#jaime watches pit babe

[jdotsodomite]

average thai citizen after the friday night news: time for my regularly scheduled omegaverse breeding kink broadcast:)

#im not normal anymore i cant #jaime watches pit babe

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentyNine

Title: A New King

Words: 2,040

Warnings: Slight language

A/N: It’s almost over! Just one more chapter and the series is done, I can’t believe it! Also, if you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write something for you! 

Taglist:  @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

It had been a week since your son had been born and many things had happened. You learned that one of Daenerys’ dragons had been killed, most of the fleet destroyed, and Missandei captured. Brienne had come to visit you and the child as well. She apologized for the way she handled things when she encountered your trio years ago. She did not know the significance Sandor had in your life and never knew how to approach you about it. You accepted her apology immediately and you apologized to her as well for your naïve attitude and your hate towards her.

The same night Brienne apologized to you, Jaime Lannister fled Winterfell to go back to Cersei. You had known that Brienne and Jaime were together and when you found out he left, you went to console her.

 “He doesn’t deserve you,” you said. “If he leaves you for another woman when he had you then he’s not worth your tears.”

 You wiped away the tears running down her cheeks and looked her in the eyes.

 “You are strong. You are beautiful. You deserve better. Don’t let one man ruin things for you forever. It’s okay to still love him, but don’t let that take over everything.”

 Brienne gave you a watery smile and sat up a little straighter.

 “Thank you, Lady [y/n],” Brienne said. You stood up and kissed her forehead.

 “You should get some rest. I have a feeling that we’re going to do some traveling soon.”

 ---

 Turns out that you were right. A raven arrived from King’s Landing a week later and before you knew it, you were traveling down the Kingsroad. Brienne and Sansa hadn’t wanted you go with them because of the baby, but you went anyways. It took little less than a month to get to the Capital and it looked nothing like you remembered.

 Buildings and houses were charred and crumbling. Ash was still on the streets, swept away into corners. The Red Keep was almost all burnt down. The people of King’s Landing were trying their best to rebuild their homes and lives but it would take years to get things back to the way they were.

 The raven had told you where to go and once more, you found yourself in the Dragonpit. You were seated between Sansa and Brienne, your babe on your lap. Bran and Arya were next to Sansa. You were the first ones there. Ser Davos and Gendry were the next ones to arrive, with Yara, Robin, Yhon Royce, and the rest to follow. Another person showed up with the last group and you couldn’t breathe. It was Sandor, alive and well. The two of you locked eyes and your chest hurt. He looked like he was going to approach you when Greyworm brought out Tyrion before you in chains. Jon was nowhere to be seen.

 “Where’s Jon?” Sansa asked Greyworm.

 “He is our prisoner.”

 “So is Lord Tyrion,” you said. “They were both supposed to be here.”

 “We will decide the fate of our prisoners. This is our city now.”

 “If you look outside the walls of your city, you’ll find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest.”

 “And you will find thousands of Unsullied who believe that it is.”

 “Some of you are quick to forgive. The Ironborn are not. I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow put a knife through her heart. Let them give him what he deserves,” Yara said, venom spewing from her words.

 “Say one more word about killing my brother and I’ll slit your throat.” Arya’s face was ruthless and cold. Yara made to stand up but Ser Davos beat her to it.

 “Friends, please. We’ve been killing each other for too long.” He turned to face Greyworm. “Torgo Nudho. Am I saying that properly? If it weren’t for you and your men, we would have lost the fight with the dead. This country owes you a debt that can never be repaid. But let us try. There is land in the Reach. Good land. The people that used to live there are gone. Make it your own, start your own house with the Unsullied as your bannermen.”

 “I agree. We’ve had enough war. Thousands of you, thousands of us. You know how it ends. There has to be another way,” you said.

 “We do not need payment. We need justice,” Greyworm spat. “Jon Snow cannot go free.”

 Ser Davos sat back down and Tyrion let out a small breath.

 “It’s not for you to decide,” Tyrion said.

 “You are not here to speak!” Greyworm shouted. “Everyone has heard enough words from you.”

 “You’re right. And no one’s any better for it. But it’s not for you to decide.” Tyrion looked up at everyone. “Jon Snow committed his crime here. It is for our King to decide. Or our Queen.”

 “But we don’t have a King or Queen,” Royce said.

 “You’re the most powerful people in Westeros. Choose one.”

 “Make your choice. Quickly.”

 Everyone was silent for once and was looking around at the other people. Nobody spoke until your uncle stood up. He started a little speech talking about him being one of the senior lords in the country and that he knew a little bit about statecraft. It was then that Sansa intervened.

 “Uncle. Please sit,” she said. He kind of spluttered a bit and only sat down when Sansa gestured to his seat with her head. He backed into a pole and it took all your willpower not to laugh.

 “Well, we have to choose someone,” Royce said. That’s when Sam got up and suggested that the people help pick a monarch. Everyone did laugh at that and Sam sat back down, more than slightly embarrassed. It was a funny notion, but you didn’t laugh at your friend.

 “I suppose you want the crown,” your uncle said to Tyrion.

 “Me? No. Half the people hate me for serving Daenerys and the other half hate me for betraying her. Can’t think of a worse choice.”

 “Who then?” You asked.

 “What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags?” Tyrion shook his head. “Stories. There’s nothing in the world more powerful than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it. And who has a better story than Bran the Broken?”

 You sat up a little straighter and looked at your siblings in confusion. When you looked back at Tyrion, he kept speaking.

 “The boy who fell from a high tower and lived. He knew he would never walk again, so he learned how to fly. He went beyond the wall. A crippled boy. And he became the Three-Eyed-Raven. He is our memory, our history. All the wars, weddings, births, massacres, and famines. Our triumphs and our defeats. Our past. Who better to lead us into the future?”

 “Bran has no interest in ruling and he can’t father children,” Sansa said.

 “Good. Sons of Kings can be cruel and stupid, as you well know. His will never torment us,” Tyrion said to Sansa. To Greyworm he said, “That is the wheel our Queen wanted to break.”

 “From now on rulers will not be born. They will be chosen on this spot by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros to serve the realm.” He turned to Bran. “I know you don’t want it. I know you don’t care about power. But I ask you now, if we choose you, would you wear the crown?”

 “Why do you think I came all this way?” Bran said after a moment. Tyrion looked a little shocked that Bran had actually said yes and you knew that the other people in this meeting were feeling the same way.

 “To Brandon of House Stark, I say aye,” Tyrion said. Everyone was quiet until you and Sam said ‘aye’ at the same time. Tyrion sent the both of you a grateful look. Your uncle was next followed by the men from the Vale. Yara and the new Prince of Dorne agreed as well along with Gendry and Ser Davos. Brienne agreed as well, but you saw that Sansa was trying to pick out words again.

 “You know I love you, little brother. I always will. You’ll be a good King. But tens of thousands of Northmen fell defending Westeros. And those who survived have fought too hard and too much to ever kneel again,” Sansa said. “The North will remain an independent country, as it was for thousands of years.”

 Bran nodded in consent and you could see the relief flood through Sansa’s body.

 “All hail Bran the Broken,” Tyrion said. Everyone stood up and repeated those words. When everyone sat back down, Tyrion bowed to the new King and started to make his way out of the Pit.

 “Tyrion,” Bran called. “You will be my hand.”

 “N-No, your grace. I don’t want it.”

 “I know. And I don’t want to be King.” Tyrion shook his head.

 “I don’t deserve it. I thought I was wise but it turns out I’m not. I thought that I knew what was right, but I did not. Choose Ser Davos. Choose anyone else.”

 “I choose you.”

 “You cannot,” Greyworm said angrily.

 “Yes I can. I’m King.”

 “This man is a criminal. He deserves justice.”

 “He just got it. He’s made a lot of terrible mistakes. He’s going to spend the rest of his days fixing them.”

 Greyworm was angry and he spat out, “That’s not enough!”

 ---

 After about an hour of talking, a decision was made. Jon would go back to Castle Black as a member of the Night’s Watch. You and your sisters wanted him freed completely, but you recognized that this was the only way for your brother to keep his head. You would miss seeing him every day, but you’d lived with this before so it shouldn’t be too hard. Jon was to leave that evening and you had a few hours before you had to say goodbye. Everyone was slowly trickling out of the Dragonpit when Sandor came up to you.

 “Dove,” Sandor said quietly. You froze and slowly turned around.

 “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

 “You did.”

 “Why are you here, Sandor?” Your voice sounded tired and Sandor could see it in your eyes.

 “I heard you were here and I wanted to talk to you.”

 “Talk about what? How you left me for some petty revenge? How I gave birth with you not by my side? How I have been raising our son without you?”

 “I-I have a son?” Sandor’s heart skipped a beat and your chest tightened at the sound of his voice breaking.

 “Yes.”

 “What’s his name?”

 “Eddard. Eddard Stark.”

 “Are you going by Stark too?”

 “Ever since you left me.” Sandor was silent for a moment. He stepped closer to you tentatively.

 “Would you ever take me back?” You sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

 “I know I fucked up and I know it will take a lot to fix it. If you’ll even take me back, that is. But even if you decide not to, I want you to know that I still love you. I always have. I’ll always love our babe and I will do anything for the two of you.”

 His voice was so quiet you could barely hear it, but it was also so loud that it was ringing in your ears. Your eyes filled with tears and you gestured to Sansa to take Eddard from your arms. When your arms were free, you wrapped them around Sandor tightly. It took him a few seconds to respond, but soon you were being spun around. You let out a giggle that was cut short by Sandor kissing you. It was a sweet kiss that you broke shortly after it began.

 “While I love kissing you, I think you’d like to officially meet your son, yes?”

 Sandor’s eyes lit up and Sansa brought over your son. You took him from her and gently placed him in his father’s arms. You showed Sandor how to hold him properly and the sight made you melt. Finally, your family was complete.

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor x reader #the hound x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #x reader #xreader #reader insert #Sandor Clegane #Sansa Stark #Arya Stark #Brandon Stark #Greyworm #Tyrion Lannister #game of thrones #got #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfiction #got fanfic #sandor clegane fanfiction #sandor clegane fanfic #The Hound #the hound fanfiction #the hound fanfic

[amaximumtastemakercollection]

Dany, Catelyn and the Seven Colours of the Rainbow.

RED:

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

(Daenerys I, AGOT)

Catelyn found her husband beneath the weirwood, seated on a moss-covered stone. The greatsword Ice was across his lap, and he was cleaning the blade in those waters black as night. A thousand years of humus lay thick upon the godswood floor, swallowing the sound of her feet, but the red eyes of the weirwood seemed to follow her as she came. "Ned," she called softly.

(Catelyn I, AGOT)

ORANGE:

The heart was steaming in the cool evening air when Khal Drogo set it before her, raw and bloody. His arms were red to the elbow. Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on the sand beside the corpse of the wild stallion, stone knives in their hands. The stallion's blood looked black in the flickering orange glare of the torches that ringed the high chalk walls of the pit.

(Daenerys V, AGOT)

Flickering torchlight danced across the walls, making the faces seem half-alive, twisting them, changing them. The statues in the great septs of the cities wore the faces the stonemasons had given them, but these charcoal scratchings were so crude they might be anyone. The Father's face made her think of her own father, dying in his bed at Riverrun. The Warrior was Renly and Stannis, Robb and Robert, Jaime Lannister and Jon Snow. She even glimpsed Arya in those lines, just for an instant. Then a gust of wind through the door made the torch sputter, and the semblance was gone, washed away in orange glare.

(Catelyn IV. ACOK)

YELLOW:

The trickle he started soon swelled to a flood. Trader captains brought lace from Myr, chests of saffron from Yi Ti, amber and dragonglass out of Asshai. Merchants offered bags of coin, silversmiths rings and chains. Pipers piped for her, tumblers tumbled, and jugglers juggled, while dyers draped her in colors she had never known existed. A pair of Jogos Nhai presented her with one of their striped zorses, black and white and fierce. A widow brought the dried corpse of her husband, covered with a crust of silvered leaves; such remnants were believed to have great power, especially if the deceased had been a sorcerer, as this one had. And the Tourmaline Brotherhood pressed on her a crown wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon; the coils were yellow gold, the wings silver, the heads carved from jade, ivory, and onyx.

(Daenerys III, ACOK)

As the long fingers of dawn fanned across the fields, color was returning to the world. Where grey men had sat grey horses armed with shadow spears, the points of ten thousand lances now glinted silverly cold, and on the myriad flapping banners Catelyn saw the blush of red and pink and orange, the richness of blues and browns, the blaze of gold and yellow. All the power of Storm's End and Highgarden, the power that had been Renly's an hour ago. They belong to Stannis now, she realized, even if they do not know it themselves yet. Where else are they to turn, if not to the last Baratheon? Stannis has won all with a single evil stroke.

(Catelyn IV, ACOK)

GREEN:

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords

(Daenerys I, AGOT)

In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was different. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree, and every heart tree its face.

(Catelyn I, AGOT)

BLUE:

. Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . . Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . .

(Daenerys IV, ACOK)

"Lady Catelyn, you are wrong." Brienne regarded her with eyes as blue as her armor. "Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it's always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining."

(Catelyn II, ACOK)

INDIGO:

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

(Daenerys IV, ACOK)

The eastern sky was rose and gold as the sun broke over the Vale of Arryn. Catelyn Stark watched the light spread, her hands resting on the delicate carved stone of the balustrade outside her window. Below her the world turned from black to indigo to green as dawn crept across fields and forests. Pale white mists rose off Alyssa's Tears, where the ghost waters plunged over the shoulder of the mountain to begin their long tumble down the face of the Giant's Lance. Catelyn could feel the faint touch of spray on her face.

(Catelyn VII, ACOK)

VIOLET:

"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. "The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess."

(Daenerys I, AGOT)

And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur's sword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on the shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes.

It might be interesting to note that Dany and Catelyn are the only two POV characters, (as far as I can tell, I only had a quick check, so I could be wrong) who have all seven colours of the rainbow referenced at least once in their chapters.

#daenerys targaryen #catelyn stark #asoiaf meta #daenerys appreciation

[hopelesslygazingthestars]

When Elia was a child her mother told her that the women in her family were known for being touched by the Gods. It started with Nymeria, the warrior-princess, who the other kingdoms later called witch, for her dizzy spells and prophetic dreams which drove her to commandeer ten thousand Rhoynar ships to the shores of Westeros and unite the small, warring factions of Dorne under the banner of House Martell.

Sometimes, the visions skipped generations, but their familial gift persevered through the generations bestowing a somewhat cursed inheritance upon the daughters of Nymeria’s descendants. Elia would never be so well regarded as a true conduit of the Gods like Nymeria, but she had the gift of prophetic dreams which allowed her to interpret the will of the Gods and the fate of herself and those around her.

It was not a present that was always there as it had a mind of its own; choosing when, where and, most of all, who was the subject of her dreams. Elia praised it in the past when her visions of purple stars led her to Starfall, led her to Ashara Dayne. Even though her head ached for many moons prior, her heart found a joy she could not explain when she met a young Ashara. Other times, she cursed the nature of her gift for the unbearable silence that came when her father died suddenly with no explainable cause.  

Thus, on the eve before the Dornish Party would leave for the Lannisport Tourney, to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys, when Elia again dreamt of Prince Rhaegar she was certain to take it as a sign.

Rhaegar visited her fantasies as he had the year past; haunting Valyrian eyes drawing her in as he walked on water with his arms outstretched, wordlessly calling her to make a choice. Although, this time, while one hand was outstretched with a fist of dripping crimson rubies; in the other, the Prince held onto the hand of a young boy. The boy, who was no older than five, had hair so dark it resembled her own, Rhaegar’s pale skin and the darkest indigo eyes they appeared near black; and in small chubby fingers lay a crown of winter roses. Although the pair did not speak, nor did they smile, Elia was filled up with a love she could not explain.

In the end, she accepted the offerings, rubies and roses, and took the extended hands. She could not see where they led her, only that she too walked on water, and when she awoke, her skin tingled with the feeling of fate.

The fact that her dreams led her twice to the man that would one day be known as the King of the Seven Kingdoms could be nothing less than a gift, no matter the outcome or the pain it would cause her in the end.

Staring down at her bed companion, Ashara’s warning circled about her mind; the foretelling of the Prince’s infectious sorrow that would drown whoever dared to get close. Yet, with the ghost sensation of that boy’s hand in her own, and the image of Valyrian eyes boring into her own, she could not force away the visions which seemed fateful. Her heart ached for the child in her dreams she was certain was her son. Children were Elia’s greatest want. She yearned for nothing more than the experience of motherhood, had wanted it since her own mother gave her domain over the Water Gardens protecting children; noble and smallfolk alike, ensuring childhoods filled with love and joy.

Therefore, Elia left a sleeping Ashara and headed to the Princess’ solar and explained her dreams to her mother. Afterward, she watched a fire return anew in the Princess Furiosa she had not seen since long before her father’s death.

In the years past, Elia saw and felt the disappointment in her mother’s aging dark eyes, in that she had not yet found a worthy match for her only daughter. She was her mother’s most beloved child. Furiosa often spoke of the painful years in which she tried for more children after Doran. Two sons were lost before Elia came along, and she too nearly died. A tiny thing, born blue and waited a long few minutes before she gave the wailing cries of life. For the struggle Furiosa experienced bringing Elia to life, she had sworn her a future worthy of the pain. Elia was Dorne’s prized sun.

“You are fated to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Furiosa concluded.

Uncertainty swirled about the pit of her stomach. She remembered her reception in Kings Landing the year previous, there was little love for Dorne or their royalty.  

“How can you be so certain of my dreams, mother?”

Furiosa shifted a little on her enormous bed bringing Elia closer in their embrace.

“You are the blood of Nymeria. You are touched by the Gods.” She stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How can that be true when the Gods saw it fit to bless me a sickly princess?”

Elia’s malady was something she fought every single day. She exhausted herself trying to keep up with those around her, and despite all the potions, poisons and infusions, no treatment ever worked so well as to keep her permanently healthy. Inevitably, she always fell to crippling exhaustion that would see her off her feet for weeks at a time. How could she possibly be destined to be the Queen?

Furiosa turned sharply to face her. Their eyes met, and Elia saw certainty reflected in the dark orbs that mirrored her own.

“When you were born, so small, so frail, I thought it was my duty to love you more than any of my children. I thought your infirmity a weakness… I was wrong.”

Elia aspired to be a woman as formidable as her mother. She grew up watching the mere mention of her name earn respect or instil fear into the hearts of many a man. Furiosa was named appropriately, for she was truly the mistress of rage, and even if Dorne was not loved in Westeros, none would ever cross her for fear of the Princess.

