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zegalba · 1 month
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Ayumi Hamasaki: Duty (2000)
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spockvarietyhour · 4 months
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philosophybits · 9 months
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As the sun does not wait for prayers and incantations to rise, but shines forth and is welcomed by all: so you also should not wait for clapping of hands and shouts and praise to do your duty; but do good of your own accord, and you will be loved like the sun.
Epictetus, Fragments
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y2kalbums · 10 months
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ayumi hamasaki – duty
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multific · 1 year
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Coming Back
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Curvy!Fem!Reader
As they all got off the plane, Gaz went his own way while the others stayed a little, Captain pulled a cigar but didn't light it.
"Simon!" came a voice which got all of their attention, Ghost was called so he headed back to the plane. Price and Soap watched her approach looking for someone.
Johnny watched this woman, she moved so elegantly, with such confidence.
He could tell she was comfortable in her own skin. And it was the sexiest thing he has ever seen.
"You are drooling Sergant." said Price next to him, which made Johnny snap his head and look at his Captain. 
"Sorry, Sir."
"No need to apologize. Simon is indeed very lucky." said the Captain as he lit his cigar.
Johnny looked at the Captain, confused.
"Simon? Sir?"
Just as he said that Ghost got off of the plane and the woman rushed over to him, Johnny watched as his Lieutenant lifted the woman with ease as she cried, Johnny heard them talk.
"I missed you very much." she said.
"I missed you too, Darling." Ghost replied, and it took a moment for Johnny to fully understand the situation, it took him a couple back and forth between looking at Ghost and Price.
"Really?" asked Johnny and Price nodded. "He has a girlfriend?!"
"Wife." Johnny was gasping like a fish.
"Wife?!"
"Can't you see the ring? Bigger than the bloody moon."
Soap looked back as the couple exchanged a couple words, her hand moved to Ghost's mask and Johnny noticed the ring. The Captain didn't lie, it really was a huge diamond and the wedding band was just as extravagant. 
Then, just before the couple could walk away and go home, Soap ran over to them.
"Hey, Lt!" Ghost groaned, he knew this would happen. This is why he never wanted you to go and greet him when he arrived home. But this time, he needed to see you.
Almost dying was a regular occurrence but this hit him hard. And he needed to see you.
"Oh, hi! Name's Johnny MacTavish, they call me soap." said Johnny as he put his hand out for the woman.
You smiled and decided to hug him instead.
"So you are the one Simon has been telling me about. Lovely to finally meet you." you smiled at the man who was a bit taken aback but soo relaxed as you moved back to Simon and he pulled you close. "How rude of me, my name is Y/N Riley. Nice to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine, Lass." 
"Soap!" came a bark from Ghost, clearly not pleased that you were flirting with his wife.
"Relax Lt, just introducing myself to your lovely lady here. Didn't know Lt was married."
"He doesn't exactly broadcast it to everyone." you replied as you smiled at Johnny. "But it was lovely to finally meet you, John always said I needed to meet the team but Simon never liked the idea." 
"It was nice to meet you, we could come together and get to know you a little better, not every day we learn the Lt has a wife." Johnny smiled before Simon shifted next to you. You sensed he had enough of this conversation. 
"We will head home now, it was really great to see you Johnny." you smiled again before you all said your goodbyes and you headed back to your car, letting Simon drive. 
"I like him." you said as Simon groaned.
"Of course you do."
"You don't?"
"It is a work agreement, it is not about friendship," he replied and you smirked.
"That's why you call him Johnny every time you mention him to me? You are a big softie Simon, you never show it, but I know you are like a dog."
"A dog?!" he sounded offended.
"Yes, like those big doggies, all cuddly and soft and kind and warm and-"
"Okay I get it."
"And friendly. You can say what you want. I know he is your friend. You are just afraid to admit in case something happens to him. Similarly to our relationship when you didn't want to admit that you love me."
He moved his hand from the wheel to your thigh and you decided to hold his hand between your hands.
"I'm happy you have great friends like him." you said as he stopped at a red.
"Me too." he squeezed your hand and you giggled. 
You were so glad that your husband was home. 
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~Masterlist~
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asongofmarvelanddc · 10 months
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Duty PT6
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PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader
WORD COUNT: 5642
WARNINGS: none :)
SUMMARY: The Queen considers whether it is time to move on with her life, but the past is not so easily buried.
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 5½
MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST
A/N: All will be revealed in time 👀 Please reblog, comment or send an ask so I can hear what you think! Really hope you enjoy this one 🫶🏾🥰
The rain up North is nothing like the summer showers you experienced back home. This rain stings and bites at your skin as it falls, but it doesn't send you back inside under the shade.
Today is the first time in a few days that you have been outside, breathing in the fresh air. Your moon blood came particularly harsh this time around and left you bedridden for two days. It was a terrible ordeal, but it allowed you to see another side to your husband.
This morning, you awoke with no pains. Although your body is still tired and weak, here you stand, in the rain, embracing the Northern cold and eagerly awaiting nightfall because surprisingly, you have missed spending your evenings with Robb.
Your thoughts are interrupted by Amiria calling your name.
"My Lady, what are you doing out in the cold?" she sounds panicked as she wraps a blanket around your shoulders, "Seven hells! You'll make yourself ill!"
You chuckle as you welcome the blanket and follow her back under the shade, "It's alright, I wasn't out there for long."
