#thirteenthsister

I think my gaydar's broken

by thirteenthsister

Summary: Rose: I’m serious, I think my gaydar is actively trying to sabotage me now. Shane: What do you mean? Rose: [Article: Rose Landry’s Inability to Hold Down a Man: What’s Wrong with Her?] Shane: What the fuck? Shane: They’re serious? Rose: Yup. Maybe I can borrow Ilya’s gaydar. Think he’d let me?

Want More Courage Than Time

by thirteenthsister

Summary: In which Ilya Rozanov, the second son of a Anglo-Russian gentleman, and Shane Hollander, the wealthy and reserved gentleman from Derbyshire, navigate social expectations, family dynamics, and their feelings for one another.

Or, what if the Game Changers characters were thrown into Pride & Prejudice?

I'll move, just hold my hand

by thirteenthsister

Summary: After Rose helps Shane realize his sexuality, he decides he needs to come out to the important people in his life. He's not ready to be out publicly, but he needs friends in his corner.

wear me like a secret

by thirteenthsister

Summary:

Ilya walked into the bedroom, stuttering to a stop in the doorway as he saw the rucked up bedding. He forced himself to move again, intent on making a beeline to the shower. Instead his eyes snagged on the neatly folded pile of clothes on the leather chair in the corner of the room. A brown jacket, a white tee-shirt, a pair of black jeans, even a pair of crew socks, stacked neatly, waiting.

They walked together through the snow, the night’s voice dulled to a whisper by the falling flakes. Dany clung to his arm, and Jon found he wished he could hold her closer. He felt likely to disappear, to fall back into Ghost’s mind. The giant wolf seemed to hear that thought, heaving a sigh of breath that lifted a few silver strands of Dany’s hair.

“What was it like?” She asked it in a quiet voice, not quite a whisper, as if the snow weighed on her words as well as the world. He wanted to pretend he did not know what she meant, to pretend he was still wholly human, not part animal, not a warg like Varamyr. The wildling had been cruel with his gifts and warped by them as well. Jon could not imagine becoming so twisted, but the fear was there. Would Dany still want to hold him close if he were to run as Ghost more often? Because while the fear was there, so too was the yearning to run free, to feel the wind through fur, to hunt.

A few of the pale people screamed, but Ghost did not hear them. His little cousins answered his cry of rage and pain, taking up the call. He needed to run, to run far away. He'd leaped up to howl at the half-moon, but now he threw himself into a sprint, racing towards the walls, to the fallen tree that his brother used to climb before he died beyond the ice cliff. He felt his sister, somewhere in the world, and she picked up the call, her pack of cousins joining in to tear against the sky. He missed her, he missed their dead siblings.

He climbed the flimsy, rotting trunk and pushed through the branches to the top of the stone wall. He leaped down into the snow, the sunlight not touching the cold of the night through the clouds. He burst into a full-tilt run, something he hadn't done since he'd been a pup. Now he needed to; he needed to run away from the stone hills, from the humans who hurt him, from something he couldn't quite place. He reached the tree line of the forest where his cousins hunted, dodged trunks and shrubs, running and running into the distance, away, just away. His cousins followed him, asking for a hunt, for a good howl, for some time. He ran on, refusing to answer their yips and barks of pleasure until they left him to his sprint. He needed to get far, far away. The snow fell lightly, but it did not touch his skin, only his fur before it fell away behind him, leaving a trail of fallen ice to whisper of his passing.

When he felt he had left the people far enough behind, he paused at the top of a rise, out in the open again. There was a frozen lake, another set of stone hills in the distance, all covered with flurries. Ghost saw a white rabbit run across the frozen surface but he did not give chase. He could not find the will or the want. I'm coming, brother, his sister called. You need me. I'm coming home.

When the dragon had borne Dany away from him—again, he thought—Jon prayed the old gods would keep her safe. She'd held up well at the mention of Viserion, but that meant nothing. He knew she'd have shattered if she'd been alone, if it had been only them in the courtyard, and not hundreds of their people. And her eyes… they'd seemed to steal his soul with the depth of their pain when she realized she must leave. There were other options, but she'd been correct; Drogon was the fastest way to bring word to the army, and no one could ride him but her. He'd known better than to argue; he'd denied her once by saying kings needed no permission, he could not deny her this duty she wanted—no, needed—to take. He did not blame Jorah or Tyrion for trying. He'd have held her back if he knew she would let him.

He had to drag his gaze away from the clouds to turn to his family, with the unlikely addition of Sam. "This is not how I imagined us reuniting," he said to them when he'd met their stares. Arya's gray eyes were locked on his own. "Little sister."

"Big brother," she said, and then he pulled her into his arms again and kissed the top of her head fiercely, glad that she was real, substantial, and not going anywhere again. Sansa watched on, flanked by both Sandor and Lady Brienne, her eyes nervous, her mouth trying not to twitch into a smile at such a time.

"I need to talk to you," his little brother—his only brother—said, his voice ghostly and bone-chilling. It forced Jon to let Arya go, to turn to survey his brother or the shell of him, at least.

"Perhaps not just now, Bran," Sam Tarly said over him. "Now is not the time."

"We'll talk," Jon promised the boy. "Sam, how did you come to be here? What happened at Old Town?"

"A story for later, I think."

"Gilly and baby Sam?"

"Both well, and here, in the kitchens."

"Good. I have things I need to tell you," Jon said, thinking of Dickon and his father.

"Later. Stories can wait," Sam said again, a soft smile on his full face. Jon had missed him, wished he could reach out and feel that he was real as well. After losing so many and so much, he took nothing for granted anymore. And he'd lost more without even knowing. Had Tormund survived? Lord Beric? And Edd? Did Edd even know the Wall had fallen?

"You're right. Sansa…"

"Jon," she said simply, and he hugged her as he had Arya, kissed her forehead. Arya seemed to appraise the gesture with a soldier's keen eye.

"I want to hear what's happened," he said to her, "since I gave you that sword."