“Your infirmity has given you a strength even your brothers do not possess. Doran is your father’s son, patient and thoughtful, and Oberyn is my rage, but Elia – you are the best of us all. The Gods have come to you and shown you the future. It is your duty to see Dorne rise.”

Although the confession was the greatest thing her mother ever told her, Elia could not help but feel the weight of Dorne placed upon her shoulders.

Furiosa was headed towards the afterlife. For the past few years, she had been preparing her children for her end, but none knew how she wished her legacy to carry on. Now, she passed the fate of Dorne into Elia’s delicate hands and they trembled from it.

“What would you have me do?” Elia wondered.

“Lannisport shall be where you show your sun-fire. I shall deal with the King’s Hand, I have waited many years to enact my retribution…”

The Martells still sported deeply injured pride over discussions of marriage with Tywin Lannister from seemingly an age ago. When the Princess first ventured out of Sunspear to find matches worthy of her children, their destination had been Casterly Rock, owing to plans made by the ladies-in-waiting of Queen Rhaella. Despite Lady Joanna Lannister’s death after giving birth to Tyrion the Imp, the Princess expected Tywin to agree to the betrothals. They discussed marriages between Tywin's children, Jaime and Cersei, to Elia and Oberyn. To the ruling family of Dorne’s dismay, Tywin scoffed at their offer, proudly claiming that Cersei was meant for the Targaryen prince, and the only match he deemed worthy was sickly Elia to the Imp babe.

“… You shall dance to Rhaegar’s songs, charm the King and his advisors with your intellect, care for the Queen and little Viserys as if you were already her good-daughter…”

Furiosa conceived a plan so easily that Elia wondered how long she waited for this moment.

“… It is in your hands to win over the Prince and the hearts of the Westerosi, for it will be your child – the one that sits on the throne – that will give power to Dorne, such that none will ever again look down upon us.”

Elia had the tools to conduct every task her mother instructed her toward. The many long conversations regarding the histories of the realm, her domain over the Water Gardens, her mission to the Scorched Rock; and the constant encouragement of dancing and merriment; it seemed her education had been intended for a Queen

“A queen is not the king’s property. You shall be equal in your marriage even if not in the realm. If Rhaegar is anything like his mother, he will recognise that. It will be your duty to stand at his side and guide him to usher in a new age and make the realm a better place. While I do not expect it to be easy, I know you have the strength to endure. You are my daughter and the strength of Nymeria is in you, Dorne is in you, and you will remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken.” Furiosa described earnestly, as if she knew what was lying in wait for her.

Growing up, Furiosa often sat Elia and the other maidens down and spoken of marriage; what it was to be a dutiful wife; the sacrifices, the pain, the joy. This time, Furiosa taught Elia what it was to be a Queen.

“Will you accept the path the Gods have laid out for you?”

Elia gave pause and contemplated the meaning and implications of their conversation. Despite the unease which crept down her spine, Elia relented. For it was the will of the Gods and as devout as she was, she would accept for the love of the Seven.

“Yes mother, I shall follow the Gods to the end.” Elia vowed.

The two remained there a while as the low bustling of Sunspear waking begun. Eventually her mother spoke again, as if she heard the incessant thought that ran around Elia’s mind.  

“What of Ashara?”

Furiosa regarded her with a sad smile, like she understood exactly what she was feeling.

“Ashara…” Elia began.

Since their falling out at the Warriors day celebrations, Elia and Ashara came to a wordless agreement to push all discussions of boys and marriage away. Ashara seemingly matured overnight, and whilst the flirting continued, the string of whirlwind romances stopped.

“…remains devoted as always. She does not see reason to not be at my side forever. Seven and ten now, and she still does not dream of the things normal maids do. She would happily dance with me and poke fun until the end of our days.”

“She makes you happy because she is not afraid to treat you as Elia.” She stated.

The smile that had been pulling at her cheeks faded when she wondered how this particular pairing might affect their relationship. A marriage would certainly change things between the friends but one to the crown prince might fracture them in ways they could not predict.

“I had not expected change to come so soon for us…this will be hard for her.” Elia revealed.

‘This will be hard for me.’ A lingering thought of stolen kisses, hammering hearts and dreams of forever were pushed to the back of Elia’s mind where she kept all impossible ideas locked away, even from herself.

Her mother stoked her hair gently with her soft wrinkled hands.

“The Water Gardens would have you believe you could be girls forever.”

Furiosa loved Ashara like her own, and of those that ever questioned their closeness, her mother had never been one of them.

“Long ago, when your father pointed out the connection between you two, I worried for you. Yet, as the years have gone by, I have come to see that Ashara is good for you. I have witnessed the way she is with you, she will always be loyal to you, and for that I can’t help but feel it was always meant to be. I would not see you broken apart, though I might suggest you keep it from her until all is done, such that you might have the last of your girlhood together.”

Despite the guilt which settled in her bones, Elia knew her mother was right. Therefore, for all the love she had for her dearest Ashara – that, and some unknown fear in disappointing the violet-eyed beauty – she remained quiet about her prophetic visions and the Princess’ schemes.

When the tourney of Lannisport commenced, competitions for sport and plays for power ensued. As the newly knighted silver Prince won the events of the days, proving himself a true Targaryen heir; Elia won the competitions of the night, proving herself a formidable player in the game of thrones.

During the feasts, ladies squawked and simpered, lords boasted and brawled; threats of war broke out at least three times before each was forgotten in hearty flagons of gifted Dornish wine, and unfailingly, all eyes drifted at some point during the festivities from the taciturn King Aerys who sat upon his vaulted throne, to the irate Tywin Lannister to his right, and finally, to the plotting Dornish ruling Princess on his left. It was only a little satisfying for Furiosa that she would slight Tywin as collateral in their plans.

When Elia found herself repeatedly seated beside the silver Prince, much to the Lannister’s dismay, she understood it to be her mother’s work. She followed Furiosa’s lead and helped conspire for a match she deemed fateful. She danced to all of the Prince’s rhythms, cried at his solemn tunes; she impressed the King with her sweet wit, charmed his lords with her knowledge; and although the Queen and Prince Viserys were absent, she attentively and publicly cared for her niece, Princess Arianne and young Allyria Dayne.

Whilst the Great Houses fell for Elia’s act, Ashara did not. Except, if she knew exactly what was up, she did not confront nor question it, she simply mused quietly from the side-lines and accepted Arthur’s victorious crown of white lilies as Queen of Love and Beauty, and Elia’s performance.

At the beginning of the tourney, attendees whispered that the tourney had been meant as no celebration for the King’s son at all, but the announcement of a betrothal between Rhaegar and Cersei, securing Tywin Lannister the throne for generations. However, by the end of the competitions, the discontent between the King and his Hand were revealed for all to see; for there would be no betrothal for the lioness cub and dragon, and nor would there be a celebratory feast. Dorne won the competitions of the day, and the games of the night.

#elia x ashara #elia martell #ashara dayne #princess of dorne #nymeria #femslash #fanfic #asoiaf fic #dorne #lannisport #House martell #house dayne #allyria dayne

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part Six

Here’s a link to my masterlist if you need to catch up! 

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: The Lewis household prepares for the arrival of its sixth member. 

Note: Thanks for your patience, friends. I’m sorry this update has been so long in coming. Grading took all of my brainpower (and most of my free time) toward the end of the year, and it’s taken some time to get back into the habit of working with words for fun. 

Only an epilogue left to go!

July, 2028

“Can I ask a personal question?”

Arden came to the end of the line she was reading and raised her head slowly. Sophia traced every movement, mouth tugged to the side like it always was when she was trying to gauge reactions. 

It was almost frightening how skilled the teenager was at picking up on nonverbal cues. In the year they’d spent together, Arden had learned more about her own body language from her daughter’s thoughts than she had in over decade of working in television. 

Realizing she still hadn’t answered the question, Arden bobbed her head in assent. “Sure.” 

“Are you pregnant?”

Arden sucked a breath. It was hardly the question she’d expected. 

“Yes…” she began tentatively, then set the packet of coffee on the counter. Ignoring the bag of grounds, she turned to face Sophia. “We were waiting until after Family Day to tell you and the boys,” she offered by way of explanation. 

Her daughter dumped another spoonful of granola into her morning yogurt. “Makes sense.” Sophia paused to meet Arden’s eyes before resealing the container. “I don’t think they’ve noticed anything, but you’ve been acting weird lately. Drinking decaf coffee and taking pills and stuff. My second grade teacher was always complaining about that when she was pregnant.”

Ignoring the glimpse into her daughter’s past, she motioned for her to follow into the dining room. “Sophia,” she began, sitting so that she could look the girl directly in the eyes. “I know you probably weren’t expecting this when you came to live here. Jaime and I weren’t either. But I need you to know that won’t change anything about how much we love you and your brothers.”

A glint of uncertainty passed over her daughter’s face, but it vanished quickly. “Well, no. I know that,” she insisted, forcing a laugh. 

The pit in Arden’s stomach loomed at the unnatural sound. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. How do I fix it? 

The girl avoided her gaze and picked up her spoon. When her eyes rose from the woodgrain of the table, Arden could just see the glisten of unshed tears. 

“Sophia...”

“I’ll be okay,” she insisted, dropping the spoon and nudging her bowl a few inches forward. “It’s kind of a lot though.” 

Tell me about it, Arden considered, heart wrenching as she watched her daughter battle with her emotions. “Jaime and I are excited, but it’s a lot for us too. We’ve loved having a family of five.” 

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll figure out what it means to be a family of six.” She might have missed the solitary tear on Sophia’s cheek if she hadn’t seen the hand she raised to bat it away. Arden opened her mouth in reassurance, but Sophia cut her off before she could speak. 

“Don’t worry -- I’m okay. I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice suggested otherwise. 

Arden considered challenging the assertion, but thought better of it. “I’m still getting used to the idea. It means adding onto the house again and figuring out a lot of things with work. Things may get tricky.”

“I can share a room with the boys again, if it helps.”

Arden mentally kicked herself for bringing up that aspect of their preparations. Of course her people-pleasing daughter would want to volunteer anything she could think of. “Absolutely not. No one’s giving up any bedrooms. We’ve got it figured out.”

“Okay.”

“And not to pressure you, but this baby is so, so lucky to have you as an older sister. You’re pretty incredible.”

“Thanks,” Sophia muttered, pulling her breakfast back within reach. “I’ve gotten lots of practice with the boys.” 

Arden slid her palm across the table with emphasis. “Think you can handle one more?”

Sophia’s free hand stretched toward her until their fingers met in the middle. “Probably.” Fresh panic drained all color from her features, and her brow worried itself into knots. “As long as it’s not another brother.” 

Laughter sprang to Arden’s lips as she drew her hand back. “I’ve been hoping for a girl too. It’d be nice not to be outnumbered anymore.” 

“Good.” The syllable floated across the table almost conspiratorially. “I don’t want to be like that princess in Cordonia. Three brothers is too many.” 

"Three brothers is a lot...but maybe don’t tell the boys that I said that?”

Sophia smirked around her spoon. When she finished the bite, the expression had turned to a smile. “I won’t tell them anything. Promise.” 

_____

August, 2028

This definitely doesn’t fit anymore, Arden determined, standing before her full-length mirror. In most outfits, no one would even realize she was pregnant. At four months along, she was still getting by with wearing looser clothes and staying away from her trademark pencil skirts when she was at work. This particular garment was an aberration. 

The “safe” bathing suit she used for family outings had made a lot of sense at the time of purchase more than a year ago, but the additional fabric now meant that the entire top was embarrassingly tight.

“Damn, Arden. Your body is amazing. ” 

She treated her husband to a small reflected smile and untied the straps behind her neck. “Amazing or not, I’m definitely not going swimming like this.” Jaime helped to ease the fabric over her shoulders, fingers skimming her ribs along the way. She shivered at the contact and leaned back against his chest. 

“I would hope not. If we ever decide to go skinny dipping again, the kids are definitely not invited...” he trailed off upon noting the tension in her shoulders. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Arden leaned forward to dig through the open drawer, wondering if she could pretend not to have heard the question. He squeezed her side with a gentle hand. 

“It’s just... I keep thinking about next summer. We’ll have the baby’s schedule to work with and we won’t be able to take off and do fun things with the kids whenever we want to...” The words ended in a sigh as she met his eyes in the mirror. 

Jaime’s brows knit together. “You’re worried?”

“Aren’t you?” 

He thumbed the seam of her discarded suit, gaze dropping as he considered her question. I want this baby, Arden. 

“I want it too,” she assured, interrupting his thoughtful silence. “But so much is changing again and I just got used to it being this way. Our kids just got used to things and now we’re changing it all again.”

How many times do I have to tell you that we’ll solve this together? Please stop freaking out. 

His whispered thought cut through her escalating worries. 

“I didn’t mean to think that.” 

“I know,” she groaned. Thinking better of her initial response, she tried to lighten the mood. “But it’s true. We will figure it out...eventually. I just hate feeling so uncertain.” 

Tossing the bathing suit to the mattress, he held his arms open with invitation. For a moment, she pressed her cheek to his chest and tried to set her fears aside. 

“The kids are going to be fine,” Jaime asserted. "Will’s already started bragging about how he isn’t going to be the baby anymore, and you know Sophia is happy that she’ll finally have a sister. Alex is gonna come around sooner or later. He just needs more time.”

“That child always needs more time...” she muttered, turning back to the drawer to find a suitable replacement. “I love him dearly, but it’d be a lot easier if he just processed things as they happened instead of bottling them up.” 

Jaime’s brow quivered at the complaint, and it wasn’t long before Arden took his meaning. 

“Stop! I’ve gotten a lot better.” 

He took the fastenings of her new swimsuit and began working. “Yes, you have. Alex will get there someday too.” 

“I really hope so.” 

“Maybe even today!” he offered, something akin to a challenge in his eye. 

She brushed it off and directed her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“And you love me for it,” he deduced, capturing her lips in a kiss as he released the fastened straps. 

“Very much.” She caught his eye in the mirror again, but this time the smile was genuine. They had every right to be optimistic, of course. This was just the latest in the series of hurdles their family had faced. If their track record was anything to go by, everything was going to work out...eventually. 

_____

October, 2028

"Last call for trick or treating!”

Will was testing out the length of his sleeves in the hall mirror, but Jaime’s announcement gave him pause. Seizing the subsequent chance to pester his brother, he darted into the living room. “Please come! We’ll get twice as much candy.” 

Alex burrowed deeper into the couch cushions and shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jaime deduced, trading glances with Arden. 

In the kitchen and out of Alex’s view, Arden gave him a small shrug. Their eldest son had been adamant that he was too old this year. In spite of his brother’s relentless cheer and encouragement, he appeared to be standing his ground. 

“I’ll bring you back some Skittles,” Will flourished his bag as if to make good on the promise. “Do you think Sophia’s getting candy at Ava’s house? I’ll try to get some extras for her too.” 

“That’s really sweet of you, bud,” Jaime encouraged, guiding him into the hall. “I’m sure she’d love that.” 

“Last call?” Will echoed in a pitiful refrain as he trudged toward the door. 

Mouth full, Alex murmured an approximation of, “I’m good.” 

“Have fun, you guys! We’ll stay here and hold down the fort.” After waving them off, Arden returned to the living room. “Ready to start this thing?”

“Sure.” 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Alex’s feigned nonchalance. Like he hasn’t been asking to see this film for months, she quipped internally, mashing her thumb against the play button on the remote. 

The dull screen came to life, and a quick glance was enough to tell Arden that her son was much more engaged in the proceedings than he was willing to let on. Turning her attention to her own bowl of popcorn, she sorted through the pieces to find which ones had the most color. 

Stupid salt cravings.

Keeping one eye on the screen, she fell to musing. It seemed like she'd been measuring months for an eternity, fixated somewhat arbitrarily on the one-year anniversary of having the kids with them. Now that they'd passed it, time had started to fly. The fact that this was already their second Halloween together was baffling. Soon, they'd pass their second Thanksgiving, second Christmas, second New Year's Eve...

The doorbell chimed, yanking her back to reality.

Vaguely aware of the car chase taking place before her, Arden set the bowl aside and moved to answer the door. A strange weightlessness came over her as she stood, but darkness clouded her vision before she could move further. 

Arden woke slowly, floating and devoid of sense. Tingling returned in increments through her fingertips, creeping along the rest of her skin as she tried vainly to clear the cobwebs from her head. A firm hand gripped her shoulder, but it took several moments to place it.

"Arden? Arden, you okay?" Alex's voice was the most concrete thing that she could latch onto.

"M'fine," she managed around a cottony tongue. "I must have gotten dizzy."

With some effort, she trained her eyes on the boy. Sweat beaded across her forehead as her body attempted to reset itself, and she felt the flush run through her core and out over her limbs. 

"I think -- I think you fainted. I looked up and you fell over all of a sudden."

She blinked, mind too fuzzy to formulate a response. 

Alex stared back with pleading eyes, his worry etched in every crease of his brow. “Is the baby okay?” Please let my sister be okay. 

Even in her disoriented state, her throat immediately thickened. That simple shift from the baby to my sister spoke volumes. “Yeah, I just stood up too fast. Sometimes that happens.” 

“Do you need medicine? I can get it for you if you tell me where it is, or --”

Arden sat up straight, brushing a hand through the air in protest. “I just haven’t had enough to drink today. I’ll be fine.”

“Lemme get you some water.” 

Her head had stopped swimming by the time he returned with a brim-full glass. 

“Lemme know if you need more when that’s gone,” he offered, handing her the drink. “And are you sure you’re okay? I don’t...” the words trailed, but she heard the rest of the sentence: I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. 

“Alex, listen to me. The baby and I are going to be fine. We’re so much better already.” She made a show of drinking from the glass. “This is going to help too. I’ll let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, don’t worry -- okay?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna take care of all the trick or treaters from now on. You can stay on the couch and get better. We don’t even have to watch the rest of the movie if you don’t want to.” 

She took another long sip to counteract the sudden ache in the back of her throat. “Nope, I want to finish it. We’ve got to figure out what happens to those kids who got lost in the woods.” 

“Oh, yeah.” He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but she felt him staring at her countless times as the film progressed. Quiet as he was, his thoughts spoke for him: nothing in the movie was going to scare him as much as what he’d already seen. 

That unspoken burst of feeling was all she was likely to get from her middle child, but it was more than enough to satisfy. As usual, Jaime was right. Alex was coming around after all. 

_____

February, 2029

The snow had just started to fall when Jaime pulled into the driveway. The morning temperatures had been just enough to thaw some of last week’s snow, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the streets were coated in ice. 

“C’mon, let’s get inside before we freeze.”

“Do we still have hot chocolate?” Sophia asked, shutting the car door a little harder than she needed to. The force of the movement suggested she already knew the answer to the question. 