Amiria runs the blanket over your damp hair. "It is a good thing I found you. Any longer and you might catch a fever," she presses the back of her hand to your cheek, "You have just been unwell, you should not tempt fate, my Lady."
"I apologise, I did not mean to worry you," you smile warmly and give her a short hug to reassure her, "Found me? Were you looking for me?"
"Yes, Lady Stark has requested your presence in her quarters."
You're taken aback by this. Lady Stark, though pleasant since the wedding, has never once asked to speak to you alone.
"Did she tell you why she wants to see me?"
Amiria looks up at you and chuckles when she sees the nervousness that has settled into you.
"Don't be afraid," she says in a tone that suggests your anxiety is amusing to her, "She did not seem to be in a terrible mood."
"That is good," you breathe a sigh of relief, but your eyes remain apprehensive.
Amiria smirks and takes you by the arm, pulling you towards your chambers, "Come. Let us get you dry for the Queen Mother."
***
As soon as you enter the parlour, Catelyn rises to greet you at the door, embracing you before you even have a chance to curtsey. When she releases you, her smile turns into a frown as she cups your face with her hands.
"You still look a bit unwell, darling," she says, looking between your eyes, a hint of pity in her voice, "Come and sit, let us have some tea. Perhaps it will help you feel better."
You follow her to where a small table is set with all your favourite treats and a teapot to share between the two of you. She takes a seat in an armchair on one side of the table and you sit opposite her on the other side of the table. Without a word she begins to pour the tea for the both of you.
"Does it normally trouble you so?" she asks as she hands you a cup.
You take a grateful sip, smiling when that familiar warmth begins spreading in your chest. "Sometimes the Mother offers mercy and my bloods pass painlessly," you say, "Other times I am confined to my bed chambers for some days."
"Poor girl," her forehead wrinkles when she frowns, "I'll speak to Maester Luwin about giving you something that might take away your pain."
"Thank you, my Lady."
There's a pause in the conversation as you sip the mint tea and enjoy the warmth of the fire burning. Your worries begin to fade away as you relax in Catelyn's company.
“I see you’ve been spending much more time with my son as of late,” she says, breaking the silence, “I hear you’re with him in his study into the late hours of the night.”
It's an abrupt turn from your initial conversation, but you suppose it is normal for her to ask about her son.
“We talk mostly. Sometimes I sew while he works.”
A thin smile forms on Catelyn’s lips as she hums in response, “And what is it that you talk about?”
The question catches you off guard. It’s a bit impolite to ask about private conversations, but you would never dare to point out such a thing to your good-mother.
“I tell him about my family, what it was like growing up in the South,” you say hesitantly, “He talks about you, his family…his father and sisters.”
You can’t help but pity her when you see how she deflates at the mention of her lost family. Her eye twitches as she looks away, trying to stop her mask from slipping.
“He tells me stories about all of them as children,” a tender smile forms on your lips as you think back to the conversations, “It makes me wish I had siblings of my own to fight and play with.”
Catelyn nods again, but her smile seems even more strained than before. Your brows furrow in concern as you reach out to touch her knee.
“Lady Stark?”
She presses one hand to her lips, taking a moment to collect herself. Not a single tear falls from her eyes, though they come close. After only a few seconds, she blows out a breath and sits up properly in her chair, composed once again.
“He rarely talks about them with me,” she whispers, eyes downcast.
“I think he finds it easier to talk about them with someone who doesn’t know them,” you reassure her, “I assume it feels more like recalling a fond memory to a stranger than it does reminiscing about loved ones he’s lost.”
She nods her head, though she seems unconvinced. You can’t imagine the pain and fear she must be feeling knowing that her son has made an enemy of the same family who have her daughters in their grasp. That he is in open rebellion against the King who took her husband's head.
"He must trust you quite a bit."
You consider it for a moment, "I hope so. I would like to think he does."
"How have you been finding all of this? Being here, married to Robb?"
It is not a simple question to answer. In truth, you did not expect this much time to pass with your heart still refusing to fully open to Robb, nor his to you. Your mother always told you that falling in love is quick and simple, and in the past you found that to be true. But for some reason, it is slow and difficult with Robb.
A month since your wedding and you still hold each other at arms' length, merely allowing glimpses into your souls on occasion.
Instead of telling her an outright lie, you choose to focus on the good. "Your family have been so accommodating, as has Robb," you plaster a smile on your lips, "It has taken some time to adjust, but everyone has been so kind."
Judging by the look on Catelyn's face, she knows that you are hiding something. She doesn't come across as the kind of woman who is fooled easily.
“This may be crude of me, but I must ask," she begins, leaning forward ever so slightly, "This is your second time on the bloods since the wedding?"
It only takes you a second to decipher what exactly she is asking. You nod quickly, suddenly very uncomfortable.
"Have you and Robb–?"
"We have not."
"The marriage is unconsummated?"
You nod again, averting your gaze in embarrassment. Catelyn looks off to the side, deep in thought. Each passing second only serves to make your stomach turn and your palms sweat.
Eventually, she turns back to you, but there is no anger nor shame in her eyes, only determination.
"I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable, but I must stress the importance of your consummation." She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone that is only slightly intimidating.
"Your marriage is not valid until the act is done. And I need not remind you of your duty to each other as husband and wife, and as rulers of the North."
Children.
"I understand."
"Then why, may I ask, are you waiting?"
