#petitmortes

@petitmortes asked: Aren't you going to dance? / from sansa !

𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖊   𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖉   𝖆𝖙   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊   𝖔𝖋   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑,   𝖍𝖎𝖘   𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖊   𝖋𝖎𝖝𝖊𝖉   𝖔𝖓   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖘𝖜𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗𝖘   𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊   𝖍𝖎𝖒,   yet   his   thoughts   were   far   from   the   music   or   the   festive   atmosphere.   He   had   avoided   the   dance   floor   all   evening,   his   usual   lively   demeanor   subdued   by   a   weight   he   couldn't   quite   shake.   But   when   a   voice   reached   his   ears,   soft   yet   carrying   a   note   of   gentle   challenge,   he   turned   to   face   her.

For   a   moment,   Jace   hesitated,   caught   off   guard   by   the   Northern   beauty's   question.   Sansa   was   poised,   her   auburn   hair   gleaming   in   the   candlelight,   and   her   presence   exuded   a   calm   that   was   both   inviting   and   disarming.   Realizing   his   silence   had   stretched   too   long,   he   offered   her   a   smile—small,   perhaps   a   bit   strained,   but   genuine.

"My   apologies,   Lady   Sansa,"   he   said,   inclining   his   head   slightly.   "I've   been   rather   sullen   tonight,   haven't   I?   It   seems   I   forgot   my   manners."   His   voice   was   warm,   despite   the   lingering   shadows   in   his   eyes.

fingers   close   around   his   throat,   nails   digging   into   skin   and   …   he   can’t   even   find   himself   embarrassed   for   the   small   grin   it   causes   on   his   lips.   dimples   hidden   behind   the   thickness   of   his   beard   when   he   bares   his   neck   to   her   further–   excitement   flashing   in   his   eyes   regardless   of   a   lack   of   sexual   or   romantic   context.   there’s   anger   in   her   eyes.   anger   or   …   hate   ?   perhaps   both–   even   though   he’s   never   sure   what   for.   never   all   that   in   the   picture   of   what   headache   he   caused   today   and   why   he   hurt   feelings   with   words   and   actions.

not   that   it   matters   all   that   much   right   now.   

❛   do   it.   ❜   moxley   hisses   from   behind   his   smirk.   ❛   tighter–   if   ya   really   wanna   get   rid   of   me.   ❜   as   if   to   make   a   point,   both   his   hands   find   her   hips,   pull   her   closer   until   they   are   chest   to   chest–   the   blue   of   his   eyes   narrowing   to   glare   back   at   her.   ❛   tighter.   ❜   provocative   …   free   of   fear.   if   this   is   how   he   goes,   so   it   be.   

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐑𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 hasn't been the most pleasant. not for her character, but for what has been done to her or those she cares about. in this regard, the queen can empathize & she does. however, sansa's strong willed words make rhaenyra break out in a smile. arms cross over her chest out of habit, eyes lowering as does her chin to mull over what has been said under a more serious lens. strong will, determination, were good, but not if it costs you your life or something bad befalling one because of it. if anyone deserves to be angry, to get even, it was sansa. even so, the queen did not want to see her go just yet--a spirit like that should be nurtured, should be kept close.

@petitmortes said, " HE'S MEAN, I'M MEANER. "

a   hand   finds   her   hair   when   teeth   sink   into   the   flesh   of   his   neck   –   nails   scratch   past   her   skull,   dark   strands   wrapped   around   his   fingers   but   he   doesn’t   try   to   pull   her   off.   nah.   offers   the   burning   sensation   of   pulling   her   hair   like   a   silent   thank   you.   unintelligently   lips   stand   agape   for   a   moment    –   half   chub   pressed   against   the   round   of   her   ass.   the   line   between   love   making   an   violence   feels   blurry   where   the   two   of   them   clash   and   fuck   him   if   it   isn’t   his   favorite   thing   about   their   bedroom   time.   fuck   him   if   cora’s   teeth   digging   through   skin   as   if   she’s   trying   to   draw   blood   is   the   best   fucking   thing   to   him.   