Jaime unlocked the front door, gesturing for the teenager to enter the house before him. “We’ll make sure to add cocoa mix to the list on the counter. Julie offered to run by the grocery store later this evening.” 

“I bet Alex drank all of it while we were gone.”

The offending brother was nowhere to be found -- a likely sign that he was in his bedroom. Will looked up briefly when they came in, but was soon engaged again in the round of checkers he and Harry were playing at the coffee table. 

“’Scuse me,” Harry offered in apology, pausing their game to follow Jaime toward the coat closet. 

Jaime faced his father in law with an easy grin. “Hey! Thanks again for helping out this afternoon. How’d it go?”

The other man pulled a skeptical face as Jaime shrugged out of his coat. “She’s trying to do too much. When we got here, she was unloading the dishwasher and listening to Will’s reading practice and everything. She thinks that baby carrier means she can do anything.”

With a sigh, Jaime eased the sleeves over the hanger. The image his father-in-law described came to his mind all too readily. He’d spent the past three weeks preventing as much undue exertion as possible, but there was only so much he could do. “Harry, I stopped trying to control your daughter a long time ago. We both know she’s going to do those things whether we want her to or not. The rest of us do as much as we can, but she got an extra dose of stubbornness from somewhere.” 

“That’s why we were here,” Julie cut in with a hand at Harry’s elbow. “I went and stayed with my son for two whole weeks when his wife had their first baby. The least I can do is come by every once in a while to help around the house.” 

“We all appreciate it -- truly,” Jaime assured. “I take it Arden’s upstairs?”

A door slammed from the direction of the boys’ room, and Alex’s voice spilled into the hallway, “It wasn’t me! There was still a packet and a half the last time I had any.” 

“Brothers are such...” Sophia censored herself as she passed the group of adults. At her pasted-on smile, Jaime raised an eyebrow before giving his focus back to his in-laws. 

“Last I knew, she took the baby up there to nurse. That was about half an hour ago, I think.” 

“I’ll go check in and let her know we’re back.” 

Jaime climbed the stairs, cautiously testing the handle of their door before swinging the whole thing open. He’d interrupted their daughter’s naps just a handful of times, but they’d been enough to make him wary of doing it again. 

Arden stirred as he came in, her voice quiet, but fully awake. “What time is it?” 

“A little bit after 4:00. Did I wake you up?” His wife was in the center of their bed, body curled protectively around the weeks-old infant that lay inside. 

“No, there was some noise downstairs.” At Jaime’s sigh, she continued, “ It’s fine; they didn’t know. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place.”

“I’m still sorry you had to wake up to a fight about hot chocolate packets.”

“At least it’s a change of pace. I don’t remember the last time I woke up to something other than crying.” 

“Me neither,” he agreed, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. From this position, one tiny fist was visible. The rest of the newborn’s body was shielded from view, but the glimpse was enough.

Their baby was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that Jaime knew he could go the rest of his life without making anything that could ever compare. Each exquisite feature, from her thick crop of dark brown hair to the slender toes he knew were curled tight beneath the flannel of her pajamas, proved that their daughter was a work of art.

He’d never put much stock in blood relations. The few family members that he vaguely remembered from childhood had disappeared from his life long ago. 

And even though he didn’t love this baby any more than he loved the three kids downstairs, this love was a little different, somehow. Already, there were traces of Arden in this child -- traces of him. Their family had never felt like it was missing anything, but none of them could deny how much more complete it felt now that Lindy had entered the scene.

“How was the concert?” Arden asked, startling him from his musings. 

“You’ll have to ask Sophia about it later, but I’d call her pre-birthday celebration a success.”

“I’m sure she loved it.”

“I am too,” Jaime beamed, remembering how intently their daughter had watched all of the proceedings onstage. “And she loved getting to stick around and meet the musicians. Tony said to tell you hi, by the way.” 

"Did you tell him hi back?” she inquired before her mouth was hijacked by a yawn. 

“Of course. How have things been here?”

“Fine when I came up. Dad’s been telling me not to do so much, but what else is new?” 

“And Lindy?”  

Arden hiked a hand through her hair and arched her back, rolling toward him so that he could see the sleeping baby clearly. “As happy and sleepy as always,” she whispered, eyes following his to watch the sleeping infant. 

“We got so lucky.”

Arden smothered another yawn against her hand. “You know that saying that is practically asking for trouble, right? She’s not even a month old yet.”

“Look how well she’s fit in so far. Besides, it’s kind of hard not to think she’s perfect when she’s got your cute little nose and eyebrows.”

“And your toes, unfortunately…” 

Jaime shoved out his chin in retaliation. “Maybe she’ll have long fingers like me too,” he wondered, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from Arden’s forehead. “You’ve always complained about how short yours are.”

“They’re terrible for typing and playing instruments. Why do you think our band never worked out?”

“There were a lot of reasons...” he reflected. With the pad of his index finger, he followed the dimpled line at Lindy’s wrist. The baby continued to sleep despite his intrusion, her serene face turned toward Jaime’s body. 

“What are you thinking about?”

He rubbed his jawline with a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure you know what it is already.” 

“Maybe,” she evaded coyly. “Humor me anyway?”

“That you’re still my best girl, but you’re not the only girl in my life anymore. And that I’m pretty damn lucky to have three amazing ladies in my family.”

“The boys are pretty great too,” she reminded with a fond smile, allowing both eyes to flutter shut. 

“Arden?”

One eyelid rose. “Uh-huh?”

“I think we might have the best family ever.” 

She grinned at the absurd statement. “We’re so biased. But I think you may be right.” 

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc

[jeanandthedreamofhorses]

You're into ASOIAF too? Oh wow. You certainly made the right call dropping this shitshow -and yeah, looking back, I didn't think it possible to have a worse season than S5 but hooo boy, was I wrong-. Knowing its abomination of an ending now, I'm trying hard not to let it ruin the books for me, too, so take this as a cautionary tale, lol. And bc some positivity would be nice and I do always enjoy reading your opinions, if it's okay, could I ask you about your fave ASOIAF characters and such? thx!

Frick yeah, the question I’ve been waiting for! I can gush about pretty much every character since they’re all so amazingly well written, but for a brief list of the top contenders… (TWOW spoilers ahead!) 

5. Asha Greyjoy

“If there are rocks to starboard and a storm to port, a wise captain steers a third course.”

Irreverent, cynical, mocking, confident and dangerous, what’s not to love about Asha? She immediately made an impact with such scenes as her “sweet suckling babe” quip and was one of my favourite side characters in ACOK.

AFFC, however, was when she really got to shine, where to my elation she got a POV chapter, and more in ADWD. Despite her seemingly Ironborn-to-the-core personality, we discover she’s actually one of the least zealous of the Ironborn, sympathetic to the New Ways and those influenced by the culture of the ‘greenlanders’ like Rodrik the Reader. As one of the few reading Ironborn, she’s clearly one of the most intelligent of the Ironborn and certainly more open-minded, which leads to her down-to-earth sales pitch for the Kingsmoot, a sensible, realistic policy which would be genuinely best for her people - while still, of course, maintaining some elements of conquest: she is the kraken’s daughter, after all.

This side to her personality that sympathises with the fringe elements of her society and is able to make realistic assessments of the possibilities of success comes largely from the difficult position of being a prominent woman in the hypermasculine, heavily patriarchal Ironborn culture. Being raised as Balon’s substitute son has landed her more freedom than most Iron women, but in a complicated position nonetheless. She manages to handle it to the best of her ability, however with Balon gone she comes to realise just how precarious her position always was.

Now, like many other characters in ADWD, she is dealing with the hardship of broken dreams. Disaster piles upon disaster for Asha, from the failed kingsmoot to the loss of Deepwood Motte to becoming captive to Stannis (a dynamic I can’t wait to see more of btw, what an interesting clash of personalities!). Like Tyrion, her bravado serves to mask her insecurity, and her sense of powerlessness from recent events - both in commanding her own destiny and the heartache from the ruinous state of her family - really comes out in her inner monologue during ADWD.

How fitting, then, that this is when she reunites with Theon, another character whose lofty ambitions were torn brutally to the ground. Asha lorded it over him in Winterfell, but perhaps now she can relate. Mock as she may, Asha genuinely loves her family, and it’s another appealing aspect of this lonely character navigating her way through her unusual existence on the tightrope of social norms.

4. Tyrion Lannister

“You poor stupid blind crippled fool. Must I spell out every little thing for you? Very well. Cersei is a lying whore, she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they all say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.”

Everyone loves Tyrion, and how can they not? He’s one of the wittiest and most intelligent characters in the series, and the first stumbling block when it comes to which side we should root for. While he was always one of my favourite characters from the start, factoring in his complex family life and struggles on account of his dwarfism (and later the maiming of his already ugly face), my favourite part of Tyrion as a character is how all the things we love about him are flipped on their head in ADWD.

Tyrion tells us in AGOT to wear your shame like “armor and it can never be used to hurt you”. It’s an empowering statement, but throughout ASOS we see how insecure Tyrion still is inside, and his ignoble treatment at the hands of his father and the people as a whole in the kangaroo court for Joffrey’s murder, can, ultimately, be boiled down to his being a dwarf. His armour fails him, and he is still utterly unable to be loved, appreciated, or respected by anyone. Only by Tysha, as he finds out, who is now lost to him - ripped from his hands by the machinations of his father and the one family member that Tyrion still loved, his brother.

It’s at this point that Tyrion is never the same again. He murders Shae in cold blood, and he murders his father, and he regrets none of it. He is becoming the monster they said he was.

When we see him in ADWD, the dark side of Tyrion that had always been hidden behind the hope he had clung onto creeps all too shockingly for the surface. His jokes are now too cynical to laugh at, dark and disturbing and cruel. He uses his intellect for no greater good beyond his own personal amusement, deliberately influencing Young Griff to attack Westeros prematurely just in the hopes that his sister might get the axe. He is on no side but his own, acting brazenly irresponsibly as he has no interest in the grand schemes others have set out for him, or even in his own life. The chips on his shoulder are now genuine murderous intent, daydreaming about raping and killing Cersei and mounting Jaime’s head on a spike next to her. Where Tyrion’s whoring habits had seemed roguish and humorous before, in Essos he is depicted raping clearly reluctant sex slaves.

What makes this all the more disturbing, and all the more literarily brilliant, is that it casts aside the biased curtain we had seen Tyrion through before, and the result is shocking. How much more free to consent is a Westerosi prostitute than a Pentoshi sex slave? How worthwhile were the barbed comments he made so frequently when they ultimately led to a litany of testimonies against him as soon as he lost his privileged position? The worse devils of Tyrion’s nature come out in full force, and we see much more of the black of the character Martin described as “the grayest of the gray”. Perhaps the difference now is that Tyrion’s POV lacks a single element of self-love. The readers are repulsed by him in the same way he repulses himself.

Nonetheless, Tyrion seems to be rekindling something of a purpose in ADWD, as characters nurture themselves back up from the wreckage in the aftermath of the War of the Five Kings. He has lost the Lannister’s golden influence, but his silver tongue still serves him well. However, we may never see the old Tyrion again. This Tyrion has not repented for the vile things he has done, or the vile things he intends to do. He was caricatured by the citizens of King’s Landing as an evil advisor whispering into the monarch’s ear - this may become something closer to the truth when he at last meets with Daenerys.

3. Jaime Lannister

“Does my lord wish to answer?” The maester asked, after a long silence. A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

Who saw a Jaime POV coming? What an incredible way to open ASOS after the prologue, to see things from the eyes of one of the series’ most notorious villains. I don’t think I need to explain at length how impactful it was to gently peel off the layers of Jaime’s character, revealing the true reason he killed Aerys, his growth in his interactions with Brienne, the embodiment of the chivalric values he abandoned, and most significantly, losing the hand that was his entire identity and vanity. Anyone who has read the book or watched the show can relate.

Since then, he continues to fascinate. He is discovering talents beyond swordsmanship, entering into a negotiation even Tywin could have been proud of. He has learned how to use his bad reputation for nobler ends, scaring Edmure Tully silly enough to end the siege of Riverrun without shedding a single drop of blood. He is still fighting for a Lannister king, true, but that is only staying true to his role as Kingsguard: now that he has lost his sword hand, he is discovering what it means to be a knight again, in an unconventional and thrilling way.

I chose the above quote because it captures the beauty of AFFC Jaime, breaking away from the sister he fought so hard to return to and decisively cutting out her influence for good. In Jaime’s reverse knight’s fable, refusing the call of the damsel in distress is one of the most upright things he has ever done. How fitting that he should then meet up with the woman who influenced him to take the other path - only she seems about to betray him, too…

It will be so interesting to see Stoneheart’s perverted justice on a character whose head we once wanted on a chopping block but now want to survive at all costs. I don’t think Brienne will be able to follow through with it to the end. After all, Jaime must live on to fulfil a certain prophecy…

2. Euron Greyjoy

“The bleeding star bespoke the end,” he said to Aeron. “These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits.”

It’s common enough to hear writers and critics talk about how your villain can’t simply be evil, and that they need to have sympathetic motivations or else they’re badly written. I think that’s true sometimes, but only when your evil villains fail to capture the raw horror of what evil really is - that’s when they feel wooden or cartoonish. To successfully capture that heart of darkness, however…

That is what George R.R. Martin achieved with Euron Greyjoy, the most terrifying character I have ever read.

Everyone underestimates Euron. They know he’s mad, but they don’t know how mad he is. They think they can outmanoeuvre him, like Asha, or betray him, like Victarion. They think he’s lying when he says he’s sailed to Valyria and means to conquer Westeros with dragons. Only Aeron knew. Only Aeron knew the depths of Euron’s depravity, and how far he means to fly. Because he’s the only one who heard the scream of the rusted iron hinge.

The Forsaken showed that it was all true, that Aeron was right all along - that he, like the oracle Cassandra, warned the Ironborn but was condemned to be ignored. Euron has an ambition unparalleled by any other character in the series - he means to turn himself into a god. He’s the only one depraved enough to go to the lengths it would take to make that dream a reality.

We should fear Euron, we should fear him very much. And yet, I think his dreams of godhood can never fully come to pass. He is, after all, still a man - still fallible, as we saw him shrink away at the Reader’s reprimand in The Reaver and change his tactics accordingly. His humanity will be the death of him - not any goodness in his heart, but a weakness common to the human creature. The dragons he means to dance with, and potentially the Others too as some theories go, will move at a pace beyond those mortal legs.

His attempt to fly will inevitably end with a fall. But that headfirst plunge will take the Seven Kingdoms with him.

1. Stannis Baratheon

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?“

Here is a man so totally dedicated to his duty that he is willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish it, even if it means his own destruction.

He is a character that believes in justice and the word of law more strongly than any other, and watching his dogged persistence to put a corrupt world to rights no matter the odds has always struck a chord with me, especially in this world teeming with such selfish and barbarous characters.

He is not such a performer as other characters, not as openly humorous as Tyrion (though lowkey he has an incredible dry wit), nor as pretty as Renly, nor as lighthearted as Littlefinger. He’s a dour person, hard and unpopular. But if you listen to the conversations he has with Davos, there is an incredible heart to this man who has placed all the troubles of the world on his own shoulders, and strives through cold and stormy weather to make the best, most just decision he can for no other reason than that - because it is just. Justice is hard, sharp and unyielding, not pretty, not humorous, not lighthearted - but necessary. In a king more than anywhere else. That’s why those who do follow Stannis, like Davos, follow him with such faith and loyalty.

He often proceeds about this goal in questionable ways, compensating for the imperfections of his forces and of his own personality. This is the rickety bridge Stannis walks on, as a man who will go to any means necessary to accomplish what he feels must be done. Sometimes this might mean unleashing dark forces better left locked up, sometimes it might mean committing so terrible a sin as kinslaying, sometimes it might mean sacrificing a child to awaken stone dragons - and sometimes it will mean rescuing the realm from a wildling incursion when no other king cared.

Moments like that unforgettable “STANNIS! STANNIS! STANNIS” stick so powerfully in my memory because, much like Jaime, the real virtue of this character had yet to shine so brightly as it eventually would in ASOS. Something which had always been there takes us unawares. And he is evolving, too, ever becoming more flexible, more willing to compromise, more hesitant to burnings, more dedicated to the good of the realm over himself.

And there is a whole other layer of tragic pathos that lies behind his character. Try as hard as Stannis might, and God does he try, he is not Azor Ahai, and every reader knows he will not sit the throne at the end. Even Stannis knows where this road will leave him. But he persists anyway, in the face of death. The courage of that, the self-sacrifice - how can one not be moved by it?

One of the finer points of Stannis that often goes missed in (understandably) overzealous attempts to correct the show’s butchering of his character, is that there is a part of him that does want to be king. He’s lived in Robert’s shadow his entire life, as Asha thinks to herself in ADWD, and there is a part of him that does yearn for recognition. Quotes like “Robert could piss in a cup and men would call it wine, but I offer them cold clear water and they squint in suspicion and mutter to each other about how queer it tastes.” reveal that, I think.

So this is a whole other internal battle within Stannis - he must be careful not to allow his judgement to falter against the part of him that is jealous of Robert, of Renly, that wants to be the hero Melisandre says he is. This very human aspect complicates further the already complicated war between deontological and utilitarian ethics that wages in his head, with Davos and Melisandre as their respective spokesmen. Much as he may want to be a perfect king and avatar of justice - he is still human.

The depth and tragedy of Stannis Baratheon is Shakespearean. My heart shatters in advance for the moment Stannis has made his greatest sacrifice of all to halt the advance of the Others (not the Boltons, he’ll flatten them like pancakes), and for it to do nothing, nothing at all. For him to realise he was never the hero of this story, and that now he has gathered all this blood on his hands where there is no spring to wash them in.

A man so just as Stannis could never forgive himself. But we, the readers, shall never forget the battles he fought as an axle of this universe striving to be something greater.

Honourable Mentions to Aeron, Victarion, Barristan, Jon (Snow and Connington), Cersei and Brienne. Yes, I really like the Greyjoys 🦑.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #stannis baratheon #euron greyjoy #jaime lannister #tyrion lannister #asha greyjoy #not snk

[momentsofclarityao3]

JaimexBrienne Fic Preview

About a week ago I saw a post by @ddagent that asked if there was a fic with the premise of Brienne swearing herself to Jaime in repayment for the Harrenhal save or the alternative of Brienne not needing to be rescued from Harrenhal in the first place and Jaime leaving with her on Sansa Quest to repay the debt he owes her. And when I read that, the writers switch in my brain turned on for the first time in six years and I spent the next few hours writing and planning. What came out wasn’t exactly what was suggested, the road it takes is different but the destination of Jaime and Brienne (and Pod, and several surprise guest stars) searching for Sansa together remains. I hope to have the first chapter on ao3 within a few days (probably an overly optimistic estimate on my part) but for now I’m posting the first scene here. 