This time, there is a hint of frustration in her tone. She looks at you with eyes so piercing that for a moment you forget that you are not a child being scolded by her Septa. Yet, it is somehow worse because the person asking the question is your good-mother.
"We only wish to know each other better before we–" you cut yourself off to find the right words, "There is still time–"
"There is no time," Catelyn's patience seems to have worn thin, "Robb will return to the frontline before long. And only the gods know if he will come back."
That thought sends a chill down your spine. Robb may not be some great love, but the mere idea of his demise makes your heart sink to your stomach.
"I have been in your shoes before, Y/N," she says, her tone softer, "I did not know Ned very well when I first met him. I certainly didn't love him either. That comes with time."
Her words are optimistic. Reassuring. And they get you thinking.
"We all have our roles to play. It is time you and Robb started doing your part."
***
"She wants us to consummate."
Amiria sits on a stool beside your bath, washing all the grease and dirt out of your hair while you soak in the warm water.
"But His Grace said that you do not have to if you don't wish to, no?" she asks.
You sigh deeply, "That is true. But I'm starting to believe that she may be right."
The longer you think about her words, the more they cut deep. You have been ignoring the reality of your situation, going through the motions and capitalising on Robb's busy schedule to avoid hard truths.
Robb is your husband now, and the North is your home. That will never change. This is not King’s Landing where you will have to endure for a time and be rescued. This is your life, forever. And deep down in your heart you know that if you are to start a new life, you must let go of the old one.
Without warning, tears begin to well in your eyes and blur your vision. This is not the life you imagined for yourself. To never experience love, you were prepared for – you always knew that your marriage would be arranged, and if love never happened with your husband, you would’ve been content given he was kind and gentle.
But this? To have loved and lost it? To know what it feels like and know that you will never have it again? It’s a pain you would not wish on anyone.
And Robb. He is kind, and he cares…somewhat. But he does not love you. And if he loves Elyse the way you have loved, then you know he will never love you. That is the hard truth.
You bury your head in your hands and let the tears flow. Amiria crouches down beside the bath and wraps her arms around you, letting you sob into her shoulder.
"I hate to see you in such pain, my Lady," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
The day you left King's Landing, your heart was shattered. A part of you has been holding on to him for so long because it is a reminder that what you shared was real. And how could you repay the love he gave by letting it go?
Selfishly, you want him to be happy, to have moved on. You pray that he has forgotten you. Maybe then you would not be riddled with guilt over letting him go. The truth is, you have responsibilities that you can shirk no longer. And you cannot be a good wife with him still in your heart.
With a deep, shaky breath, you pull away from Amiria and wipe your eyes, splashing your face with the bath water to calm yourself down.
Once your heart stops racing and your breathing relaxes, you turn to Amiria, "Could you fetch my robe, please?"
She hesitates momentarily before doing it. You climb out of the bath and slip on the robe, walking to your dresser with Amiria following close behind.
"Help me dress."
Your sudden switch from distress to being resolute is alarming to Amiria. She stares in bewilderment as you begin to get ready. "Where are you going?"
"I always visit Robb in the evenings," you say, "It is the perfect time to raise the topic of consummation."
Amiria places a hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. She looks straight into your eyes and asks sincerely, "Are you sure that you are ready to take that step?"
You know that you are not ready, but you also know that it is time to stop living in the past. It is exhausting, and it hurts you more than it makes you happy. You want to believe that you can be happy here, if you only give it a chance.
"Yes. I'm sure."
***
It’s not a question that Robb has a face any woman would love to look at. You see the way women giggle and blush when he smiles as he walks past them. The way they always seem to crowd when he spars with Ser Rodrik. You understand, you like to look at him too. He’s really quite…beautiful, but it’s more than that.
His guard is never lower than when he is in this solar working, and you like to watch the way he does things when he is not concerned with appearances. These are the moments when you see the truest version of him. His brows knitting together when he reads something particularly unpleasant, the way he occasionally looks up at you and offers a sweet smile. He curses sometimes. It used to shock you, but you find it amusing now.
Your admiration grows the more you see him like this, constantly fighting through mental and physical fatigue to lead his people and be there for his family. When he talks to you about them, you wonder if he has even had time to properly grieve his father, or if that is yet another thing he has pushed aside for the sake of his responsibilities. It breaks your heart to think so.
Most mornings you wake up alone because he is up by the crack of dawn. And at night, you leave him here in this study, working into the late hours. You see the bags under his eyes and the way he pauses every so often to massage his shoulders and neck. He takes on…too much.
Sitting across from him tonight, all you can think about are Catelyn's words. How do you even begin to discuss such a sensitive topic? Especially when he is under so much pressure?
Your mother says it is time we consummated our marriage. Shall we start making love?
Ridiculous.
Robb stops his writing for a moment to crack his knuckles and stretch his back, and as he puts down his writing quill, he looks up and catches you staring. You quickly tear away your gaze, returning to your embroidery and ignoring the rising heat on your neck and chest.
Robb knows you well enough now that he can tell when there is something disturbing you.
"What is on your mind?" he asks, leaning forward to give you his full attention.
This is your opportunity to broach the subject, but for some reason, you are unable to form the words. So you tell him something else.
“Just that I...forgot to tell you something. I went into town the day before I fell ill.”
Robb sits up a little, visibly concerned, “Alone?”
“No, Amiria went with me. And a few guards.”
He relaxes then, leaning forward once again.
