” I’ve been here a mere three days,
yet I have heard many things
concerning you. To say they
were laced with repulsion
would be an understatement. ”
The deity is fiddling with things
that are not his, eying the young
lord with a sly look.
To meddle with worlds that were not his own
pleased Loki greatly. The evergrowing
war only seemed to draw the demigod
in like moths to a crackling flame.
The King’s brows drew together as he straightened his
posture, fingers curling around the arms of his throne.
His head was held high, exuding utter arrogance and
egocentrism. This approacher had an unfamiliar face,
and Joffrey could only hope that he wouldn’t waste
his time with boring and trivial matters he cared
”Oh? Aren’t you a b r a v e one, to approach without
so much as a request for audience. Tell me, what
reason have you to confront your King about these
vial rumors and opinions? Do mind your tongue, lest
you’ve no value for your capability of speech.”
"I’d hold my tongue, were I you.
The Stark’s are dying out quickly,
and I haven’t a problem with
piking your head beside your
idiot father’s. The throne is mine.
A stupid little girl’s opinion isn’t
going to change anything.”
Lena Headey, Kit Harington & Nikolaj Coster-Waldau do the #ALSIceBucketChallenge
As the sword nudged deeper and deeper into her wound, Arya couldn’t help the small whimpers of pain, her eyes screwed shut. But she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let a single tear fall. She wouldn’t dare give him that privilege. Instead, Arya dared to look up at him, her eyes full of loathing and venom.
"I won’t. I won’t beg, not to you."
And with that, she aimed and spat straight in his face.
The sound of the Stark whimpering was like music to Joffrey’s ears. It wasn’t begging, which was his ultimate goal, but it was progress. The fact that Arya was refusing to succumb to his demands was continually irking him, which didn’t mix well with his short temper and sadistic ways.
—That did it. Being spat at, straight in his face, was enough to finally make the spark meet the end of the Prince’s short fuse. “I’ll have you killed, you disrespectful little cunt!” he snapped, pressing down firmly on his sword. He cared naught if his blade were to pierce straight through the girl’s hand, for all he could see right now was red. Using his free hand, Joffrey wiped the spit from his face. “Beg your Prince. Now,” he demanded, a furious tremble in his voice as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Lest you wish to lose your hand.” Arya already had a gaping wound in her palm, the sword still pushed through, so it wouldn’t take much more effort to completely remove the girl’s hand.
[ whale noises i made plans and i don’t wanna go through with them.
replies ‘n stuff later ]
send me a ۩ and i'll reply with my muse's reaction to watching your's die
Joffrey was no stranger to death, but he had to admit that he would have liked to keep the Stark around for a little longer. Sansa had both done and said things that he’d disapproved of though, and so he figured it was about time she met her end. She’d been disobedient from the start anyway, so perhaps this was best. He’d find another play-thing. Holding his crossbow, he got up from his seat and approached the auburn-haired female, who was lying on the floor and bleeding out quickly.
He’d shot her only once, the bolt having pierced through her chest. Joffrey could have kept going to make it quicker, but why not let her suffer a bit? It allowed for some final words. “It would be a shame if I’d have missed,” he began in a taunting tone, gazing down at the Stark with a smug expression,”I like your face how it is. Your head needs to look presentable when it’s piked at the Traitor’s Walk.” Leaning over, the King took hold of the bolt and pulled it from Sansa’s chest, allowing her to bleed out more quickly. The thick crimson liquid gradually painted the floor, seeping beneath his boots and coating the tiles. “Yet another Stark’s blood spilled.” The blonde stood over her, watching as the life slowly faded from Tully hues. His own gaze was cold and apathetic, despite the crooked, triumphant smile that had taken shape on his lips.
Arya stumbled backwards as she was shoved, hitting the ground with a thump that caused a searing pain in her lower back. No doubt that would be bruised come the following morning. The foot against her chest made it impossible for her to move, and all she could do was look up at the prince with horror and fear.
"Get off of me! Get off, or I’ll call for my father. Or Sansa."
A pleased and triumphant smile formed on Joffrey’s lips as he saw the fear in Arya’s eyes. Finally, a step in the right direction. He wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily though. No, she needed to know the price of disobeying her Prince and so carelessly throwing insults and threats at him. He wouldn’t have it.
"Shut up," he snapped, digging his sword into the gash that had been inflicted on Arya’s hand. Very slowly, he began sinking it in deeper into the flesh and sinew. He wouldn’t hesitate to push it in fully either, which would end up pinning her hand to the ground and make for a highly unpleasant wound. The scar surely wouldn’t be all too pretty of a sight either. "You’ll do as your Prince commands. You can start by begging for your pathetic life."
W H A T?
I was gone for 2 seconds.
This post has some serious abandonment issues.