Fair warning, this starts with the sept scene in 4.03 BUT it diverges immediately after the first lines of dialogue and will not even remotely resemble either TV or book canon. Jaime is, unfortunately, still in love with C, but he’s already beginning to come to his senses.

Enjoy :)

- Moments_of_Clarity

“I don’t want a trail. He’ll squirm himself to freedom given the chance. I want him dead. Please, Jaime, you have to. He was our son, our baby boy.”

Maybe he is the fool his father says he is, to feel any amount of surprise that Cersei has asked him to kill their brother. It’s not as though she made a secret of her hatred of Tyrion. She has railed against his continued existence for as long as he has been alive, and over the years his sweet sister has shared with her twin all the ways she has hoped Tyrion would die. A fever when he was a sickly babe. A fall from his horse when he was older. Contracting a pox from one of his whores. A drunken fall down a long flight of stairs. And most recently, deep in her cups, she had expressed her disappointment that Tyrion had returned from the battle of the Blackwater with nothing more than a scratch. Jaime had pointed out it was much more grievous than a scratch and the Queen Mother had regally told him to fuck off. But the sin of kinslaying left a stain not even a Lannister could make clean, even worse than kingslaying in the eyes of the Gods, and so Cersei kept her poison confined to her words and out of Tyrion’s wine. Until now.

Now, Joffrey was dead. He had been a monster and Cersei’s pride and joy and his firstborn son and now he was lying dead between them. Cersei had held him in her arms and watched the life leave his eyes and Jaime had watched the woman he loves break in ways he doubts she’ll come back from.  

“Jaime.” The former queen keeps her voice low, not so far gone she is willing to shout her murderous intentions for any spies to overhear.  

“Cersei,” Jaime chooses his next words with care, “you must know how suspicious it would appear, were Tyrion to die before his trial. There’s already more than enough speculation about this family, what do you think people will say we’re hiding if Tyrion is executed without a public trial?”  

His twin is looking at him like she finds him unbearably stupid. “What do I care of the opinions of sheep? What can they do to us? No, that grotesque monster killed my son and I will have his head.”

No longer our son, it seems.  

“You should care. Not too long ago those sheep rioted in the streets and ripped the High Septon limb from limb. Our cousin is still missing. All the good will the Lannisters have in this city right now has come from their love of Margaery Tyrell.”    

Even in the muted light of the sept, the malice in Cersei’s eyes clearly shines. “That little whore–”  

“Is the reason the Lannisters still have a throne to sit Tommen on at all. The Tyrells made Joffrey tolerable. They fed a city on the brink of starvation and Lady Margaery herself would tread through the filth of Fleas Bottom to give food and toys to orphans, all with the king’s supposed blessing. She would speak of her great love for their kind and brave king and say he was doing the best he could to bring peace to a realm at war, and the smallfolk would forget that the king whom their beloved Margaery loved was the same one who had, until very recently, been using them for target practice.” He can see Cersei’s control slipping with every word he says but she needs to hear it. “It’s the truth, Cersei, please understand. The Tyrells desperately want a crown for Margaery, and for that they need us, but we need them more.”

He doesn’t recognise the look his sister is giving him now. It’s no longer irritation or anger. It’s something empty, that turns her eyes to emerald ice and chills Jaime more than her fury ever has.

Who are you? He thinks, moments before Cersei asks her own question.  

“What happened to you? You used to say we were the only two in the world who mattered. That you would kill every man, woman and child until you and I were the only two people left in the world.” Jaime flinches, remembering that day. He had said that, meant it with all his heart. But that was before he lost a year of his life as a prisoner, then his sword hand, and now there was a very real chance he will lose the brother he loves. Somehow, when he’d made his grand claim of killing anyone who stood in the way of his love for Cersei, it hadn’t occurred to him that number would include Tyrion.  

“It’s been an eventful few years,” he tries to deflect, “and I am less confident in my ability to put my sword through the heart of anyone who tells me I shouldn’t fuck my sister.”  

As always, when confronted by the loss of the once perfect symmetry shared by the twins, her delicate nose wrinkles in disgust and her eyes narrow. “And so now you won’t even try to defend us? You came back home after all this time; with one hand and that ugly lumbering beast you jokingly call a lady–”

“She is a woman from a noble House, what else am I to call her?” Jaime regrets the words even as they leave his mouth. He shouldn’t have interrupted Cersei, should have ignored the insult to Brienne altogether or tried to change the topic back to Tyrion or the Tyrells or the bloody weather. Instead he’s given his vindictive sister a new focus for her ire. Her knuckles have gone white from gripping the fabric draped over Joffrey’s bier and he hears it rip. So does Cersei, who releases it from her clutch and smooths it out again, taking a moment to give the corpse of her son a fleeting apologetic glance, before her scowl returns and she turns to Jaime.  

“Kingslayer’s whore is a name I’ve heard whispered by some,” she hisses. “You should try that sweet nothing on the beast, the next time you go on one of your long walks through the Godswood. It’s probably the most flattering thing the ugly cunt has ever been called.” Jaime’s lungs seize up and his blood runs cold. It used to amuse him; the contempt Cersei had for the women who tried to flirt with him. He would never return their flirtations but still, Cersei would fly into a jealous rage and at the first opportunity she would remind him with hands and mouth and cunt that he belonged to her alone. And he loved those moments because it meant the same jealousy that burned in Jaime whenever Robert would reach out with his clumsy meaty hands and drunkenly grope at his queen because the serving girls were too far away, also burned in Cersei. They came into the world together, Jaime holding onto his sister’s ankle, and if one left this life the other would follow soon after, anything else was unthinkable.

The stump where his right arm now abruptly ends at his wrist suddenly begins to pulse, not quite painful but certainly uncomfortable. Jaime was feeling as far from amused as possible, now. Not only had his lover turned her jealousy onto a woman who would sooner throw herself back into the bear pit of Harrenhal than bed any Lannister, Jaime himself would do the same to prevent any harm coming to Brienne. It wouldn’t even be the first time. They may have started out as captor and captive but Gods help him, Jaime liked the wench. She was ugly and pighead stubborn and dour and brave and gentle and good. She had kept him alive during their days as fellow captives and asked nothing in return but that he keep his vow to Catelyn Stark. Plus, she was the only other living soul who knew the truth about Aerys. That wasn’t something Jaime could easily dismiss. So, while she remained his guest, Brienne of Tarth was also under his protection, even from his lover.  

“I have only ever loved you,” Jaime assures her, as he has countless times before. “I have only ever been with you and am only whole when we are together. I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you, and lost the best part of me along the way. What more do I need to do to convince you?” From the corner of his eye, Jaime sees Cersei’s hand twitch and braces himself for her slap. To his surprise she instead stays her hand and takes a few steps away from him.            

“Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” she asks. “I told you what you can do and you just talked in circles about the Tyrells and the Imp and your whore.” Cersei has completely turned away from him now, signalling that as far as she is concerned their conversation, such as it was, is over. “Get out. I want to be alone with my son. Leave. Now.”  

And so, Jaime leaves, swallowing the impulse to fling a last acidic quip at his sister in favour of seeking out the Brienne of Tarth as soon as possible.  

#jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #braime #fic: mine #fic: captured in this light #fic: preview #fic: game of thrones #fic: asoiaf #game of thrones #asoiaf

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

princess alysanne of house targaryen

the miracle princess, the light of the realm

the eldest child of queen daenerys and king aegon VI 

the waves have come

ao3

the twilight is falling, lamps will soon go on and where did summer go i will never know summer used to last endlessly children all in white, running down the sand to me playing hide and seek kisses on the cheek

Upon birth, they called her The Light of The Realm, The Miracle Princess. It is told, that when her father carried her in his arms down the grand steps of the Red Keep to show her to highborn and common folk alike, the clouds parted, the sky itself opened and sunlight came streaming down to touch her soft baby hair, bleaching them into the lightest shade of gold.

It is told that she is blessed by Seven themselves, that her path is meant to be paved with greatness suppressing even that of her ancestors.

But these are just stories.

*

On the morning of her wedding day, she wakes up before dawn and lays awake in her bed for hours, watching as the sun slowly, almost lazily, rises above the horizon.

Light sparkles on the waters of Blackwater Bay and all of the ships in the harbor emerge from the shadows, with their flags of all the colors of the rainbow;  all of the noble houses and all of the cities and all of the kingdoms that maesters can name.

Except not all, because the scene could not be more foreign to her eyes.

There are no silver direwolves of Starks, nor golden stags of Baratheons.

And instead of a three-headed scarlet dragon curled around a white wolf – the sigil of her House, her sigil, the one she used to wear on her clothes and jewelry (the broth on her furs, the embroidery on her night clothes, the banner hanging behind her back) – there is only an one-headed, brown dragon on a dark background, entwined with a golden griffin.

Weeping or cursing would probably ease the knot of her insides a little and she wants to weep so badly, but she cannot even cry anymore. Her tears must have long formed a river and fallen down the sea, for her eyes remain dry and her insides are burning from a fire she doesn’t know how to put down.

Her maids come in not long after sunrise to get her ready; they flock around her like hummingbirds, nervously chatting about what a beautiful day it is and how beautiful her dress is and how beautiful she is. Their hands are shaking and their cheeks are pale. They are avoiding her gaze altogether, refusing to look her in the eyes.  All - but her cousin Cat, with her beautiful golden-red hair down in a Northern manner and face painted with steel defiance.

She is not tweeting, is not twitching, is not trembling.

This one’s not broken yet, she thinks, feeling a sudden surge of warmth blooming in her chest, and gently squeezes Cat’s hand as she helps her do the laces on the front of the dress.

As they adorn her hair with white roses, she wonders where Lyanna is.  Is she still across the Narrow Sea with Gill? There are only two paths for her sweet sister now, both depending on the answer to this question. If so, they will keep each other safe. If not, she’s lost. Lyanna is many things, but she always had much more honor in her heart than wit in her pretty dark head. She would want to come back, even if it means nothing, just another dead Targaryen or just another broodmare to sell off to a traitor. But Argella’s smart. She knows there is nothing left for them in Westeros.

Lya, mother and father are dead. – she thinks hard, as hard as she can. Maybe she can send her thoughts to Volantis somehow, someday. – Benjen is dead. The dragons are dead. Ghost is dead. And I am dead also. Don’t come back, save yourself. Save Argella, her name is gone, her House is gone.

She closes her eyes and she sees it, sees as vividly as if she truly was there to witness Aegon’s second brutal strike on Seven Kingdoms;  Storm’s End turned into another Harenhall, her aunt, uncle and cousins burned alive by the monstrous brown dragon; turned into living torches, screaming in agony, their skin peeling off and their meat falling from their charred bones.  She has seen people die this way before; she knows how it smells.  Her youngest cousin was just a babe.

House Baratheon, gone once more.

All she can do is hope that they didn’t suffer for too long. The beast fell from the sky like a giant cloud, in the middle of the night, so maybe they didn’t even register what was going on before the Stranger took them. What an irony, for her aunt and uncle, the fighters blessed by the Warrior himself, to go into the darkness like that.

A familiar shriek pierces the air as they rouge her cheeks and for a moment or two she thinks she is going to faint. Swatting handmaidens away, she comes closer to the window to look at the courtyard outside – and her blood boils instantly in her veins.  Her knuckles turn white as she grabs onto the frames and leans outside, as far as she can.

Quicksilver is right below her tower and wailing sadly, neck stretched out towards her, her amber eyes flickering. Her very soul aches at her sight. What has become of her magnificent dragon? Chained to the ground like a goat, her silvery scales matted by dried up blood and soot, her wings pierced through so that she wouldn’t be able to fly – her,  this creature made for soaring through the clouds. She looks pitiful.

The dragon shrieks again, tremble running through her body and her tail swishing. She keeps her eyes fixed on her and she suddenly realizes she’s half-hanging from the window. Wind plays with her hair.

She could jump, if she wanted to.

She could jump and spare herself all the pain and suffering that she feels.

Maybe that would be the ultimate punishment for the man that butchered her entire family; to deny him her hand, her cunt, her womb. She thinks she would look beautiful falling down from the tower, with white roses in her hair and her golden wedding gown flying around her. She would look like a stray sunray, or a falling star. People would talk about her suicide for ages to come.

And she would be the end of House Targaryen, the end of her family line, the end of her parents dreams of a better world.  Would doom Seven Kingdoms for decades of tyranny and suffering.

This is not how she was brought up.

She is The Miracle Princess, The Light of The Realm, Princess Alysanne of House Targaryen, the eldest child of Queen Daenerys and King Aegon VI. The Heir to the Iron Throne.  She knows her duty well.

She glances on the Quicksilver once again, looks her into the eyes. They blink in unison, the girl and the dragon. We must endure it, my sweet.

With a deep breath, she turns away and goes back to her now-silent maids, lets them finish her make-up and swaddle her in lace and burgundy.  Cat kisses her cheek before they leave the chambers and she kisses her back.

And with her head held high, she descends the grand steps of The Red Keep; alone this time, on a way to marry the man that stole her birthright.

The clouds have gathered and there is no sun.

*

Her maiden clock sweeps the floor behind her and, in the drowning silence, she can almost hear that sound ermine fur makes against the stone.

There are more people gathered in the Dragonpit that she has ever seen in her life and she is sure that there are even more outside on the street; rich and poor, crammed and desperate to steal even a glance of the wedding of their Princess to the foreign invader.  And yet, seemingly no one utters a word. She can hear the breeze formed by their collective intake of breath as she enters the  Pit, but no cheers, no loud gasps, nothing.

She glances at the stands. People have solemn faces. Women have tears on their cheeks.

The price we pay for peace is grand indeed, their eyes say, the eyes of remaining Lords and Ladies of Westeros, watching as she sells herself off without a word. For the Dance of Dragons would ruin the prosperity they already got used to. For the War of Five Kings and The Long Night defiled the kingdom enough for this silent vow of non-aggression to take root.

The Last War, that’s how people titled the war between her parents and Queen Cersei. And oh, they turned out right, cause when so-called Prince Aegon fell upon the Summerhall on a dragon bigger than Hill of Rhaenys and feed the ground with the blood of Targaryens once again and then burned Storm’s End to the ashes, no banners marched against him.

None – but the Starks.

With each step, she recalls a name and with a name, she recalls a face, and with a face, she recalls all the love that they have given her through the years.

Arya. Gendry. Eddard. Durran. Beric. Nymeria.

Sansa. Robert. Jaime.

Brienne.

Her mother. Her father. Benjen. Drogon. Rheagal. Dusk. Ghost.

All dead.

Joanna. Cat.

Enslaved.

Argella. Lyanna.

Lost.

Somewhere in the distance, Quicksilver wails.

The man who calls himself her cousin stands in front of the High Septon, clad in browns and golds of his banners. His dark eyes watch her hungrily, as she nears closer and closer. When he reaches out a hand to her, she takes it, lets him pull her up on the podium, lets him drink her in. Her breasts, her face, her lips.

Stone, that’s what my skin is. Solid stone.

She realizes, with a flash of recognition, that she’s standing in the exact same spot where Rheagar used to lay, her wing covering three beautiful eggs, shining brighter than the brightest jewels in her mother’s collection.

She was six at that time, six and enchanted.

“Pick the one that sings to you” mother whispered into her ear and she did. The egg that she brought to her bedchambers that day was silver speckled with gold, warm to the touch.  Within a fortnight,  her dragon hatched, tiny and perfect.

She feels nothing, nothing at all.

When she was a child, she used to have terrible night terrors that no sleeping potion could keep away and no maester could cure. So her mother has taken  to staying up all night with her, singing her lullabies in foreign languages and stroking her hair to soothe her; in the morning, they would wear the same shade of purple underneath their eyes as in their irises.

Her mother seemed so distant at times, like a goddess or a marble statue. The myth came alive. But this is when Alysanne loved her most, in those quiet, strange hours in between dusk and dawn. This is how she remembers her best; when she was stripped out of titles and honorifics and crowns. In a simple nightgown, with her hair down and smelling like lavender and lemons, her mother was the most beautiful woman that has ever lived and that was ever gonna live.

That was all she has ever wanted, to be exactly like her.

Her lips move, forming words, but she cannot even hear her own voice.  

“Be good, Alys.” Her father told her, when he was leaving to Summerhall for the last time, when she saw her parents for the last time. It was a lovely spring morning, bathed in dew and smelling like fresh starts. They were standing near the stables and he held his hands in hers, that’s what she remembers. “We’re leaving it all for you to handle. I know it’s a lot. But everything will be fine, I promise. “

He kissed her forehead then, lightly and smiled at her.

“You are so good. Never forget that, my sweet.”

She watched as they rode away, tiara heavy on her head.

Aegon’s lips are dry and cold on hers. It barely feels like kissing a man; more like kissing a sword or a dagger, like swearing fealty. He reaches for the crown – definitely new, as she has never seen it before, this circle of gold and moonstones – and places it gently on her head.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the left, where Dragonbinder rests on velvet cushions; it’s dark gleam calls to her. What would happen if she, the true Targaryen, was to blow it?

Dusk was a playful dragon, with a somehow mischevious glint in his eyes, matching the one in his brother’s.  It was a colorful stain on the blue sky, pinkish-red dot twisting in acrobatic figures that would make her mother gasp and press her hand to her heart in fear.

Benjen would just laugh, landing on the ground with grace and patting his dragon’s side like it was a horse.  She has never seen him afraid, as long as he lived. He had so much fire within him that she was sometimes almost jealous of it, but now she’s just grateful. Maybe if she was a bigger dragon she would find another way than this, but she would probably just die trying.

Because Benjen would not go down without fighting.

“Long live the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” the herald announces and the crowd followed suit, obliging the unspoken command.  But there are no cheers, as the Usurper leads her down the stairs and out of the Dragon Pit. Only silence on the streets, only the wall of people with their mouths shut closed. Even Aegon’s loyal men stay quiet and for that, she starts to wonder how she looks like, what kind of expression is painted on her face.

From up high, she can see it in the distance.

With its scales of the color of the mud, it stands out against the lush greenery outside Kings Landing’s walls. It’s so enormous her mind can hardly register its full size, makes her head spin. She wonders briefly if it is how big Balerion The Black Dread got before it died. But Sheepstealer is no Balerion. He is a wild dragon still, bound to Aegon by the power of Horn alone. He does not respond to his master’s feeling, doesn’t share his pain. Doesn’t even raise his head up, deep in his slumber.

A being so old and ancient, asleep for so long until the scream of the Horn woke it up.

Maybe he wants for it all to end too.