“We took some food and clothes to the homes sheltering the children orphaned in this war,” you say, “I wanted to be sure they’re being taken care of.”
He looks pleasantly surprised. “That is very kind of you. I had not thought to do that yet.”
You wave a hand and shake your head. “Of course not. You already have so much on your plate,” you gesture to his cluttered desk, “I have never ran a household much less an entire castle before, so I leave it to your mother. I’m just trying to do what little I can to support your efforts.”
You return to your embroidery, but Robb doesn't take his eyes off you. He knows there is still something eating at you and yet you refuse to say it. Suddenly he's full of regret. Perhaps, if he had not been so determined to dislike you at first, you would not still hide behind your wall.
Eventually, he looks away from you with a sigh, picking up a letter from his unopened pile and breaking the seal. You glance up at him, relieved that he has broken his scrutinising stare.
“What are you reading?” you ask, attempting to change the topic.
“A report from our scouts.”
You sit up properly, now curious, “How goes the search for Arya?”
Robb puts down the letter a little forcefully and run his hands through his hair in frustration. That about tells you all you need to know.
"Have you thought any more about what I suggested? About the Owls?”
This is a conversation that has already been had before. Multiple times. Robb turned down your father's offer, and he has rejected yours as well each time you've brought it up. At this point, he is tired of reiterating his position.
“I have already told you that I have no intention of using them,” his tone is clipped when he speaks, and he attempts to busy himself with other work to end the conversation.
His efforts are futile because you refuse to let it go, “They would be inside the Red Keep within hours of receiving your letter–“
“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“–and they would have Sansa on the road back to Winterfell within days.”
“I am not going to use spies.”
“Sansa is not–,” you pause mid-sentence to gather yourself, “Sansa is not safe with Joffrey.”
Robb sighs deeply and rubs his tired eyes with his hands, "Do you think I am unaware of that?”
“I just don’t understand why you won’t use them,” you press, “Do you doubt their capabilities?”
“No, I am sure they are very capa–“
“Because they managed to smuggle me out of King’s Landing without issue,” you cut him off, “Daenerys Targaryen is alive in Essos today because of them.”
“Enough!”
You flinch at the sound of his raised voice. Instantly your heart starts racing, the hairs on your body standing on end. For a second, only a mere second, you are back in King's Landing, and you are terrified.
“I am fighting this war with honour,” he continues, his voice now back to normal, “This is the last time I will have this discussion, do you understand me?”
He stares you down for a few seconds until he thinks you have dropped it. You wait until he relaxes some before speaking.
“Your enemy would pay a starving child two coppers and a loaf of stale bread to poison your supper,” you say in the calmest tone you can muster, “Spying ought not be where you draw the line.”
You rise to your feet and walk to the door, ignoring Robb’s burning gaze. As you place your hand on the handle, you turn to him once more.
“I don’t suppose you will be retiring for the night?”
He begins shuffling some papers on his desk, “No, I still have much to do before the morn.”
You don’t believe him, but you nod anyways. “Very well, then. I shall bid you goodnight.”
Once you step outside and close the door, you lean against the wall of the corridor, sucking in the cold air and placing a hand over your chest to slow your heart. Hot tears burn behind your eyes – not of sadness, but of anger.
It took one word – one little word – and you were back there at the lowest point you've ever been. It's a reminder that all the pain and hurt inflicted by that monster is still inside you. And it hurts that Robb was the one to bring it to the surface.
***
When Robb eventually retires for the night, he half-expects you to be waiting for him, ready to continue the conversation from earlier, so he's surprised to find you curled up under the blankets on your side of the bed.
A few of the candles in the room are still lit – he knows you left them burning for his benefit. He uses the dim lighting to make his way around the room, removing his jerkin shirt as he does so. It gets hot in the room because even with the natural heating from the hot springs, you still insist on having a fire built every night before you sleep. Robb doesn't object to this because he knows you can't sleep in the freezing cold – but it does mean he now sleeps in as little clothes as possible.
He hears you stir when he walks to your side of the room and blows out the candles there, but he ignores it and returns to his side before climbing into the bed. As always, he turns his back to you, stares into the darkness and listens to your breathing.
Steady.
"I know you're awake," he says after a moment.
He's not sure you know that you snore when you sleep. It's not bothersome at all, the sound resembles the light purring of a kitten. On nights where sleep eludes him, the sound helps to calm his mind and lull him into a slumber.
That is how he knows that you are only pretending to sleep.
You don't stir, and after a while he assumes that you are choosing to ignore him. The moment he closes his eyes, he hears your voice call out to him.
"Robb?"
He hums in response, not wanting to seem too eager to reconcile.
"Don't ever raise your voice to me in that manner again."
Your tone is flat and unemotional, but the words are extremely sobering for Robb. He's rendered speechless, and no other words are spoken by either of you that night.
***
The bridge connecting the Great Keep to the Armoury offers the best view of the courtyard in Winterfell. That is where you go to forget your troubles, distracting yourself with the activities happening below you. But even watching the bustling of people fails you this afternoon. All you can think about is the night before.
Deep down you know that you provoked Robb into having that row, simply to avoid having a difficult conversation. You did not realise that was what you were doing until you had some time to yourself. And yet, you cannot seem to stop yourself from thinking about Robb's reaction.
He has never presented himself as a man who is quick to anger.
Neither did Joffrey. Not at first.
You shake those thoughts out of your head almost as soon as you have them. Robb is not like Joffrey, of that you are certain. He is...attentive, in the ways that matter.