finally,   moxley   tightens   the   grip   on   her   hair   further,   the   last   bits   of   logical   thoughts   strung   together   when   he   brings   their   mouths   together   instead.   they   find   each   other   in   a   kiss   that   is   more   teeth   and   tongue   than   anything   else.   she’s   his   [ … ]   shit,   he   is   hers   too   and   now   everyone   would   know,   now   everyone   would   see.   ❛   feelin’   brave,   huh   ?   ❜   he   mumbles   between   the   touch   of   her   lips,   provocatively.   ❛   gonna   show   me   what   that   mouth   is   really   good   for   ?   ❜

@petitmortes asked: ❛ you look better in your wanted posters. ❜ from sansa <3

Arya   stood   across   from   her   sister,   chewing   on   a   sour   piece   of   fruit   that   wasn’t   quite   ripe,   but   she   didn’t   seem   to   mind.   She   rolled   her   eyes   dramatically   as   Sansa   said   her   jest   and   she   does   her   best   not   to   roll   her   eyes.

"I   don’t   have   any   wanted   posters,"   Arya   replied,   her   voice   deadpan   but   laced   with   a   hint   of   amusement.   She   took   another   bite,   the   tartness   making   her   squint   for   a   moment.   "And   you   looked   taller   when   I   was   little."

jay   stops   his   words,   stops   the   motion   of   his   hand   too.   he   is.   he’s   making   a   big   deal   of   it   because   to   him   it   is   –   to   him,   knowing   cora   was   hanging   out   with   another   dude,   is   a   big   deal.   it’s   a   big   deal   because   crap   …   how   much   longer   could   he   do   it   ?   how   much   longer   could   he   pretend   without   the   words   slipping   ?   how   much   longer   can   jay   act   like   all   the   fucking   and   fighting   is   just   fucking   and   fighting   and   not   fucking   and   a   silent   scream   for   attention   ?   

❛   nothing.   of   course   it’s   fuckin’   nothing   when   you   hang   out   with   moxley   at   a   show   i   invited   you   to.   ❜   he   huffs.   hurt.   but   looks   away   –   keeps   that   part   isolated   from   her.   she   wouldn’t   get   it   anyway   because   …   in   truth,   he   doesn’t   think   they   get   each   other   at   all.   jay   doesn’t   get   her.   perhaps   he   would   never   get   why   this   …   they   –   why   it’s   not   enough   for   her.   ❛   i’m   taking   the   guest   room.   ❜   said   bitterly   as   he   pushes   back   from   the   table   they’d   shared   take   out   at   after   a   long   flight   from   whatever   city   back   to   orlando   –   a   place   that   isn’t   home   in   a   house   that,   maybe,   isn’t   his.   

he   avoids   looking   at   her   the   way   he   avoided   her   all   together   since   their   last   conversation.   if   it   could   even   be   called   that.   she   had   sent   him   off   and   moxley   …   accepted   the   rejection   much   like   he   had   learned   to   accept   rejection   a   thousand   times   before.   it’s   easier,   usually.   easier   when   it’s   just   a   chick   he   banged   once   or   twice   and   they   noticed   he   was   never   out   for   anything   serious.   easier   when   [   …   ]   he   isn’t   the   one   who’d   made   more   of   a   situation   than   it   was.   romance   isn’t   his   stronghold   –   well   aware   of   his   lack   of   …   ability   in   that   department.   but   how   he   misinterpreted   whatever   wasn’t   happening   between   him   and   lottie   this   badly   left   his   chest   aching   and   his   neck   feeling   tight.   maybe   there’d   never   be   an   answer   to   that   question   and   if   so   …   that   would   be   the   closure   he   got.   that’d   be   what   he   has   to   accept.   

it   doesn’t   make   any   of   this   less   awkward   when   her   fingers   work   on   a   cut   open   chin   (   the   same   scar   that’d   been   busted   open   so   many   times   before   )   …   and   jon   can’t   help   but   almost   feel   guilty   for   it.   for   being   here.   even   though   there’d   be   no   context   more   honest   to   come   see   her   than   …   this.   work.   the   reasonable   explanation   doesn’t   make   the   situation   any   less   shitty,   doesn’t   make   him   feel   any   less   like   an   asshole   for   having   invaded   her   privacy   once   too   often   before.   ❛   just   put   a   bandaid   on   it,   i’ll   be   outta   your   hair.   ❜   he   mumbles,   looks   to   the   side   so   he   doesn’t   have   to   see   the   expression   on   her   face.   shit.   he’s   no   predator.   and   fuck   him   for   her   having   ever   felt   like   he   is.