She would love to hate this dragon but she cannot. A dragon’s not a slave, but the bond you have transcends our understanding. It wants what you want, loves who you love and hates who you hate. Its nature is fire and blood, and you cannot change it even if you wanted. The only thing you can change is yourself.

Three dragons of House Targaryen against one ancient beast that remembers the times of her namesake and that has spent last century or so sleeping in the mountains below Dragonstone. Sheepsteeler’s eyes were as big as Dusk, for gods sake. The odds were decided before they even had a chance to dance.

Alysanne has learned how to be a Queen in the summertime of peace; how to bring happiness and prosperity to her people, how to keep lands flourishing, Lords and Ladies appeased, and common folk warm and full. She is good at that, she is good, she is good, like the Silver Queen Daenerys I before her, like the Good Queen Alysanne even before.  People love her.

Summerhall was a gift of her father to her mother, for their tenth anniversary. A small, elegant castle with red oak doors and lemon trees planted around it. Impossible to defend, really.

But it was so liberating for them to be there, to leave the crowns and titles in King’s Landing and do nothing but bathe in the lake and lounge in the sun all day, sing songs and talk all night. Her aunt and uncle would often come from Storm’s End and she, her siblings and cousins would run on the lush hills; dressed in white and carefree.  

Summerhall was her parents' small kisses, exchanged when they thought nobody was looking. Was her brother's laughter and her cousins’ freckled faces. Summerhall was happiness that no one could ever take ever from her.

“We are going to build a new world.” Her husband whispers in her ear after the bedding, laying next to her and playing with locks of her golden hair. Her blood dries on her tights. “I will be your Jaehaerys and you will be my Alysanne, my Queen.”

He kisses her neck. She closes her eyes.

“My good girl”, her father said, kissing her temple tenderly, just before she rode Quicksilver for the first time.

“Family, duty, hour”, Cat said, clutching her hands and wiping away her tears, two lost girls locked in the same cell.

“We’ll see each other soon, sweet sister,” Lyanna said in the harbor, holding Argella Baratheon’s hand and beaming. “And we will have so much to catch up on.”

“You have a name after the greatest queen in the Westeros’ history.” Her mother said late at night, amongst quite whispers of burning candles. “And I am sure you will prove to be worthy of it, my daughter, my miracle.”

“To rule is to serve.” Her parents said, with their bloodshot-eyes and tired voices, with their trembling hands and post-war terrors still plaguing their minds. The greatest people she has ever met.

*

It is said that the sky itself opened after the wedding of King Aegon VII and Queen Alysanne and wept with rain for the poor princess and her fate.  It is said that it rained and rained and rained for so long and so hard that Queen’s dragon, unable to fly, drowned chained in the all the water.

But these are just stories.

#asoiaf #got #got au #asoiaf au #got fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #jonerys #jonerys fanfiction #jonerys au

[forthemetamyguy]

im processing im sorry it’s messy

i was gonna collect my thoughts into real essays but i cant muster it at the moment. this is 2800 words of me processing misogyny and character assassination my bad! rip good storytelling when you can TELL ME in ur BEHIND THE EP why these characters did shit that makes no sense! fwiw i love all of them, i love jaime, jon, cersei, daenerys, sansa, arya, theon, yara, tyrion, all my dragon babes i love them all!! im just upset! Jon ends up bailing on Daenerys because writers -- obnoxious white dudes who make you watch a white woman fall from power cause they truly couldn't accept woman empowerment and so force a “this is subverting expectations” (also demanded she fall in love with her rapist and sold it. gotcha) -- also give Jaime this whole story and then focus on his honour and redemption and it actually is super compelling but then they pull another gotcha and Jaime actually says “huh...idk” and does???? Nothing? He's... Like a sad fuck you to your woman audience. Idk just like so damn boring for what purpose then. He is given a redemption arc just to have it justified by the act of loving a righteous, honourable woman…so that he can say “ya know what fuck it I aint worthy lol bye” And let us not forget Sansa instantaneously taking a dislike for Daenerys. When I saw that shot of her with Daenerys sitting down at the table talking about motivations and the future, I thought damn replace Tyrion, could be bomb as he says he wouldn't be her Hand in the end. But nah we had to justify offing this dope chick then also trying to make the actual living women who watch this show annoyed into two camps of Daenerys or Sansa like dang imagine being so boring and also hating women so much to pick this absolute boring version of a tale… Offer heroes to women as valued partners/love interests then fuck the women over (Cersei Jaime Brienne Jon Snow Daenerys but make sure to also pit Sansa against each of those women cause she’s the “good” victim that men can trust). Like man... I mean. Why lol. You also kind of want to sell this as a heartbreak for Jon, and then Jaime gets two. I mean betrayal actions (poor Jon having to turn away Daenerys, poor Jaime having to turn away Cersei…both because the woman couldn’t see the right path, that the man knows and is on.. and poor Jaime having to turn away Brienne, he is just not worthy of her so that alone justifies his completely disrespectful treatment of her) and then in the case of like, actually killing the woman side of the relationship, symbolically or adjacently two times each and then I don't know... Like Jon gets to feel hollow and grieve for both Ygritte and Daenerys, but Ygritte was taken from him in a relationship that was doomed for failure considering their circumstances… you then force Jon’s next love to also be doomed for failure because of the circumstances he manages to find himself in (even though it’s not necessary like at all??)..but also make this one on him. He has to betray her himself. Jaime meanwhile gets to feel empowered in his first betrayal, he is just in knowing that he makes the right decision to leave King’s Landing and fight for the living. When he betrays Brienne, it’s because I don’t know. He refuses to grow up and says no I can’t change actually, I’m just here to get my dick wet and that I’ve done it is actually proof of how awful I am bye! As if like, who cares why Cersei is invested in her brother? Who cares if Brienne finds happiness? Who cares if Ygritte had a desire to live outside her system? Who cares if Daenerys wants to find joy outside of her throne? All that matters is that these white men have felt…an emotion. And it has been of sadness…and they are sad… You also make sure to give the Hound a story as a paternal figure to Arya for her survival and her benefit and like I could accept some in a story, of course pain exists as well as consequences, but why with the fuck you to women in every narrative you possibly present? They never really get to be the heroes in their own stories. They never really get to grow outside of a man’s guidance. And they definitely never get to be happy, and they always have to suffer the most. Arya, who learns that her list is a coping mechanism she doesn't need when she is weighing the choice of either revenge for her family or being with her family you know either being with Jon up in Winterfell or running off to Kings landing and killing cersei and instead though we decide actually she DIDNT learn this lesson whenever she decided to go back to her family 100% (she did. She chooses jon.) instead she must actually be literally told the lesson by the Hound who is taking on her role as father like fucking yikes They want to sell this version as feminism. But Arya isn’t just No One. Like. That's also... "not her" .. but she sure says that to the dude you had her just sleep with. Sometimes I just do have to laugh that these dudes have made millions and taken so much of my time, our time as women, and I'm just like “yeah okay you can justify this ending by demanding a series of 'you didn't see this coming's' by first presenting the rest of the story as it exists” but why would this version ever be superior and worth all this lol. Ladies could have done it better we all know it... None of us won lol CLOWN CITY then there's even the setting up of Jon's story to be the nk then having it be Arya - which I have been okay with and enjoyed (as someone who didn't read sure but that makes me confident in my opinion of show material) - which they “subverted” which in some terrible way makes her victory seem cheap... unsavoury in a way, because you wanted the audience to demand it be Jon instead while framing it as cool so perhaps you could again have us fighting about the actions of the girl... Let's remember Jon hanging a boy, Robert beating and raping Cersei, Jaime raping Cersei and Jaime becoming Brienne's first sexual experience and then abandoning her, Ned beheading a man as his establishing shot, Tyrion killing "the woman he loves" and his father all honourable casually mentioning a desire to see the city get fucked, Khal Drogo rapes Daenerys and it is told/sold as a love story (her story is its own mess...). Basically, [dude] action is horrible, justified against women wishes… the equation is consistent and constant throughout the series. Dudes get to do things good and bad and be treated well regardless, women do good things and they’re instead questioned for doing them as if a man would’ve done better, if not they’re disallowed the action altogether or they perform it and are punished for it. Regardless of the moral intention behind it Dany gets power, is on par with Jon, Jon has the privilege of denying and eschewing his power in the absence of love, because he's killed it quite literally, while Dany is not given the opportunity to give hers up for love...because why do that when it's most subversive for her to demand it with no room for anything else? And using the Viserys reaction shot as justification for her “mad” behaviour, you are saying it is not okay to be all right with your abuser dying, but it is good to fall in love with him considering that's how her story with drogo is framed. Wow cool what a fuckin not hot take damn If Sansa is given to Ramsay instead of Loras Tyrell, two things happen 1 she needs to be taught a "lesson" through abuse instead of growing as a person by mutual care and respect 2 she has to also suffer at the hands of some old creep to get there... Meanwhile Jon's love story in adolescence says to him you will hurt if you love... Bad sentiment but "love is pain" is not the same as "your body needs to be violated for you to grow" ...and he gets to have a loving/tender experience of love..bye... So ultimately in the end all the women characters meet their ends by a death of their femininity, at the hands of masculinity. Catelyn, dies AFTER her son (who is shown to be just a mother’s boy in the end, asking for his mom in his dying breath) in violence; Ros and all over “whore” characters, killed by men they had the audacity to “charm” into sleeping with them and for taking sexual agency in their lives; Brienne, gives into femininity for once and is symbolically dead because of it; Cersei, dies after the loss of her children sends her into a cumulative fit of rage and violent actions (after being violated by the man she loves, the man she didn’t love but tried to love, and being demoralised and degraded by her father); the regrettable Sand Snakes are propped up in death with their bodies on display, one of them killed with a kiss to torment her mother, whose death is the ultimate goal and the ultimate death, by outliving all of her daughters; Lysa is mad over her unrequited love for Petyr which manifests as a deeply strange and taken-too-far relationship with her young son, killed by Baelish of course; Arya loses her semblance of identity and personality as she fully commits to being this assassin, this woman without which femininity has any point to; Sansa dies many times over, violated by Joffrey, Ramsay, Baelish, coddled by Ned, Hound…Baelish, her femininity is dead the second Lady is killed; Daenerys is violated by husbands, a brother, knights in her service, trusted allies, she is in the end a caricature of her evil father..but only once her children are taken from her..and ofc we know Jon is gonna kill her, her lover and partner; Olenna Tyrell dies after, surprise surprise, outliving her children like all the other mothers; Melisandre uses her body to sway men to her side and ultimately loses her moral high ground when she decides to burn a little, innocent girl (they also make a point to show her as decrepit, old, and haggard)…she is threatened for her horrible act with the sword of a man Now Margaery Tyrell is one woman, the embodiment of femininity on the show, who is killed with her femininity in tact and at the hands of a woman. This is however also with said woman’s male power, and is more importantly a result of one of her biggest tactical blunders (letting in the high septon) which is immediately punished with the death of this woman’s son. And Margaery’s femininity exists really just to mock Cersei…Margaery can succeed in the Game without resorting to masculine power like Cersei does…but I guess that’s why one kills the other. And why Cersei pays for it just the same (Lyanna Mormont is a prop…these men were like ooh look a little girl with DICTION! Gotta find a way to brutally kill her cause she’s a child; Meera is a plot device…..she’s there to move Bran around and dangle heteronormative expectations at you..Yara is there to tempt Theon then to be A Lesbian…but has no agency in her story for no discernible reason; Myrcella is a plot device…she’s there to give Jaime a five second glimpse into acceptance and fatherhood, just to have it be stripped away for his sorrow and pain along with Cersei’s – which is driving her mad but of course not him..) Im just like. Really. REALLY. Then you’ve got missandei, the only woman of colour, who dies to get a reaction from the white saviour, and the one black man on the show who’s also her partner… like tone deaf cannot begin to explain this series. It’s just the same tired ass white guy fantasy we always get, that ends in pain and misery for anyone BUT a white man but justifies not giving happiness to anyone else on the grounds of “realism” or some shit, as if we all engage in media to be shit on yet again…like YALL the ones who got easy ass lives day in day out yall ALSO the ones got a story for anything under the sun…yall the heroes the villains the antiheroes antivillains the sidekicks the love interests the advisors the rogues the messiahs the omens the fuckin every single character you could possibly think of… so like how about we first check all our bases here too for the rest of us before you decide we need to tell stories that end miserably for all of us on the basis of “subverting expectations” when you know damn well our media aint there yet. Man fuck off and in the Meta context they forced us to have these characters’ decisions and motivations justified and explained in their stupid ass behind the episodes as if these are remotely like... Cool and not actually boring as fuck directions you could ever possibly come up with for a story. Like... Dang. It just.... Ain’t it, chief These actual fucking paid clowns say we need to listen to them tell us why the characters did it and then when they do 1 forget their own supposed expert opinion on the world state (they literally get the world factually wrong, and just pass over glaring inconsistencies with shit like “she kind of forgot…”……) and 2 have the indecency to say "cause I ultimately thought this stupid ass story was the cool one and the reason I think this is because... You didn't think I would (they equate this somehow to think this means they could or I think it is ultimately a good and fun and interesting way to engage with my media. Just isn't). You could tell this story if you wanted to sure man yeah but I don't need to accept it lol you shared this product for money, as if you've never engaged with media yourself. Bleh. We do what we want with the characters given to us so bite me In the end, they're saying I, a man, get so Noble and then I have sex with you then I decide your fate and say my chances and my life is more interesting and worthy of existence itself but also in the real world of like, media as a thing both written and visual, cause why tell any other stories.. then with their little inside the fuck boy this week for excuses for the fuckery yet again because for some reason they think they have the best insight? Like... Breaking Bad... Lol... Like A or A+ like... Laughing my actual face off for a couple minutes straight. Nah. BrBa had women in the writer’s rooms and the director’s chairs. bye And at this point their story is just dead to me. I guarantee you whatever your predictions were after 8.03 for what would happen next, without question, probably make a better story. Shame the wrong one is now "The One" and annoying dudes will demand it's The One True and Only for ever forth like...okay that's fine lol. I demand women in all steps of a piece of "entertainment" ever . A lot of us work hard our whole lives whether we're cognizant of it or not to be powerful in our own lives in some way and you give women a glimpse of it and then it's mocked and derided So when people are like "fanfiction sucks dude" no it's also about how stories are written. Especially when you monetise and sell your products, which once you wrote as your own fantasy, but damn how dare any other single person, after you've let those characters become a part of their lives? For your monetary gain, no less. I mean... Cool? Then George extra points gets himself three extra shows or something as if I'd ever really care about his version of another story ever again is like damn. Bamboozled the level of character assassination is Too Damn High and i will not suffer more uncritial misogyny!!! (if you made it here...... justice for oberyn)

#game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #jaime lannister #arya stark #anti got #got spoilers #got meta #meta #im SORRY !!!!! i am not done processing!!! #cant remember who else i even mention but who rly cares anyway #basically its Misogyny Babeeeeeeey!!!!!!

[janiedean]

between jaime and theon, who do you think has the more well written redemption arc?

well, counting that imo both of them have arcs that are more identity than redemption in itself... if you want the short answer: theon, because while jaime’s deals with redemption... it’s more a reversed redemption arc, as in, it’s not about him redeeming himself, it’s about him realizing he’s always been a decent person all along. now, I had ranted about the subject already once so if you want the full version focused on jaime there’s the meta, but going into it again and comparing it with theon...

first thing we should probably take into account when comparing them: as someone else who sadly deleted since then, these books have exactly TWO instances of people doing a truly selfless heroic knightly grand gesture and those instances are a) theon saving jeynep, b) jaime going into the bear pit for brienne, which says a lot given that they’re perpetrated by two people that everyone in the narrative (and a lot of people outside) see as oathbreakers/assholes/people with no honor;

now, before we go back there... the thing is that while I think theon has an identity arc first and foremost (I mean he has chapter names corresponding to his identities let’s be real here), but it is more or less straight-up redemptive in the sense that it follows all the basic steps, ie theon does something wrong that he regrets more than just about anyone else at this point (betraying robb), realizes where he went wrong and what he wants from life and decides to be better than that. now mind that with theon it’s strongly interlinked with the identity arc, because he saves jeyne (his narrative redemptive moment) after realizing who he is and who he wants to be and what he wants from life, while his bad actions/betrayal were rooted in the fact that he had an identity crisis and was desperately trying to be what he thought his father wanted/didn’t want to deal with that situation/couldn’t admit to himself that he had with robb what he wanted from his family (acceptance/love/someone caring about him for himself/his personality, not his surname or his worth as a hostage or only surviving male son etc.). now, never mind the whole deal where (still imvho) theon and robb are foils in the sense that robb’s damning (narratively) moment was marrying jeynew while theon’s redemptive (narratively) was saving jeynep, he gains the narrative redemption the moment he does something selfless (ie saving jeyne as in someone no one gave a shit about) regardless of facing death because that’s what theon would have done (remember ‘theon greyjoy would have helped her but not reek?), when we can argue that his betrayal and previous fuck-ups weren’t exactly selfless but more desperate ways to assess who he thought he had to be. except that when he does that he fucks up, when he does what he really wanted to he does the heroic deed, therefore showing that he has the potential to be a more than decent person (which is most likely what robb saw in him), so his arc is both about finding his identity and redemption through accepting it;

so like... we can say that theon’s redemption arc, while tied to his identity arc, is pretty much straightforward;

now, the thing with jaime is: he doesn’t have a straight up redemption arc, because tbqh the only thing he’s done in these books that he should be redeemed from is pushing bran from the window (like guys the incest is nothing you need **redemption** from technically especially since it’s an abusive relationship where he’s not the abused part and I’ll die on that hill, killing aerys was just good sense and he wouldn’t have lied about tysha to tyrion if tywin hadn’t pushed him to do it by the way that’s abusive/manipulative as well and anything else is... about on par of what anyone else in these books has done). what jaime needs is to realize he’s his own person and not his sister and find his own way, and that realization comes through coming to terms with the fact that the person he is at the beginning of the books is not the person he wanted to be when he was young but he still has the potential to be that person and he actively strives for it and tries to do better, which.... isn’t exactly **redemption** clear-cut;

also the rest goes under the cut because this is long af sorry I have feelings on these two.

like, to make it extremely basic: jaime starts as a generally good person. 

now, before anyone harps at me, I’ll take a break from the checklist to say that it’s the text specifying it - he’s the only one in the family who genuinely loves tyrion when no one else would, as genna lannister put it

"Jaime," she said, tugging on his ear, "sweetling, I have known you since you were a babe at Joanna's breast. You smile like Gerion and fight like Tyg, and there's some of Kevan in you, else you would not wear that cloak . . . but Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you. I said so once to your father's face, and he would not speak to me for half a year. Men are such thundering great fools. Even the sort who come along once in a thousand years."