Not a single stew or soup has been served to you since you told him about your unusual diet. He found out you enjoy lemon cakes, and before long there was a lemon tree growing in the glass garden. And not once has he complained about the fire you keep burning in your chambers before you sleep even though you know he despises the heat.
Joffrey was never that way, even before he revealed his true colours.
Perhaps this is all you will ever have, you don't have to love him to bear his children. A kind husband is more than most have. Shouldn't that be enough?
It is at this moment that Robb arrives at the top of the bridge, emerging from the armoury with Lord Umber in tow. He sees you standing there, right in the middle of the bridge, looking out onto the courtyard. There's a distant look in your eyes as you stare down, and Robb knows exactly what is weighing on your heart.
You don't notice him or Lord Umber until they are only a few steps away from you, at which point you quickly stand up straight.
"Your Grace," you curtsey to Robb as you always do around other people.
Lord Umber bows his head to you, "Your Grace."
"My Lady, this is Lord Umber. You might remember meeting him at our wedding feast?"
His face is unfamiliar, "My apologies, Lord Umber, I met quite a few people that night."
"No need to apologise, Your Grace," he laughs heartily, "The ale flowed freely that night, I'm not sure I remember our meeting either."
All three of you share a laugh at that, but before the conversation can continue any further, Robb turns to Lord Umber.
"Lord Umber, might you wait for me by my solar? I would like to speak to my wife in private."
"Of course, Your Grace." he bows his head to you both and walks past you towards the Great Keep.
Robb turns to you once you're alone, but he does not speak. He notices that the smile you put on for Lord Umber has faded, and the sadness in your eyes has returned. Your words from the night before play over in his mind, as they have been all morning. He knows that your upset at this present moment is because of him and only him, and for that, he's ashamed.
After a moment, he turns to face the courtyard, arms resting against the railing. You watch him, curious about his troubled expression, before joining him. Your forearm brushes against his as you stand next to him, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you," he says, eyes downcast, "I did not mean to frighten you, and I will never do it again."
You didn't expect an apology, not for this. Many men have done worse to their wives without a second thought, but as you glance at Robb out of the corner of your eye, it is clear that he is remorseful. It warms your heart.
"Thank you," you whisper, "And I am sorry too."
"What for?"
"Picking a fight," you look up at him, "I should not have taken your decision so personally."
Robb nods briefly, accepting your apology – one he is surprised to receive because he knows that you still believe he is making the wrong choice.
"I'm trying to be like my father," he explains with a heavy sigh, "I want to fight this war in the most honourable way I can. And if I resort to spying and trickery to win, how would I be any different to my enemies? To Joffrey?"
At those words, you turn your head sharply to look at him. Your eyes soften when they meet his.
"You are a good man, Robb. Nothing like Joffrey."
The hint of a smile plays on his lips.
"I know you don't believe this, but I truly do value your advice," he says, "Even if I don't always agree, I would still like to know your opinion on those choices. Don't ever hesitate to tell me what you think."
You stand side by side, overlooking the courtyard. Down by the guest house, a little boy and girl are wrestling in the mud. Within seconds, a woman who you assume is their mother appears by their side and begins scolding them over their spoiled garments. She pulls them away from the scene by their ears, the two children giggling as she does so.
You and Robb both laugh as this unfolds, revelling in the innocence and mischief of childhood.
"They remind me of Arya and Bran," he says, a mournful look in his eyes.
The same urge to console him when he first opened up to you about his father overwhelms you once again. But instead of drawing back, this time, you place your hand over his, and he welcomes it without hesitation.
You lean against his shoulder and give his hand a comforting squeeze as he absent-mindedly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. A simple touch but it’s enough to make you wish things were different.
"Do you think we will ever be happy?" you suddenly ask, "The way my mother and father are? The way yours were?"
Robb doesn't know how to respond to that. Mostly because in the midst of this seemingly endless war, he has been unable to envision life beyond it. But judging by your question, you may have started to, so it may be time for him to start as well.
He looks down at you with a thoughtful expression. "I don't know," he answers honestly, "But I hope so."
That makes you smile. You hold his gaze for a moment, only tearing your eyes away when the deep blue of his begin to grow too intense for your comfort.
You chuckle nervously and nod your head towards the Great Keep as you stand up straight, "Lord Umber must be waiting for you."
Robb blinks as if the fact had slipped his mind. "Of course," he says quickly with a bow and you regret that he chose to be so formal.
You watch him as he walks away, but he stops after a few paces and turns back to face you.
"I'm going into town later, I thought you might accompany me if you'd like," his tone is cheery, "I have some business to attend to, but you can visit the market while we're there?"
It is a kind offer, but you simply want to be alone with your thoughts for now.
"I'm afraid I'm not feeling up to it today," you say apologetically, "But I thank you for the invitation."
Robb is disappointed with your answer to say the least, but he does not let it show. Instead, he nods in understanding with a wistful smile and heads back inside, leaving you alone on the bridge.
You turn your attention back to the courtyard, resting your arms on the railing and letting out a deep sigh. That is when you notice the very familiar silhouette of a man.
His back is to you while he talks to another man just outside the armoury. Even though he's far away and you cannot see his face, he looks too familiar.
There is absolutely no chance.
You lean so far forward that only a few inches more and you'd fall over the railing. The man throws his head back and laughs. Instantly a pit forms in your stomach.
