her, feeling something pressed beneath his wife’s palm as he helped her. “I didn’t expect her to make an exception for me.”
“You are her son,” Laira reminded him, fingers caught under his hand. She made no move to pull from him.
“I’m Father’s shadow,” he said. That was what his mother saw when she looked at him. She saw Father. Hal knew she saw the same thing when she looked at Lyanna as well. “That’s all she sees.”
That, and Hal knew that she saw him as a traitor of sorts. Abandoning Winterfell and the North for a place in the capital and the hand of a princess.
“She is in pain now,” Laira said, attempting to ease the hurt she knew that he felt. “You are all aching from the tragedy that occurred. Things will right themselves in time.”
“Perhaps they will,” Hal agreed, making one final pull to a buckle along the top of the cloak. For then, he could not worry himself over such things.
Taking hold of Laira’s hand, he pulled it from where it had lingered at his shoulder, fingers brushing against warm metal along the space of her palm. Bright silver caught his eye between the cover of her fingers. It took a moment before recognition struck him as Laira’s fingers folded away to showcase what she had been holding on to.
It had been some time since Hal had last seen the silver three headed dragon pendant that his wife presented him in that moment. Not since Raventree Hall, he thought. Not since the tourney that had earned him his place as Laira’s sworn shield.
The lovestruck boy in him had always believed the favour had brought him the luck he’d needed to win that tourney. Even now, over half a decade later, part of him still thought such a thing.
“I thought you might carry it with you,” Laira said, opposite hand reaching to take up the chain and thread it about his neck. She’d replaced it with something stronger, something less likely to break when compared to the dainty chain that she had worn the pendant on for so long. Her hands worked until the clasp was set and she was able to push the pendant beneath the cover of his jerkin so it was hidden out of view. “For good fortune,” she told him.
And, so a part of her could be with him even if she could not. It had been years since he had ventured anywhere that she had not gone with him.
“Promise me that you will come back,” she said next, palms having set themselves against the sides of his neck.
Though it wasn’t the first time that it had occurred, Hal saw the barrier that had emerged between them after Aerys’ death fall like dry sand. He saw a flicker of what used to exist between them surface again.
“I promise,” he told her, his own hands rising to catch around hers again. “I cannot recall having ever broken a promise to you.”