he has the good qualities from all the other lannister uncles/relatives but nothing of his father (I mean she mentions his smile, his strive for honor and being a good fighter, that’s... positive qualities), he’s put at the opposite, or I mean, as tyrion once put it:

My brother, Jaime, thirsts for battle, not for power. He's run from every chance he's had to rule.

and this when it was made clear in book one from tyrion’s povs that his opinion of jaime and cersei was wildly different, which would be hard if they were the same person. also:

That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead.

like. that’s jaime thinking about what happened to him since he joined the kingsguard. seems to me like he has a clue that something went wrong there.

anyway, back to the point: jaime starts as a good person. and a good person who wants to do good things in life, as in, becoming arthur dayne, ie a knight without stain or honor, and we all know that technically knighthood = positive things;

what happens is that since he goes into the kingsguard his picture gets destroyed - he does it on cersei’s advice and that’s what kickstarts their relationship for good (because the first time they have sex is when she proposes it to him and he accepts both for that and because he wants that kingsguard place in his romanticized vision of it, and we could talk for an hour of the fact that cersei actually had hoped to marry rhaegar just before, so if it actually had happened he’d have ended up without his name/inheritance/position and without cersei but nvm that), then he takes his job and finds out the king is out of his mind, that he can’t protect anyone he should (rhaella), has to watch people get burned alive/strangled/raped in front of him, copes by dissociating (which is like, basic ptsd trauma symptom in war veterans and he was fifteen-seventeen at that point), his picture of honor/valor/knighthood gets destroyed apparently beyond repair, he kills aerys to save everyone else after being put in an impossible position (because he was the only kingsguard in the entire castle which was a fairly stupid decision if you ask me) and then everyone decides he has shit for honor and sees him as the worst without bothering to ask and at that point he says fuck it and embraces it;

as in: he turns into the smiling knight (as he put it) by giving in to cynicism/nihilism and only worries about cersei/his family and says fuck it to his romantic notions even if he desperately wants to believe it and actually if you read his povs, going beyond the part where he’s too world-weary for his own good..... like honestly jaime lannister has the emotional maturity of a seventeen-year old which is pretty much showing that he was so traumatized by what went on with aerys that he basically never moved on from that and coped with it by a) not thinking about it, b) being angry about it when he did, c) embracing what others thought of him like ‘well you think I’m that bad fine have it your way’, which is also... basically teenage angst level but again: he hasn’t moved on from that;

(this while being into a codependent toxic af relationship with cersei that about a) annihilates his sense of identity because he thinks he’s the same as her when he’s all the contrary and acts the contrary, b) is not sexually healthy because being like that with one person only and those premises is not healthy I mean guys fuck’s sake this guy is older than thirty and couldn’t process getting hard when seeing a naked woman, it’s a problem, c) doesn’t help him get out of his issues but actually makes them worse)

now, back to the matter: at his lowest narrative point he pushes bran from the window, except thatThe man looked over at the woman. “The things I do for love,” he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove.now, everyone ignores that bran himself perceives that jaime said that with loathing, so he knows he’s doing something extremely shitty, but he’s embracing it as necessary in order to save his hide and cersei’s and also because he’s embraced this concept that whatever he does people will think him honorless so what’s the damned point?

then, after two other massive trauma episodes ie being imprisoned for an entire year and losing his sword hand ie his livelihood, he has to face what he wants and who he wants to be because the fact that he doesn’t have the hand a) takes his fighting skills away from him, b) takes what makes him cersei’s exact mirror, c) forces him to rely on other people in the immediate aftermath and the fact that throughout this whole thing he’s stuck with brienne ie someone who reminds him of the person he wanted to be and who actually manages to uphold those ideals and keeps on doing it regardless gives him a wake-up call and makes him realize that he actually... did still want to be the person he used to be;

so like..... the arc jaime is having right now isn’t 1) I’m a bad person, 2) I did something heinous, 3) I realized that and I repented, 4) I’m trying to atone for it, which is the technical redemption arc as it is and which is more true for theon than for him. the arc jaime is having is 1) I was a good person, 2) I turned into someone I didn’t want to be after traumatic events, 3) I did something awful also as the result of years spent not dealing with it and I regret it, 4) I lost a part of me that was to me 99% of what I thought I was good for, 5) I realized that I turned into someone I didn’t want to be, 6) I’m trying to do better and be that person;

btw, before the argument comes like BUT HE NEVER REPENTED:

If truth be told, Jaime had come to rue heaving Brandon Stark out that window. Cersei had given him no end of grief afterward, when the boy refused to die. "He was seven, Jaime," she'd berated him. "Even if he understood what he saw, we should have been able to frighten him into silence.""I didn't think you'd want—"  (mind that here it’s even BEFORE the hand loss and his answer is that he acted based on what he thought she wanted, now I’m not saying she is to blame but that since he was acting thinking that he was doing what she wanted then he didn’t act doing what he would have done if it hadn’t factored into his decision)

"Well, he's beyond suspicion now." Robert's death still left a bitter taste in Jaime's mouth. It should have been me who killed him, not Cersei. "I only wished he'd died at my hands." When I still had two of them. "If I'd let kingslaying become a habit, as he liked to say, I could have taken you as my wife for all the world to see. I'm not ashamed of loving you, only of the things I've done to hide it. That boy at Winterfell . . .""Did I tell you to throw him out the window? If you'd gone hunting as I begged you, nothing would have happened. But no, you had to have me, you could not wait until we returned to the city."

I mean, he says he’s ashamed of it, not me. but like, that’s someone trying to do better than before and wanting to be a better person and going past his trauma (and actually he matures a lot in between asos and adwd so it’s obvious he’s somehow gotten unstuck from his aerys-related issues);

so like..... going back to the point: theon actually wants to actively do something to atone for his betrayal or wishes he could, and while saving jeyne is not what he probably thought as in ‘atoning for having betrayed robb’, it was narratively, because the pay-off is that he’s free of his abuser, knows who he is and who he wants to be and has solved his identity issues and can only go forward. on the other hand, jaime isn’t seeing his previous misdeeds as something he’s actively searching atonement for, and it’s less clear-cut because theon is moooreee or less a straight line, jaime’s having to deal with wanting to act in a certain way but circumstances throwing him back (ie he wants to try and have a relationship with tommen, cersei sends him away; he doesn’t want to break his vow to cat but has to go to riverrun anyway; he doesn’t want to raise arms against them so he bluffs with the trebuchet baby which makes everyone assume the worst of him and works because of that, but on the side he tries to do better see the deal with pia, sending brienne to look for sansa actively going against cersei’s orders, freeing tyrion AGAIN against cersei’s orders and telling him the truth about tysha and so on);

but at the end of it: 1. theon is a generally okay person who has postured a lot as a defense mechanism while being a hostage, starts with an identity crisis that leads to his wrong/bad actions that eventually contribute to causing robb’s death (admittedly I think that the red wedding was a go anyway bc it was tywin scheming it but theon fake killing robb’s brothers > robb sleeping with jeyne > perfect excuse for frey to defect) and to his own torture and abuse at ramsay’s hands, he has to work through his issues, deeply regrets his actions, realizes who he wants to be and eventually does something heroic the moment he comes to terms with it as his big narrative redemptive moment.2. jaime used to be a good person who after going through heavy trauma has stopped giving a fuck about his old dreams and embraced his worst sides also as a coping/defense mechanism [while being stuck in an abusive relationship that annihilates his sense of self], did something heinous at his lowest point, underwent even more trauma that forced him to reshape his entire life, met someone who showed him he could try to be the person he wanted to be/was before aerys, regrets his actions but doesn’t specifically look for redemption through them but actively searches it after (as in: he doesn’t want to be redeemed for trying to kill bran but he still upholds his vow to catelyn and tries to save at least her daughter by sending brienne ie the one true knight in the room after her, frees tyrion and comes clean with him etc) and tries to be a better person all along;

this also is symbolized by when they have their heroic moments as described above, because theon saving jeyne is at the end of his adwd arc, which works as a good bookend for his story and for his identity arc, while jaime jumping in the pit for brienne is in the middle of asos/in the middle of his asos arc, so while jeyne’s rescue is theon’s ending point/crowning achievement, jaime’s rescuing of brienne is his starting point. he doesn’t do it as the crowning achievement of his arc - hell, his arc isn’t even over within asos -, and while it’s not the first thing he does actively post-hand loss (he saves her from being raped and tells her about aerys), but it’s the first grand gesture he makes and he doesn’t even know why he does it but he feels like he has to and goes for it without even blinking twice, while theon does ponder it. like, theon’s redemption (narratively) has been earned and he knows he’s done that:

"Don't you call him that." Then the words came spilling out of Theon in a rush. He tried to tell her all of it, about Reek and the Dreadfort and Kyra and the keys, how Lord Ramsay never took anything but skin unless you begged for it. He told her how he'd saved the girl, leaping from the castle wall into the snow. "Weflew. Let Abel make a song of that, we flew." Then he had to say who Abel was, and talk about the washerwomen who weren't truly washerwomen. By then Theon knew how strange and incoherent all this sounded, yet somehow the words would not stop. He was cold and sick and tired... and weak, so weak, so very weak.

like.... theon says to let abel make a song of that. he knows he’s done something song-worthy. he’s 100% aware of it, post-fact. jaime really is not - he doesn’t think of his bear pit moment as a song-worthy moment (but brienne herself does:“Ser Jaime?” Even in soiled pink satin and torn lace, Brienne looked more like a man in a gown than a proper woman. “I am grateful, but … you were well away. Why come back?” vsthe griffins on his cloak rippled and blurred and changed to lions. Jaime! she wanted to cry, Jaime, come back for me!, but her tongue lay on the floor by the rose, drowned in blood.like, brienne ie the person he saved has definitely interiorized it as A Total Song-Worthy Moment)and the fact that he ended it with the whole I dreamed of you thing which is honestly not the least romantic thing he could have said doesn’t mean that he hasn’t... gone for it knowing what he was doing, differently from theon, and again: theon’s grand gesture is what seals his narrative redemption after he finds out who he really is, jaime’s is what kickstarts his own search for the person he used to be and that he wants to be again and that he actually forgot/thought he couldn’t be, which... is the exact contrary of male!cersei as he has thought until now.

so like... imo theon’s a straight-up redemption arc within an identity arc that deconstructs a bunch of tropes (traitor first and foremost), jaime is a reverse identity arc which includes redemptive themes but where the driving force isn’t his need for redemption, is the fact that he needs to reconcile the person he has the potential of being with a) growing the hell up, b) detaching himself from cersei, c) finding his sense of self, d) overcoming his trauma. and while theon has in common with him the part where he has to find himself and overcome trauma, I think that his arc is really more redemption-driven than jaime. theon wants to atone and finds out he can because of the person he actually is, jaime needs to realize he’s his own person and to do the things he wants to, not what others think of him.

so, to go back to my first point: for this whole heap of reasons, I think that as a redemption arc theon’s is better because it’s... a redemption arc in itself, while jaime’s is basically second coming of age with redemptive themes so I wouldn’t call it like that. I mean, I hate this whole discourse about IS HE ON A REDEMPTION ARC OR NOT bc to me he’s on a self-discovering arc that includes doing things that redeem his past actions, but he’s not actively looking for it in the usual terms. that said I need to specify a few things:

I personally think theon in himself is the best written and conceived character in these books but that jaime is right behind him and they’re technically martin’s greatest literary achievements as characters so it’s not like if I say that theon’s better written I think jaime’s is badly written, ALL THE CONTRARY;

I also think that theon beats jaime for originality and identity arc (not redemption bc jaime’s arc is not redemptive imo as stated), but jaime as a pov is tbqh really a gem when it comes to a) dealing with military-like ptsd symptoms, b) long-lasting emotional abuse, c) using sarcasm as a coping method/defense mechanism, d) lessons in How To Not Deal With Trauma (ie not thinking about it), because while ofc there are parts that are not realistic (ie: someone with jaime’s background should have had a nervous breakdown of horrid proportions a long time before the series started tbh) the fact that people tend to brush it off without realizing it just because he looks fine on the outside tbh says a lot about how people overlook trauma in men when they happen to not show it in the reader’s face/in someone’s face (no one can deny it with theon and sandor, because they show it physically, or tyrion because he talks about it and he’s aware of it, and whoever usually gives it to jaime only says ‘ah it starts after the hand loss). and it’s not george’s fault because imvho he wrote it perfectly given that jaime himself isn’t aware of it, but I just find it very telling;

I think both of them are really great narratives when it comes to exploring reaction to life-lasting trauma and abuse (except that for theon is straight-up physical, jaime is mental/emotional) and both arcs in that sense are written really well;

I also don’t know how fair it is to compare them for the same themes also because jaime’s a fairly reliable pov (sarcastic but reliable, he's not the lying to himself type) while theon’s wholly unreliable/has a journey towards reliable-ness more or less but idk if we’re there so that’s that to take into account too;

I also don’t think anyone in these books has a clear-cut anything arc because it’s all tropes deconstruction and nothing is ever played straight-up, so... again, that’s the opinion but I don’t think it says much as a whole because neither of them is a redemption arc that follows the tropes (I mean theon’s is straight-up but his kinda character - ie traitor who betrays the hero - is not usually given it, but I ranted about it in the above meta).

... this probably went way beyond your question, but here, have a rant.

#jaime lannister #theon greyjoy #asoiafmeta #janie writes meta #ch: jaime lannister #ch: theon greyjoy #abuse cw #trauma cw #ptsd cw #long post for ts #redemption arcs and whatnot #anti-lannincest #anti-jaime x cersei #hello I love these two assholes #Anonymous #ask post

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Do Westerosi have swimming as a pastime? Are there garments used as bathing suits, or do they swim naked? With so many bodies of water around I doubt they wouldn't.

Yes, people swim as a pastime in Westeros. Sometimes they wear clothes, but more often they don’t.

“And the girls, Ned!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. “I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle.” –Robert, AGOT, Eddard I

She found herself standing at the mouth of a sewer where it emptied into the river. She stank so badly that she stripped right there, dropping her soiled clothing on the riverbank as she dove into the deep black waters. She swam until she felt clean, and crawled out shivering. Some riders went past along the river road as Arya was washing her clothes, but if they saw the scrawny naked girl scrubbing her rags in the moonlight, they took no notice. –AGOT, Arya III

Lommy and Tarber stripped naked and went wading, and Lommy scooped up handfuls of slimy mud and threw them at Hot Pie, shouting, “Mud Pie! Mud Pie!” –ACOK, Arya IV

Hodor knew Bran’s favorite place, so he took him to the edge of the pool beneath the great spread of the heart tree, where Lord Eddard used to kneel to pray. Ripples were running across the surface of the water when they arrived, making the reflection of the weirwood shimmer and dance. There was no wind, though. For an instant Bran was baffled.And then Osha exploded up out of the pool with a great splash, so sudden that even Summer leapt back, snarling. Hodor jumped away, wailing “Hodor, Hodor” in dismay until Bran patted his shoulder to soothe his fears. “How can you swim in there?” he asked Osha. “Isn’t it cold?”“As a babe I suckled on icicles, boy. I like the cold.” Osha swam to the rocks and rose dripping. She was naked, her skin bumpy with gooseprickles. Summer crept close and sniffed at her. “I wanted to touch the bottom.”“I never knew there was a bottom.”“Might be there isn’t.” She grinned. “What are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before?”“I have so.” Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and he’d seen serving women in the hot pools too.

–ACOK, Bran II

To the east, Gods Eye was a sheet of sun-hammered blue that filled half the world. Some days, as they made their slow way up the muddy shore (Gendry wanted no part of any roads, and even Hot Pie and Lommy saw the sense in that), Arya felt as though the lake were calling her. She wanted to leap into those placid blue waters, to feel clean again, to swim and splash and bask in the sun. But she dare not take off her clothes where the others could see, not even to wash them. –ACOK, Arya V

“The gods will take me when they see fit,” Septon Chayle said quietly, “though I scarcely think it likely that I’ll drown, Bran. I grew up on the banks of the White Knife, you know. I’m quite the strong swimmer.” –ACOK, Bran V

I’m being swept out into the bay. It wouldn’t be as bad there; he ought to be able to make shore, he was a strong swimmer. –ACOK, Davos III

When Jaime looked up, Brienne was lumbering along the clifftop well ahead of them, having cut across a finger of land while they were following the bend in the river. She threw herself off the rock, and looked almost graceful as she folded into a dive. It would have been ungracious to hope that she would smash her head on a stone. Ser Cleos turned the skiff toward her. Thankfully, Jaime still had his oar. One good swing when she comes paddling up and I’ll be free of her.Instead he found himself stretching the oar out over the water. Brienne grabbed hold, and Jaime pulled her in. As he helped her into the skiff, water ran from her hair and dripped from her sodden clothing to pool on the deck.

–ASOS, Jaime I

Ser Desmond Grell had served House Tully all his life. He had been a squire when Catelyn was born, a knight when she learned to walk and ride and swim, master-at-arms by the day that she was wed. –ASOS, Catelyn I

The holdfast did have a grim haunted look, standing there black against the storm on its rocky island with the rain lashing at the lake all around it. “We could go out and take a look,” he suggested. “I doubt we could get much wetter than we are.”“Swimming? In the storm?” She laughed at the notion. “Is this a trick t’ get the clothes off me, Jon Snow?”“Do I need a trick for that now?” he teased. “Or is that you can’t swim a stroke?” Jon was a strong swimmer himself, having learned the art as a boy in Winterfell’s great moat.Ygritte punched his arm. “You know nothing, Jon Snow. I’m half a fish, I’ll have you know.“

–ASOS, Jon V

Jon used to say that she swam like a fish, but even a fish might have trouble in this river. –ASOS, Arya IX

As they rode past the stakes and pits that surrounded the eunuch encampment, Dany could hear Grey Worm and his sergeants running one company through a series of drills with shield, shortsword, and heavy spear. Another company was bathing in the sea, clad only in white linen breechclouts. –ASOS, Daenerys V

A few of the older children lay facedown upon the smooth pink marble, browning in the sun. Others paddled in the sea beyond. Three were building a sand castle with a great spike that resembled the Spear Tower of the Old Palace. A score or more had gathered in the big pool, to watch the battles as smaller children rode through the waist-deep shallows on the shoulders of the larger and tried to shove each other into the water. Every time a pair went down, the splash was followed by a roar of laughter. They watched a nut-brown girl yank a towheaded boy off his brother’s shoulders to tumble him headfirst into the pool. –AFFC, The Captain of Guards

Looking at the water only made him think of drowning. When he was small his lord father had tried to teach him how to swim by throwing him into the pond beneath Horn Hill. The water had gotten in his nose and in his mouth and in his lungs, and he coughed and wheezed for hours after Ser Hyle pulled him out. After that he never dared go in any deeper than his waist. –AFFC, Samwell II

“How did he get out?”“Fish swim. Even black ones.” Edmure smiled. […] “We raised the portcullis on the Water Gate. Not all the way, just three feet or so. Enough to leave a gap under the water, though the gate still appeared to be closed. My uncle is a strong swimmer. After dark, he pulled himself beneath the spikes.”And he slipped under our boom the same way, no doubt. A moonless night, bored guards, a black fish in a black river floating quietly downstream.