You know that laugh.
Your body begins to move faster than you can think. Within seconds you've hitched up your skirts and ran back into the Great Keep. Your heart is beating out of your chest with every step down the stairs. There are no thoughts in your head. All you hear is that laugh and the thumping of your heart.
In the courtyard there's people bustling about everywhere. You want to scream at them to stop moving so that you can see. To stop talking so that you can think. Your shoes and the bottom of your dress are caked in mud as you run from one end of the courtyard to the other, frantically searching for him.
The armoury. He was standing in front of the armory.
You take off running in that direction, stepping in puddles and all kinds of dirt and muck on the way. Once inside, you stop to catch your breath, panting heavily as you look around, hoping to catch sight of him. All you see are large, oily men carrying pounds of steel, shields, armour and all sorts.
You begin to wonder if you only imagined seeing him. Your mind playing some kind of sick trick on you. It wouldn't be surprising considering everything that has happened recently.
Just as you are about to let it go, a hand grabs your shoulder and turns you around.
The black hair. Those blue eyes.
You forget how to breathe for a moment. Completely frozen in shock. It's like the whole building goes silent and all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You're sure he calls your name, but you find yourself incapable of doing anything but stare at him in confusion and awe.
This is not real. This is not real.
You cannot allow yourself to believe that this is happening because the devastation if it's not real is not one you will recover from easily. With a shaky hand, you reach out to touch his face. Before you can even cup his cheek, he takes your hand and leans into it.
A stuttered breath escapes your lips as tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.
"Gendry."
*
Special thanks to these lovely people (and extra shoutout to everyone who called it 😉) Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💞 (@’s in bold I can’t seem to tag :/):
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thepersonalquotes · 2 months
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I exist not to be loved and admired, but to love and act. It is not the duty of those around me to love me. Rather, it is my duty to be concerned about the world, about man.
Janusz Korczak
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i learned what was the most epic thing anyone has ever done
Bishnu Shrestha, a 35-year-old Gurkha soldier, was on his way to home after retiring from his position as Naik in Gurkha Infantry . He was travelling via the Maurya Express . About forty armed robbers attacked the train while it was passing through dense jungle and robbed valuables of passengers.
He was asleep when the looters reached him. He was quiet and prepared to give up his valuables, but the 18-year-old girl next to him was grabbed by the robbers who intended to rape her in front of her parents . The girl called for help. He could not sit back and witness all happenings . He pulled out his khukuri, used one of the attackers as shield and attacked other robbers. He succeeded in killing three robbers and injuring eight other robbers.
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By then, passengers also started fighting back.
The robbers that were left ran away.
He was heavily bleeding from his left hand.
At next station, police and emergency were waiting for them. They took him to the hospital immediately.
After two months, he was fully recovered.
Also, robbers were arrested with money and other valuable things.
He received Sena medal and Uttam Jeevan Raksha Padak medal for this bravery.
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Also the family of the girl on the train offered him large cash reward but he refused saying ,"Fighting the enemy in battle is my duty as a soldier. Taking on the thugs on the train was my duty as a human being."
Jay Gurkha
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obligatorytropeinsert · 5 months
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I love that clones painting their armor is a cannon plot point because the hardest, strictest and most by the book clone will show up on screen and you know that man hand-painted his armor.
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pratchettquotes · 11 months
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Shawn took a deep breath and leaned over the battlements.
"Halt! Who Goes There?" he said.
A ringing voice came up from below.
"It's me, Shawn. Your mum."
"Oh, hello, Mum. Hello, Mistress Weatherwax."
"Let us in, there's a good boy."
"Friend or Foe?"
"What?"
"It's what I've got to say, Mum. It's official. And then you've got to say Friend."
"I'm your mum."
"You've got to do it properly, Mum," said Shawn, in the wretched tones of one who knows he's going to lose no matter what happens next, "otherwise what's the point?"
"It's going to be Foe in a minute, my lad."
"Oooaaaww, Mum!"
"Oh, all right. Friend, then."
"Yes, but you could just be saying that--"
"Let us in right now, Shawn Ogg."
Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies
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ayuvogue · 2 months
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circusinarun · 10 days
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Papanardo, uncletello? Phah! Uncle-gello!
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Gello sounds like jello... Like jelly... Jelly uncle
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spockvarietyhour · 4 months
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Captain Idiot, reporting for duty.
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blackswaneuroparedux · 10 months
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True patriotism is not the love of the soil, it is the love of the past, it is respect for the generations which have gone before us.
- T.S. Eliot
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philosophybits · 1 year
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If there is one fundamental principle of human morality, it is freedom. To respect the freedom of your fellowman is duty; to love, help, and serve him is virtue.
Mikhail Bakunin, Revolutionary Catechism
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asongofmarvelanddc · 10 months
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Duty PT 5½
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PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader
WORD COUNT: 2,475
WARNINGS: none!
SUMMARY: Robb's Queen falls ill and he is not quite sure how to handle it.
PART 1| PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 6
MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST
A/N: This is kind of short drabble-type chapter setting up the next two! Please send a message, comment, send an ask so i can hear from you! and hope you enjoy 🥰🫶🏾 (Part 6 dropping tomorrow night –UK nighttime btw 🤭)
Robb has grown used to your company in recent weeks. He was surprised the first time you came to his study for no reason other than to talk, but he came away from that evening happy to have seen and spoken with you.