–AFFC, Jaime VII

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning. “Plainly, this boat was not named for you,” Tyrion called as she disrobed.“The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods.”

–ADWD, Tyrion IV

[Rolly] came up sputtering and cursing, bellowing for someone to fish him out before a ‘snapper ate his privates. Tyrion tossed a line to him. “Ducks should swim better than that,” he said as he and Yandry were hauling the knight back aboard the Shy Maid.Ser Rolly grabbed Tyrion by the collar. “Let us see how dwarfs swim,” he said, chucking him headlong into the Rhoyne.The dwarf laughed last; he could paddle passably well, and did… until his legs began to cramp. Young Griff extended him a pole.

–ADWD, Tyrion IV

Sweetfoot had an easier gait than old Chestnut, but Dunk was still sore and tired when he spied the inn ahead, a tall daub-and-timber building beside a stream. […] As he dismounted, a naked boy emerged dripping from the stream and began to dry himself on a roughspun brown cloak. "Are you the stableboy?” Dunk asked him. The lad looked to be no more than eight or nine, a pasty-faced skinny thing, his bare feet caked in mud up to the ankle. His hair was the queerest thing about him. He had none. –The Hedge Knight

“Another word about your bloody boot, and I’ll clout you in the ear so hard you’ll fly across the lake.”“I’d sooner swim, ser.” Egg swam well, and Dunk did not.

–The Mystery Knight

#asoiaf #asoiaf worldbuilding #swimming #people who can swim: #arya stark #jon snow #bran stark #osha #septon chayle #davos seaworth #brienne of tarth #catelyn stark #ygritte #brynden tully #septa lemore #tyrion lannister #aegon v targaryen #people who can't: #samwell tarly #rolly duckworth #duncan the tall #anonymous asks #wall-o-text

[jdotsodomite]

charlie, two seconds after being babe's bf:

#i have ascended #charliebabe #jaime watches pit babe #pit babe the series #jaime yes

[ladystarks]

asoiaf fic recs

It’s come to my attention that I have read a lot of amazing fics that I love and don’t think they get nearly enough attention since they aren’t of the more popular pairings. So...this rec list is just a few of those stellar stories I’ve read over the years that I highly recommend everyone tries out

allies in a time of war by l_cloudy

That one AU where Jon goes to war with Robb, and finds out he has more in common with Lady Catelyn than they both expected.

Featuring brotherly bonding, Stark awesomness, and characters not getting killed off. Mostly.

( @liesmyth​​ on tumblr)

the still after the storm by trulyunruly

The face of Cersei's husband is as frozen as the forest around them. The swords of the Rebellion have left the kingdoms torn open and red with blood but the North has been spared. Untouched, her handmaiden had sighed when they first stepped out of the walls of Winterfell. Cersei had said nothing. Not untouched, she had thought. Cold. Colourless. Barren.Yet it is this cold, colourless, barren wasteland that is to be her home now.

The Queenmaker by l_cloudy

Wherein the firstborn of Tywin’s twins is a boy, and the bastard Ned Stark brings home is a girl with purple eyes.

Fourteen years later, Caesar Lannister is a man so enthralled with power he’d do anything to become king – including putting Rhaegar’s daughter on the throne, and sit at her side.Cersei/Jon, genderbent; assumes R+L

( @liesmyth​​ on tumblr)

lost and found by thegirl

Imagine a canon in which Ned Stark got hit too many times in the head while fighting Arthur Dayne and found an abandoned child by the side of the road who was of absolutely no relation to him and assumed it was his son.

( @lovethymonsters​ on tumblr)

the ghosts won’t matter cause we’ll hide in sin by soapboxblues

wherein rhaegar wins the war, and jaime manages to keep his head by taking a stark for a wife; or five times jaime lannister braved his marriage and the one time he was brave for its sake

truth be told no sense was made by soapboxblues

Of all the men who make Jon doubt the world’s logic, it is Theon who does it the most

Dream until your Dreams Come True by crossingwinter

Arya likes the way things are with her soulmate—playing softball in dreams, talking about nothing and everything. But it still feels like cheating when she dreams of Gendry.

( @planlessfic​ on tumblr)

fool’s gold by thegirl

They have no crowns, no purses, no contacts – mother watches the boat with the Baratheon stag sail away, right over the horizon. Myrcella doesn’t try and get her to move, even when the fish-sellers and sailors keep on stepping on her heels and squeezing round her sides. But she doesn’t look herself – she can’t. She had been a Baratheon, once

( @lovethymonsters on tumblr)

i loved a maid as spry as spring (with sunrise in her hair) 

Also known as: I Cannot Stop Myself Genderbending, Please Help and How Eddara Stark Became A Queen. First in the series.

Female Ned x Robert

Babes That Live, Babes That Die by emmaliza

When Cersei remembers the boy, she always remembers his eyes. Grey, wide, innocent. So much like his father's. She remembers him looking up at her with such absolute love and trust. He must have thought she was his mother.She remembers he did not cry. There was simply a splash and he was gone.

warning: Cersei kills Jon Snow as a child 😭 😭 😭 😭

(@bloggish on tumblr)

Brave As A Lion by l_cloudy

When Jon Snow was two years old, his aunt Cersei became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Or, a kinkmeme fill in which Jon Snow is Jamie's bastard son. Raised in a lion-filled snake pit, Jon's grows up with an absent father, a grandfather who despises his birth yet can't ignore him, and with his eccentric Uncle Tyrion as his closest companion.

( @liesmyth​ on tumblr)

all the wolves have antlers by bythunder

Stags are prey, Lyanna thought. Why would anyone want to be a stag over a direwolf? When Father came to escort her to the sept, she draped her maiden’s cloak over her shoulders and held her chin high. Wolves eat stags. I will not be made prey.

(@jeynewesterling on tumblr)

you know my name (look up the number) by leapylion3

5 people who saw the ad that Jon gives amazing oral sex...and 1 person who put it there

( @gayfinnpoe​ on tumblr)

More than just blood on our hands by youremyqueen

Jon marches to war with Robb and tries to set aside his private war with Theon, but quickly realizes that he’s not very good at either of those things. 

Written for got_exchange at livejournal, prompt was: Something where Jon and Theon fall into a dysfunctional, sexually driven relationship because they’re both outsiders.

(@deathnoting​ on tumblr)

First Words by Name_Pending

Catelyn Stark remembers the first words spoken by each of her children. To her dismay, she also remembers the first word spoken by her husband's son.

a castle cannot be built on air by sentential (fallencrest)

Seven kisses in Ned and Catelyn’s marriage, showing how a political match becomes a loving relationship

Hold On To Your Heart by lyannas (crossfirehurricane)

Rhaegar Targaryen and his siblings have conquered the North with fire and blood. Lyanna Stark is left with no choice but to submit to save her family name-- even if it means she must wed their bastard brother Arthur Dayne.

( @lyannas on tumblr)

and there all the honor lies by ayuminb

[It is a sad realization that not even the very much loved, honorable, and charismatic Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is above attempting to seduce young maids.]Or - in which Rhaegar makes his choice, Lyanna is not a happy puppy, and Robert is not having any of this bullshit.

(@herokingrobbstark on tumblr)

your father’s eyes from your eyes cry to me by janie_tangerine

in which Jeyne Westerling arrives in Winterfell with Robb's heir.

the joinery by arbitrarily

by what right does the wolf judge the lion -- ned stark takes the iron throne, and with it, a lannister for a wife. 

I Don’t Need a Knight (So Take Off Your Armour) by PrioritiesSorted

In which Robert takes a Tully bride, but his children are still Lannisters.

#asoiaf #fic recs #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #arthur x lyanna #ned x cersei #jeyne westerling x robb stark #gendrya #lyabert #listen these pairings need more love #i don't even know what else to tag these but they're all amazing #nedcat #long post #gotfic #asoiaf fanfiction #got fanfiction #pop

[perrentes-ptv]

Prompt: can I have a perrentes smut pls :3 where they're smoking weed together and they Fuck and Tony rides mike on the couch and it's really hot /.\ thank u so much ily

Title: I feel like a Speak and Spell way I got you learning my lines

Pairing: Perrentes (Mike Fuentes/Tony Perry)

Song: Clothes Off! - Gym Class Heroes

ADDED: Can you write a Perrentes prompt where Tony is a bad boy trying to impress mike and mike funds it cute and in the end Tony turns back into his old self and mike says he will love Tony no matter what

ADDED: Can you write a Perrentes one shot where tony tries to top mike but it doesn't work and mike finds it cute and decides to let tony top just once

ADDED: Hey there, I was wondering if you could do a perrentes smut where tony sits on mikes face IDK ( ps I love your fanfics )

WARNING CONTAINS: M/M, rimming, riding, weed?, If you do not like this prompt or pairing, do not read it! It’s not hard

A/N: I put 4 in one i hope it worked out and it may feel fast moving because idk what im doing with smut tbh

~~Highschool teenagers AU Tony age: 17; Mike age: 18~~

"This is the dumb, Tone."

"Shut up."

"I'm pretty sure Mike, sells weed himself, you don't have to get him any, tone."

"Hi-me, shut up" Tony said, placing his hand over Jaime's mouth, and looked around himself to make sure no one heard his dumb best friend.

Jaime moved Tony's away from his face, "and when did weed get names like 7-way, how do you know it's any good?"

Tony rolled his eyes at Jaime and looked around, looking for some guy name Alex. He knows it was a bad idea to bring Jaime, but he couldn't exactly ask his boyfriend to come with him to get drugs for his own boyfriend, now could he? Nope he could not. Jamie was right for the most part, this was dumb. Tony only just tried weed a month ago and that was with Mike and even he could tell he sucked at smoking.

"Hi-me, please I just want to get something new for Mike, I asked about his stuff, and he doesn't have this, but my cousin gave me the name of this guy on AOL who told me what he had, and I wanna get this for Mike." Tony told Jaime, he didn't want to tell his best friend way he was here because-

"Does this have to have to do with Carney calling you a square and Mike is too badass for you and would dump you?" Tony blushed in embarrassment, he was a easy to read as a picture book.

"listen Tony, I think Mike likes you a lot, and he knew you were a square from the start." Jaime joked.

Tony hit Jaime as a guy came up to them. Tony looked over to see this guy was Erik, "Erik?" Tony asked talking his hoodie off showing his long hair and gauges, just in case Erik didn't know who he was.

"Tony!" Erik said coming up to hug him. Erik looked over at Jaime who was waving his said saying hello. "sup man, the hell you buying from me man? Is Mike okay?"

"yeah, man he's fine I-I just wanted to buy him some weed that he doesn't have or tried as a gift."

"Man, that's crazy of coming from you, you don't seem the type."

"he's not." Jaime chimed in.

"but I got something new this morning that Mike doesn't know about its good shit too from a shutdown medical clinic. Its called Ghost Train Haze."

"how much?" Tony asked wanting to get this embarrassing movement over with.

"well your dating my friend so same price as the other one was, which pocket?"

"Left?"

"just hug me back and leave." Erik pulled Tony in for a guy, then turned around a left their side of the street.

"wow tone your lucky you didn't get rubbed by some stranger." Jaime said placing his hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Tell me about it, I'm still scared lets go." Tony said starting to walk to Jamie's house

*later that day*

Tony went to Mike's house.

"Hey baby, come on up." Mike kissed Tony when he opened the door for him. Mike grad Tony's hand and took him upstairs for him. Once in his room Mike wrapped his arms around Tony and started making out with his boyfriend of 6 mounts who he hasn't seen all day.

"Mike stop I have something for you." Tony said sadly pushing his boyfriend off of him. Mike looked sad but let go of his boyfriend for the time being and sat on his bed. Tony grabbed the baggie out of his jacket and handed it to Mike.

"What's all this now?"

"Just something for you." Tony said trying it make it seem cool and calm about it.

"why?" Mike asked place the bag down on his bed.

"I love you." Tony tried.

"I love you, too so don't listen to Carney or anyone else about who talk shit about us they don't know us and I don't believe in stereotypes man if I did I would be straight not bi. Erik called me and our school gossips a lot." Mike said reaching out to grab Tony's hand for comfort.

“I wanted to be cool.”

“with weed?”

“you’re cool and you smoke.”

“aw babe you think I’m cool?” Mikey smiled stupidly at his boyfriend.

“very” Tony kissed him.

“your cool too babe in a cute nerdy way.” Now it was Tony smiling stupidly at his boyfriend, “can I smoke with you tonight?”

“sure, but not this stuff.”

“why not?”

“this is not for a novice babe, let’s just do Green Crack.”

“if you say so.” Mike’s face lit up. He pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s lips before pulling away to open his bedside table. He took a blunt out and help it between his fingers and took the lighter with the other hand. He licked his lips and pressed the blunt between them. Tony watched with curious eyes as Mike flicked the lighter on and brought the flame to the tip of the blunt. He breathes in and the smoke is everywhere inside of him. Pawing at his throat, licking at his lungs. He takes a deep breath, letting it fill him before blowing the smoke back out, away from Tony’s face. Mike laid on his bed and Tony choose to take a set and curl up at his side. He passes the blunt to Tony, who copies what Mike did. His throat burns but he manages and blows the smoke out towards the ceiling.

"this taste better than last time" Tony observes. Mike chuckles.

"I’ll keep that in mind baby." Tony smiled at the thought and passed the blunt back to Mike. They go back and forth for a while until the blunt is barely a nub. There's maybe one hit left so Mike takes it between his lips and inhales. He hooks his hands underneath Tony’s jaw and presses their lips together and blows the smoke into Tony’s mouth. It curls inside of him, making him warm and light. Tony lets it fills his lungs before blowing it back out. It's a very intimate action and the world feels slightly of kilter.

Tony straddles Mike's waist and puts his arms loosely around his neck. Mike looks at Tony with half-lidded eyes. Tony presses a kiss to Mike's nose, to his forehead. Finally, he presses a kiss to his lips. A peck, but the whole atmosphere changes. It gets brighter and Mike can feel the warmth in his toes, Tony can feel it in the pit of his belly. Every touch lingers on the skin for seconds afterward. Mike runs his fingertips down Tony's back, loving the way the muscles jump under his touch. Tony shivers and continues his series of kisses. He presses a soft, wet kiss to the place of Mike's neck and shoulder. Mike's hand's wonder past his back to his waist, his thumbs rubbing the soft patch of skin where his hips meet his legs.

“being on top of you makes me want to fuck you.” Tony said as me moved away from Mike, looking down at him.

“You can.” Mike said honestly.

“But I wanna fist on your face too.”

“let’s try that and see what you wanna do after.” Tony nodded and got off Mike as they both striped off their clothes.

Mike got back on this bed moves, Mike groans, pushing the palm of his hands down into his crotch as he looks at Tony. Tony kneeled over Mike's face and letting himself be moved into position. Mike pulls him down until he can tongue Tony's hole.

Soon enough Tony finds himself rolling his hips, riding Mike's face as he fucks him with his tongue. And it's filth, absolute filth, but he is aware of one of Mike's hands moving from where it was gripping Tony's thigh and he groans.

"Are you..."

And Mike goes "Mmm," which sends a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to Tony's cock.

He wraps a hand around himself and jerks himself off frantically, trying to match the pace of Mike's tongue. The burn of his farcical hair rubbing against Tony's cheeks and thighs is more of a turn on than it should be, and he knows he isn't going to last.

"Mike -" he breathes. "Mike. I'm, I'm close..." Mike moved Tony off of him. “I wanna get off can I ride you?”

“Baby, you can do anything to me just touch me.” Mike said as he was jerking his hard cock slowly as Tony moves down on him.

Tony presses a kiss to Mike's mouth as he sinks down on his cock, wrapping his arms around Mikes neck, whimpering into his mouth at the stretch.

"Good. So good, babe." Mike hums, taking Tony's cheek in his hand, running his thumb over Tony's cheek.

Tony lifts himself up until only the head of Mike's cock is inside him, falling back down onto it until it's wedged inside him, up against his prostate, moaning into Mike's hand. He finds an easy rhythm, lifting up and falling back down fast and hard, using Mike's headbord as leverage, panting and whining and moaning above him.

"God, Tony."

Tony kisses Mike again, licking into his mouth and biting his lip, falling back down onto his cock and clenching around him.

Tony comes when Mike gets a hand around his cock, thrusting up into Tony every time Tony thrusts down.

"Mike, fuck, fuck, fuck me!" Tony whimpers, spilling onto Mike's belly.

"your so fucking good, Tony." Mike says, flipping them over so Tony's on his back on the bed and Mike's fucking into him, hard and fast, the head of his cock bumping into Tony's prostate on every inwards thrust.

Tony's so oversensitive already, but Mike's cock feels so fucking good that Tony can't stop himself from grinding back against him.

Mike comes after a few more thrusts, spilling inside Tony, sucking a bruise into Tony's neck.

"Baby, that was so fucking hot.” Mike said

Tony wraps his arms around Mike's neck and kisses him, hard an passionate. "Love you, Mikey."

Mike smiles at Tony. "Love you, too, baby."

The Drugs End

Feel free to send me any request of any ship or pairing you want

#perrentes #mike fuentes #tony perry #pierce the veil #PTV #my post #prompt #request #one shot #fanfic #ship

[reader-imagines-blog]

Vows [Part 5] (Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader)

a/n: aaahhh! hi! im back! im sosososo sorry that i was gone for so long oh my gosh! school hit me like a ton of bricks and i needed some time to get in the swing of things! take this and enjoy and guess what? i'll have part 6 up tomorrow along with a filled request! enjoy, loves, and thank you for being so patient and understanding! 

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9

TAG LIST: @queen-of-the-north-amina @avistella @chippychipmunks @buckybarnesisalittleshit @chloehamiltonn @millie67 @doctorwhoandrory

WORD COUNT: 2,093

************************************* 

"Choices, choices. Take the bridge and risk being seen by anyone or cross the water and," 

Brienne tugged on Jaime's chain, the not-so-golden-anymore Lion stumbling. Although he had almost fallen flat on his front, Jaime's smirk held strong.

"Silence, Kingslayer." 

His smirk fell. 

Out of habit, Y/N corrected her. Y/N corrected anyone who called Jaime by that title, no matter who they were. After Jaime had confessed to her that he hated it, she began hating it too. 

"His name is Jaime." 

Both knights looked at Y/N curiously, but she paid no mind. Jaime's eyes lingered but Y/N was determined not to look his way. 

After discovering that she was with child, Y/N had taken to avoiding her husband. Her time in her brother's camp, two months to be exact, was filled with sneers and taunts thrown her way each time she ventured from her tent. 'The Lannister Bitch' they called her. These men, pledged to her house and sworn to be loyal. Calling her child a bastard because of her marriage to the enemy. A marriage she had no say in. To a man she had grown to care about despite the devastating heartbreak he had put her through. 

Y/N felt that she deserved every taunt thrown her way. 

 Y/N felt like a coil, wound so tight that she may never straighten again. She had been forbidden to relieve her stress in the tilt-yard as she had throughout her childhood. The second that she had picked up her sword, Catelyn was there to scold her for endangering her heir. Her sword was confiscated and Y/N felt defenseless. Left to sit and watch her twin plan and do the fighting, Y/N was constantly on edge and ready to argue. Hormone imbalances due to pregnancy didn't do her any favors, either. 

Robb had finally snapped and confined her to her tent when she questioned his betrayal of the Frey's in front of his counsel. Her twin had accused her of siding with the Lannisters, all but calling her a common whore, before banishing her from the tent. Y/N felt like a prisoner among her own family. 

When Catelyn approached her that night, telling her that she needed to get Sansa and Arya back, Y/N had been immediately on board. Anything to feel free again, even if only for a short time. 

Catelyn knew that traveling while with child was especially treacherous, but she also knew that where Jaime went, Y/N would have to follow. She was a Lannister now, pregnant with a Lannister cub. It broke Lady Stark's heart to send her daughter back into the lion's den, but Y/N knew she had no choice. It was expected, and would lead to less conflict. 'From this day until my last day' they had said. 

So, in the dead of night as Robb and the camp slept, Catelyn watched as Brienne's horse led Jaime's out of the camp by a chain, Y/N following on her own. In the pit of her stomach, Catelyn knew that she would never see her eldest daughter again. It was a mother's intuition, and it was painful. Her family was being torn apart before her very eyes, and she was all but feeding Y/N to lions. 

A week into their journey, Y/N knew that Jaime was purposefully being a pain in the arse to inconvenience Brienne. This irritated Y/N to no end. 

Constantly plagued by nausea and forced to sleep on the forest floor, only three dresses in her pack and hardly any chances to bathe, Y/N absolutely loathed Jaime's attitude. She wanted her husband's support and maybe some gratitude for helping him escape. Instead, Y/N got snark and constant sarcasm. Putting Jaime in his place became a common pastime for Y/N. Jaime would never say it aloud, but he absolutely loved it when Y/N would bite back at him. 

Currently, Y/N stared at the rushing river in front of them with hungry eyes, feeling the weeks worth of grime on her skin all the more now that the prospect of a bath dangled in front of her. She knew there was no time, and it took physical restraint not to rush into the cool water. 

Jaime continued to talk, his usual condescending tone light on his words. The tone brought Y/N back to the situation at hand, causing her heart to ache as she thought back to the early days of their marriage, before their world went to shit.

"Cross the bridge and risk being seen by anyone passing by, but cross by water and risk being taken by the current or my escaping down stream." 

Y/N scoffed, "Good luck with that, dear husband. You'd drown and I'm not jumping in to save you. Neither is Brienne." 

Jaime shrugged, smirking. "It's wonderful to watch you struggle with these dilemmas, darling. You're jaw clenches and it's really very endearing." 

Y/N didn't acknowledge Jaime's term of endearment. "The bridge is safer. In the water we risk being overturned with a boat of that size and three people. Again. The water is cold and the current is too strong. It's too dangerous. We'll cross casually and hopefully raise no suspicions." 

Jaime rose an eyebrow, still smirking. "Well, well. The new Lady Lannister, a gambler. The country will have an absolute fit." 

========================= 

Stepping onto the bridge, Brienne took the rear with Y/N at the head. 

The threesome walked briskly before Jaime decided to sit, complaining that he needed to rest. 

Y/N knew exactly what he was playing at and she hoped she could keep him moving. "Jaime, sweet, please. Now is not the time for thi-" 

"I've been on my feet far too long, darling. Corns. I never used to get corns. Of course, I used to ride everywhere." 

Brienne pulled on Jaime's chain, looking around in paranoia. "Get up, now!" 

Y/N was about to speak when Jaime reached and stole Brienne's sword from it's sheath, cutting his weak chain and standing at the defense. 

Brienne was down a sword, but still prepared to fight. She was completely prepared to defeat the Lion of Lannister, but Y/N held a hand up, stopping her.

Brienne paused, hoping that Y/N had not hoped to side with her husband. She wouldn’t be able to hold them both off, unwilling to harm Y/N. Brienne’s  eyes widened in shock as she was proven wrong. 

"Brienne, your sword if you would?" 

Brienne hesitated, as did Jaime. But the knight conceded nervously and Jaime stood his ground. 

Y/N tested the sword in her hands, the hilt feeling at home as it pressed into her palm. Y/N had missed swordplay. Desperately. 

"Stand down, Jaime." 

Y/N's voice was steel, cold and hard. Jaime had never heard her speak that way. Upset? Yes. Broken? More times than he'd like to think about. But the steeled and passive way she spoke now was something Jaime had never heard. 

"Now, now, Y/N. Gambling and threatening your Lord Husband? I thought Starks were honorable?" 

Brienne went to step forward, but Y/N again stopped her. 

"Let me handle this, Brienne. You swore a vow to my mother not to harm him. I swore nothing. Keep watch." 

Y/N could see that Jaime faltered slightly, fighting to keep his cocky facade. 

"You wouldn't kill me. Our wedding was nothing but vows. You did swear."

Husband and wife danced circles around each other, both staying on the defense but neither quite willing to make the first lunge. 

Y/N smirked, Jaime noting just how intimidating the facial expression made her appear. 

"I swore to be yours. I don't remember anything about me swearing to protect you. However, you swore to protect me, did you not? The only one breaking vows here is you, darling." 

Using Jaime's slight hesitation at the mention of their vows, Y/N lunged and attempted to disarm him. Jaime blocked her quickly, eyes hard as he began lunging. 

Now on the defense, Y/N blocked three blows before yet again moving to disarm Jaime. 

Still finding ways to shock her husband, Y/N's expression gave nothing away as they fought. Jaime was pushing his sword down hard onto Y/N's, the steel clashing right in front of her face. 

"Jaime, enough! This is ridiculous!" 

Y/N pushed up with surprising strength and Jaime staggered back. 

Jaime stabbed at Y/N again, his wife stepping back and blocking. "You're right, my love. It's ridiculous that I never knew my wife could fight this well." 

As the pair fought, Brienne stood back, worried about the attention that the fight would draw to them and terrified that the pair would hurt each other. As the fight progressed, the couple grew more and more intense, swinging harder and aiming to injure. 

Stepping back to breathe, Jaime and Y/N stood poised in defence should the other one attack. 

"You're graceful, Y/N. I'll give you that."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. 

"You'll give your life soon if you don't stop acting like a fool, father of my child or not." 

Jaime lunged at her, angry that she would threaten him with their babe, hearing a hiss of pain before he was forced back with a kick to the stomach. 

Y/N was breathing heavily and Jaime's heart dropped painfully when he noticed a shallow cut on her collar bone. He had hurt her. Another vow broken because of his pride. 

"You're a fool." 

Before Jaime could respond to his wife's harsh whisper or even think, Y/N had stepped forward and kicked his legs out from under him, using his distraction to her advantage. 

Jaime landed on his back, the breath stolen from his lungs as he made impact with the ground. Y/N caught his sword before it fell and tossed it over the bridge, her other hand holding the tip of her blade to Jaime's throat. Her grey eyes were ablaze and Jaime knew that he had only experienced true, unadulterated fear of this nature one other time, ten-and-seven years ago when he murdered the Mad King. 

"Do you concede?" 

Before Jaime could even attempt to force words out of his throat, slow clapping came from behind Brienne, and the two women turned quickly. Jaime's eyes remained on his wife. Sword in hand, hair mussed, the sun casting a glow over her lithe form. Had she always looked like such a goddess? Jaime was so enthralled with Y/N that he didn't hear the man address him. 

"Well, looks like your woman has gotten the best of ya." 

Y/N looked to the flayed man of House Bolton flying on their banners and tensed. She remained composed, years of lessons coming back to her as she held herself as a lady should. At least, as regal as one could look while holding a sword to their husband's throat. 

"Yes, well, passion and anger make for weak swordplay." She didn't lower her sword and Brienne felt defenseless without her own weapon. 

The man at the head smirked, appraising Y/N, eyes raking over her body. Jaime's jaw ticked angrily. 

"What's your name, love?" 

Y/N, quick and calm as a Stark should always be, responded smoothly.

"Alessandra Snow. I was a handmaiden at the Stark camp." 

The man laughed heartily, his men laughing with him. "Don't take me for a fool, Lady Y/N. I'd recognize The Flower of House Stark anywhere. Little Lyanna. Your brother's been lookin' for ya." 

Y/N ground her teeth at the nickname, not bothering to cover for her lie or even apologize. Her gaze remained level with his until his eyes shifted. 

Tilting his head to look at the man behind her, the man’s smirk grew. "And that makes you Jaime Lannister. Just the man we need." 

Jaime stood, stepping in front of Y/N. She didn't continue to point her sword at him. 

"Let us be. My father will give you whatever you want." 

Y/N rolled her eyes, looking to Brienne to find a similar, painfully annoyed expression on the knight's face. Her jaw clenched as she looked to Jaime, knowing that he was completely serious. Almost four-and-ten and still calling on his father's money to get him out of tight situations. 

The Bolton man scoffed, "Enough for a new head? If the King in the North hears that I had the Kingslayer and his sister and then let them go, he'd cut it right off." 

Y/N's eyes hardened and she raised her sword, but she didn't remain on the defensive for long as they were all seized. Jaime had grabbed her wrist, stopping her from fighting, his eyes focused on her stomach. Y/N's eyes were still ablaze with fury when she looked at her husband, on her knees in front of the Bolton bannermen. 

 "I'd rather he takes yours."

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #jaime lannister #imagine #desi writes #vows

[takingcourage]

Flat

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 1,750

Summary: A blown tire leaves Arden stranded on the side of the road. Will she allow Jaime to help, or will her stubbornness get the better of her? 

Note: My sincere apologies for failing to update Additions last week. School was all consuming and the time I meant to spend editing part 5 went to grading instead. Life should settle down soon, but in the meantime, here’s a quick little story that started as a drabble and got out of hand.

Thanks, @krishu213 for requesting #2 from the 45 OTP Prompt list! : ) The prompt itself is in bold.  

Kicking the driver’s door shut behind her, Arden sidestepped to the back of her car. She swung the trunk open with one hand, using the other to raise her cell phone to her ear. The tinny speaker rang twice before Jaime picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” she started casually. With her free hand, she rummaged through a mess of papers and her spare umbrella, tossing them to one side of the spacious trunk. “I’m just calling to let you know that I’ll be a few minutes late tonight. Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

There was a pause before his response. “Are you on the highway?”

Arden winced at the realization that he could hear the speeding traffic from the other end of the phone. “Uh…” 

She couldn’t lie. 

They didn’t lie to each other. Especially not after that disastrous second interview with Carmichael a year ago. Resigned, she sped over the response to his question. “Yeah, changing the tire real quick.”

“Arden…” He wasn’t upset, per se, but the resignation in his tone still stung.  

“I know how to do it,” she protested, wedging the phone between her cheek and shoulder. As she listened to his tentative breath across the line, she tossed an empty suitcase to the side of the road. “Jaime, even if you hadn’t taught me how to do this, there are Wiki-hows and tutorials all over Youtube. I’ve got this covered.”

With a grimace, she recalled the fact that she’d barely been able to get the lug nuts off when they’d practiced in their driveway.

“I taught you in case of emergencies. This isn’t an emergency.”

Arden soldiered on petulantly, ignoring the sheen of sweat that was breaking over her forehead. With a quiet grunt, she yanked up the floor of the trunk to expose the donut and jack. 

“Babe, get back in the car,” his tone was gentle, but commanding. “Turn up the AC and hang out for a few minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As much as she wanted to argue, just the sight of the pitiful replacement tire was enough to stir up a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. With only a moment’s consideration, she dropped the flap back down and returned to the driver’s seat. “Okay.”

“Thank you. And thanks for calling me. I know you didn’t want to.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled. With an extended sigh, she started the car and watched the traffic through her rearview mirror. There were still a lot of sunlight hours left, but she couldn’t wait for the day to be over. 

A key interview had fallen through this afternoon at the last minute. She and Ellen had been this close to completing their one-year retrospective on the state of Oak Hills, and today’s interview was supposed to be the finishing touch for the entire project. If they didn’t find someone else to fill the gap, the final third of the article would no longer fit the way they’d intended.

Arden leaned into the vent, trying to keep her burning eyes from breaking into tears. Such disappointments were inevitable in her line of work, but the stakes felt especially high with this story. She knew those farmers personally. She and Jaime had helped in the efforts to clean up the damage that the oil pipeline left behind. Better than anyone, she knew the work that still needed to be done in the months and years to come. Letting their story go forgotten was intolerable. 

Jaime’s engine revved on the other side of the line. 

Leaning back into her seat, she reached for her briefcase. “I should probably let you focus on driving,” she offered as she slipped the laptop from its sleeve.

He was quiet for several moments. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Biting her tongue to draw out the sting of disappointment, she pressed her face into the flow of air a second time. “It’s just been a long day,” she told him finally. “I’m ready for it to be over so I can come home.” 

“Okay. I’m coming as fast as I can.” 

“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.” 

“See you. Wait, Arden?” It sounded like an afterthought. “Please stay in the car. I want you safe.” 

She smiled despite herself, giggling softly at his unnecessary worry. “It’s the back passenger tire. I could get out and fix it without ever being on the side of traffic.”

“No...”

It was impossible not to challenge him when she heard the unease in his tone. “I’m serious! I could head out there and start loosening things up for you.”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I’ll bet I could have the lug nuts off by the time you get here.” 

She could just hear his chuckle over the line as he realized she was joking. “I’m sure you’d threaten them into submission. All hundred and five pounds of you...” he added under his breath. “Just hang tight. I’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.” 

“See you soon,” she agreed, feeling more at ease than she had in hours. 

True to his word, he arrived some thirteen minutes later. In the meantime, she’d started outlining potential changes to the article’s organization. It hadn’t been much, but the work she’d done was enough to persuade her that there was still hope of finishing the story well, with or without the interview. 

Arden closed the computer as his familiar truck slowed and came to a stop on the shoulder behind. Both exiting carefully, they met one another on the stretch of pavement between vehicles. 

She flashed a shy smile, unable to keep her eyes from drifting over the sorry scene she’d caused. From the wilted tire to the contents of her trunk that were strewn along the shoulder, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Jaime’s gaze remained trained on her. 

“You look like you need a hug.” He was inches away, the mingled scent of his deodorant and aftershave heady in the summer heat.  

“It’s hot and sticky,” she protested weakly. Even as she did so, she dropped both hands to her sides and fell into his broad chest.

He pulled her close, enveloping her every sense. “We’ll be home showering soon.”

Arden’s lips tickled with the sigh she exhaled against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “Good. I’m so done with today.” No matter how wonderful he felt, the evening sun was quickly making their hug unbearable. She stepped back and straightened the hem of her blouse. 

Jaime hiked a hand through his hair before turning his attention to her flat. “Wanna tell me about it while I get this tire straightened out?”

“Not yet.” She circled the car with him, propping a hip against the passenger side door. “I’m still trying to figure out how to solve it at the moment. But I’ll fill you in once I do.”

“Deal.”

She watched as he returned to the open trunk, noticing the skeptical look he’d cast over the belongings she’d tossed to the side of the road. 

Although he said nothing, she hoped he didn’t notice the way the tags on her suitcase fluttered under the pressure of speeding traffic. Or the tear in the plastic wrapping of her value-pack of toilet paper. Or the fact that her twelve-pack of ginger ale was being exposed to extreme temperatures while sitting out on the asphalt. 

“I know, I know. My car’s a mess.” 

He met her eyes with a lopsided grin. “You’ve just gotta stop using your trunk as a catch-all for things you don’t feel like carrying into the house.”

“But it’s such a good place for storage!”

Jaime rolled his eyes and lifted out the donut for inspection. “There are shelves in our pantry for all of that stuff.” 

Pursing her lips, she reluctantly acknowledged that he was right. “I’ll empty it when we get home.” 

Shaking his head, he knelt to begin removing the busted tire. Arden held out a hand to take the lug nuts, one by one. 

“I’m glad you called me. These were stuck on pretty tight.” 

“I would have gotten them eventually.” 

His arm paused as he squinted up at her. “I know. But you don’t have to wait for eventually. I can have you out of here as soon as possible.” 

A flare of jealousy turned her appreciation into anger. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but the implication reminded her of the afternoon’s previous failure. Faced with the memory of something she couldn’t do on her own, it was difficult to swallow the pride he took in his own abilities. 

“I’m not helpless,” she mumbled, not intending the words for anyone but herself. 

Jaime dropped the tire iron with a clatter and stood to his feet. He kept his dirty hands far away from her clothes, but brushed a knuckle along the back of her wrist. “Arden, look at me.” 

She obeyed, cheeks throbbing red from the heat of her frustration. Her husband was as calm and collected as ever, his own muscles relaxed even as she tightened her grip on the small metal circles in her palm. 

“Babe, you are absolutely the furthest thing from helpless. I hope that never changes. But it doesn’t mean you can’t let others help you from time to time.”

“I just hate being needy.” She glanced back toward the battered tire between them. 

“Two things.” He made sure that he had her eyes again before continuing on. “You aren’t needy, and I really enjoy helping you. I have for a long time.”

The corners of her mouth curved up, leaving brighter thoughts behind. “You really are Mr. Fix-it, aren’t you?”

His face quirked with a dubious slant before settling into a smile. “For you? Happily.” 

Arden swept up the tire iron and handed it back to him with an affectionate grin, her lungs inflating with a new sense of purpose. “Then let’s finish up here and go home.” 

“Wanna go for a swim when we get back?”

Feeling the burdens of the afternoon lift from her shoulders, she threw her head back with a laugh. “Yes, please.”

“But Arden?” He wrenched the final nut loose and handed it to her with a flourish. 

“Hmm?”

“We’re emptying that trunk first.” 

She giggled as she caught his sidelong glance. Suddenly, the rest of the day didn’t seem so bad after all. 

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #wishful thinking #jaime lewis #jaime x mc