Eventually, those nightly visits became more of an expectation. Sometimes you’ll have a conversation over tea and cakes and other nights he’ll share a laugh with you over supper with a belly full of ale. Occasionally you watch him work while doing needlepoint or sewing up his trousers – because he always seems to rip the seams – providing a needed distraction whenever he gets too frustrated with the contents of his letters.
It is routine. One he quite enjoys, which is why when you don’t come to his study tonight, he’s not upset, he’s worried. He thinks to ignore it and continue on with his work, but he struggles to concentrate on any of it when his mind keeps wandering back to you.
He has enough after a few minutes and rises to his feet intending to find you and determine that everything is alright. As he walks around the Great Keep, not a single person he passes can tell him where you are. His casual stroll slowly morphs into a hurried walk as he begins heading towards your chambers. That is when he runs into someone.
Elyse.
He almost doesn’t realise it is her at first, so focused on where he is going that he brushes past her. It is only at the sound of her voice when she stops to curtsey that he recognises who it is. He spins back around as he already passed her a little, cocking his head to the side.
“Elyse,” he breathes as he approaches her slowly, “How are you?”
They have not spoken in some weeks now. It is awkward between them. It has never been awkward. He suspects that she has been avoiding him, but a part of him chooses to believe that only because he has in fact been avoiding her out of guilt.
She looks up at him, a thin yet soft smile on her lips. “I am well,” she says, though her pained eyes tell a different story.
Robb has the urge to pry her for more questions. The only reason he has stayed away from her is because things can never be as they were once. Not if he intends to honour his vows to you.
He doesn’t want her to feel as though he has simply cast her aside and forgotten her. But as soon as he’s about to raise a hand to take hers, he stops himself, remembering why he is here in this corridor in the first place. He is trying to find you.
“Have you seen…?” his voice trails off before he can say your name. He doesn’t know if that would be offensive or unnecessarily hurtful.
But it doesn’t need to be said because she knows who he refers to just by the look in his eyes.
“The Queen is in her chambers. With Maester Luwin.”
That means something is wrong, and though he wants to stay and ease Elyse’s hurt, he does not have the time for it.
“Thank you, Elyse,” he lingers for a moment, knowing there are still many things unsaid between them, before making his way to your chambers.
Just as he arrives at the door, Maester Luwin steps outside, jumping when he sees Robb.
“Your Grace,” he bows as best as he can while shutting the door, " Forgive me, I was not expecting you."
Robb frowns as he glances from the closed door to Maester Luwin, “Has something happened?”
The Maester shakes his head slowly, “Her Grace has fallen ill, but–”
“Why was I not made aware?"
"It was quite sudden," he explains, then places a hand on Robb's shoulder, "But it is nothing serious, you need not worry yourself."
Mester Luwin's voice is comforting, but Robb's heart remains unsettled. You are his responsibility now, and whatever pain befalls you – illness or injury – weighs on him. That is the only reason why he is concerned.
The only reason.
He looks at Maester Luwin and asks, "What ails her?"
Maester Luwin seems unsure of whether to answer at first, but then he lowers his voice and begins to speak, "You are aware that women pass bloods once every moon's turn?"
In fact Robb did not know that it happens every moon's turn. He thought it happened once when a girl becomes a woman. Nevertheless, he nods his head as if he did know before this very moment.
"Is that what this is?"
Maester Luwin nods, “It seems Her Grace passes her moonblood with great difficulty. But her pain and discomfort should fade in the coming days.”
Robb glances at the door yet again, debating whether or not he should go in.
“She is resting now,” Maester Luwin says, practically peering into Robb’s thoughts, “You should look in on her, put your mind at ease.”
His head snaps in the maester’s direction, “My mind is already at ease.” There is a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin bows before taking his leave to return to the rookery.
Alone with his own thoughts, Robb considers returning to his solar to continue working. He knows now that no great harm has befallen you and you will be just fine, but his heart is still unsatisfied. With little hesitation, he twists the handle and pushes the door open.
One week after your wedding, Robb began to notice that his chambers smelled different. It almost annoyed him how quickly the room adopted your scent. It clung to everything, the sheets, the pillows – even Robb's own clothes. But over time, he came to appreciate that earthy, yet sweet smell. It gave him comfort.
That is why the first thing he notices upon entering the room is how different it smells. The aroma of medicine hangs in the air, no doubt from whatever treatment Maester Luwin has provided.
You're lying on the bed when he enters, curled up into a ball. As soon as Robb closes the door, your eyes flutter open, following him as he approaches you wordlessly.
"Your Grace," you begin in the softest voice he's ever heard from your lips, "I would curtsey or sit up, but as you can see, I am in no state for such."
"I wouldn’t ask you to," he smiles as he sits on the bed right beside you. He glances at the cup sitting on your bedside table, "What are you drinking?"
You tilt your head slightly to see what Robb is looking at before returning your gaze to him. "Maester Luwin gave me something for the pain," you say, "I don't remember what is in it."
"You are in pain?"
Robb's concern increases when you nod.
"Where is the pain?" he asks.
"Here."
Robb looks down at where your hand is cradling your stomach. His eyes snap back up to you when he hears you wince, clutching your stomach tighter. He hates to see you in such terrible pain, and it is worse knowing he can do nothing to ease it.
"Will it be like this for you after every moon's turn?"
You shake your head, "Not every time. It was not like this during the last one – that is why you did not know it was happening."
Even after seeing you and speaking with you, Robb's worry does not dissipate. There is still a pit in his stomach. It dawns on him that he is not only concerned because you are his responsibility. He wants you to recover quickly because…well, it is you.
He raises his hands to your face, stopping when he sees the startled look on your face.
"Do you mind?" he asks, hands still hovering over you. He proceeds when you nod.
Gently, he presses his palms against your cheeks. You remain completely still under his touch, your heart racing. After a moment, he moves his hand to your forehead.
"What are you doing?"
He looks down, meeting your eyes which are staring up at him, before pulling back from you, "I'm checking for a fever."
You chuckle lightly, an infectious sound, "I'm not sure fevers are common with my particular ailment."
"It is better to be sure."
You smile softly before closing your eyes, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. Robb sits there, listening to your breathing and waiting for you to fall asleep.
After a few minutes, your eyes open again.
"Don't let me keep you, you ought to rest," you whisper, "Your mother has prepared the guest chamber for you."
Robb is taken aback, "The guest chamber? Why should I stay there and not here as always?"
"Because you work from dawn to dusk and I will not have you lacking sleep simply because I am ill. Besides, your mother insisted."
Robb looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. Of course his mother would be the one to insist. But still, he does not want to bring you any further discomfort anyways, so he obliges yours and his mother's wishes.
"I will be sure to look in on you again tomorrow," he promises as he rises to his feet. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he finally says, "Sleep well, Y/N."
***
The next night, Robb is not happy when he finds the tray from your supper untouched. It lies discarded on the floor beside your bed, not even a grain of rice has been moved.
You're asleep when he enters the room, and even when he sits on the bed, you remain still. There is no snoring however, which lets Robb know that you are not sleeping soundly. Your forehead is creased and even in your sleep you're clutching something to your stomach.
This illness seems to have gotten worse, which only serves to make Robb feel more guilty for not coming to see you during the day. He leans down and presses the back of his hand to your clammy forehead, then his palms to your cheeks. Just to be sure again that there is no fever.
You wake while he is in the middle of doing this, momentarily shocked to see him practically on top of you. Robb instantly draws his hands back when he hears your gasp.
"I apologise, I was only checking–"
"Robb," you sigh heavily and slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, "There is no fever. I have told you, this will pass."
He nods even though his worry remains.
"I'm sorry that I did not come earlier."
You wave a hand and shake your head. "It is quite alright, I completely under–"
You're cut off by an intense and sharp pain in your lower stomach and back that makes you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut. Too distracted by the pain, you don't even realise when Robb takes your hand at first, but once his calloused fingers clasp around your hand, you give it a tight squeeze to help the pain pass.
"Are you alright?"
Your eyes open to meet Robb's staring back into them. His brows are drawn together and he is sitting close to you on the bed, both his hands now holding yours.
"Yes," you whisper as you pull your hand out of his grasp, licking your dry lips, "I'm fine."
He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he sits back, placing his hands back in his lap. You can see clearly that he is concerned about you, more than you expected him to be – likely because he does not understand what is happening.
In some way, it is comforting to know that he cares.
“Tell me what I can do to help you.”
Robb is not a man who enjoys feeling useless. Even more so in recent years, considering all the tragedy that has befallen his family. And seeing you this way, sickly and vulnerable – the complete opposite of how he’s always seen you – is deeply unsettling.
"Distract me from the pain," you say, offering him the smallest way to make you feel better, "Tell me about your day. What has kept you so occupied?"
He doesn’t know how talking about ledgers and reports would help you, but he does so anyway.
“I spent much of the day preparing for the arrival of some men from the front.”
“Who is coming?”
“Lord Umber is bringing back some of the men we captured,” he sighs, “Our cells down there are too crowded, and some of the men are workers whose surrenders I’ve accepted.”
You raise a skeptical brow, “You trust Lannister soldiers?”
Robb is surprised – and a little amused – that you’re questioning his decision. He’s not sure he minds, however. In fact, he appreciates your taking an interest.
“I don’t,” he chuckles, “But these are men from the Brotherhood Withou–“
He’s cut off when you grab his hand to squeeze as another cramp hits. Instantly he forgets what he was talking about and gently takes both your hands. When the pain passes, you reach over to the side table and take a sip from the cup sitting there.
You notice Robb's inquisitive stare and nod to the cup, "It's the same tea from last night," you mumble, your eyes feeling heavier, "Apparently, it is a weaker dosage of milk of the poppy."
"Milk of the poppy makes you drowsy, no?"
"That explains why I have slept most of the day," you smile weakly.
Robb chuckles and strokes the back of your hand as you lean back and shut your eyes, "I should not have woken you."
"Perhaps not."
"Shall I leave?" he asks.
"No," you answer in a light voice, barely above a whisper, "Stay."
And so he does. He watches over you even after you fall asleep. It is not until your light snores begin to fill the room, a sure sign that you are in a deep slumber, that he decides to leave. He gently places your hand over your stomach and pulls the blankets up to your chest to make sure that you stay warm through the night.
Before he leaves, he can't help but watch you for a moment, listening to your slow breathing. You appear so at peace, and the sight warms his heart. In that moment, he knows that he has let go of any residual resentment he may have had towards you.
"Do feel better soon, my Lady," he whispers, "I long for our evening chats."
*
Special thanks to these lovely people (and all the new people hiiii!😘 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist (@’s in bold I can’t seem to tag :/):
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