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esther-dot · 3 months

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The poor thing in the road, it's eyes still glistening 17k by @eruherdiriel

Hooves are not what wake Jon in the middle of the night, pulse racing and hands clammy with sweat. It’s fire. Orange and angry, eating away at houses and shops and shacks in his dream. Even now that he is awake, Jon can still taste burnt flesh on the back of his tongue. The wounds from his brother’s mutiny and Drogon’s gouge, frozen only hours ago, burn white. War leaves everyone broken, Jon perhaps most of all. Sansa finds even peacetime requires letting go.

the sky is big enough 15k @hopetorun

The war is over, except all the ways it isn't, and Sansa isn't alone, except for all the ways she is.

O Voyagers 28k WIP

Jon’s eyes are fixed on the floor at her feet. To a stranger it might look like respect, the proper deference shown to a queen, but Sansa knows better. If he wished to look at her, he would. He has not forgiven me, she thinks, her heart a stone in her chest. He likely never will.

daughters and queens bleed alone 4k

They crown Sansa with a rope of twisted steel, two wolves arching across her brow in a delicate embrace. No stags upon this crown—no branching antlers, no gleaming manes, no blooming hearts of southern roses. No fire, no blood, no graceful sweep of scales and wings, or the silver bite of dragon’s teeth. The Queen in the North stands before them, and Winter has come.

old wounds 2k by @jonsaslove

Jon left King's Landing and never returned. Sansa became Queen in the North and weathered the storm. When they see each other again, there is not much left to say.

stories to tell our children 1k by @jonsaslove

“You said that Old Nan used to tell you stories so scary you couldn’t sleep for a fortnight! That was a baby story!” Duncan nods, agreeing with his sister. Her father interrupts. “Well, Old Nan was a very good story teller. She could tell you a story about fairies and princesses and make it seem terrifying with just her voice and a menacing stare.” Or; Jon and Sansa tell their children bedtime stories.

Where the Shadow Ends 245k (I'm sure y'all have read this one, but it is THE post canon fic, so it must be mentioned!)

For years Sansa has ruled the North, wisely, justly, capably--and utterly alone. Everyone tells her she needs an heir; all she wants is a family. But after everything she’s suffered, there’s only one man she trusts won’t use her for her claim. Only one she trusts with her body. Unfortunately, she trusts him in no other way--especially not with her heart. For years Jon’s hidden in the far north, choosing solitude over the people he loves, choosing self-exile as punishment rather than atoning. But then Tormund tires of his moping and drags Jon back to Winterfell where guilt and consequences and a tempting offer await him. accompanying gifset by @thewindsofwolves

We Set Fire in the Snow 7k by @framboise-fics

Three days was long enough for moments of tenderness, for soft touches and gentle murmurs alongside the violence of their passions, but it was not long enough to burn this fire between them down to ashes, to put out the flames, he thinks ruefully, bitterly, achingly, as he rides out and looks back at her standing on the ramparts as he remembered her, her hair a curtain of fire, her body rigid like she has been sculpted from ice. He will take that fire back North, to warm him through frigid nights, he thinks; to burn inside of him so that he shall never find any peace; and let her feel the same, he thinks, let him not be alone in his agony. If he loved her he should surely wish her peace, so does he love her? Or is this how a wicked man loves, painfully, cruelly, selfishly? Is he her punishment just as she is his?

An Affair in Stages 13k by @justadram (not tagged post canon but works as one which is interesting as the first chapter was posted way back in 2013!)

It begins with a proposition, but where it will end neither of them knows.

Please Speak Well of Me 17k

A queen isn’t supposed to cry. So she’s learned to turn her tears to frost before they ever reach her cheeks. “Sansa,” Jon says to her, and the ice within shifts, weakens. Brackish water begins to leak through the cracks. She can barely remember how to speak, and it doesn’t come as much of a comfort that he seems to be fumbling as well. Over the foolish moons, Sansa had imagined that, if the time came that Jon ever returned, the mere sight of him would unwind the tangles of conflict inside of her. There would be something in his eyes, something she had forgotten about his face, something that would remind her what was real and what was not between the two of them.

breathe me in, taste my words 2k

Much to her surprise, marriage has only made Sansa less of a lady, not more. She doesn’t mind terribly, but maybe that’s because Jon doesn’t either.

Stone by Stone 8k

Finally, her words came in a rush. “But I seem to have built my own wall. Stone by stone, little by little, after each of them disappointed me, hurt me. And now that they are dead, I sometimes fear I may die behind my wall that no one can can walk thru.”

fire in exile 2k by @princemills

The thoughts of the others he’d lost were too unpleasant, and the thoughts of those who survived made him want to keel over like a babe, knowing he’d left them behind. It wasn’t really a choice, but it didn’t stop him from pondering his choices. From King in the North to bending the knee to Daenerys to stabbing her with a dagger beneath white ash borne from burning flesh, he’s never made the correct choice, and now he’ll burn in hell for it. Or, as Westeros deems hell: he’ll freeze his balls off at the wall, or Tormund will cut them off. Whichever comes first. - a quick study of jon and the choices he makes in exile.

watch me run right back to you 16k

Three times Jon and Sansa almost kiss…and three times they actually do.

come out of hiding (i'm right here beside you) 36k @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

AU after 8.05. After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow chooses to live beyond the Wall, while Sansa Stark, the newly-crowned Queen in the North, marries a Dornish prince. Three years later, when Jon finally gathers the courage to return to Winterfell, he finds that while many things have changed, one hasn't: he's still in love with Sansa. (Featuring widow!Sansa, contrite!Jon, and a cute baby.)

Homecoming 31k @theoriginalsuki

Halfway to him, she broke composure; she flew at him, an arrow from a bow, and he opened to receive her, lifting her, clutching her to the soft, neglected animal of his body. Sansa has one request of Jon, and then he can leave her forever: help her to find a husband.

Gifsets: Jonsa and Their Three Children by @kingbuckley , Together We Build Our Empire by @aureliacamargo, Future Jonsa with Children by @amandapeetshusband, In Which They Live a Long and Happy Life Together by @baelerion, To See Him Once Again by @theirwinterfell, Maybe We'll Meet Again by @thatmansplayinggalaga

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

#jonsa #jonsa fic #post canon #dot fic list

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transdimensional-void · 1 year

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jon, sansa, and “my half brother”

i’ve noticed that this particular jon quote is something of a rorschach test wherein your reading of the line is colored by your view of sansa:

He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. – AGOT, Jon III

those who assume the worst of sansa read this as “once sansa learned i was a bastard, she changed how she referred to me in order to constantly remind me of my inferior status.” a slightly more charitable reading would be something more like, “once sansa learned i was a bastard, she stopped seeing me as equal to her other brothers.” both assume that sansa originally called jon “brother” and changed to “half brother” once she learned he was a bastard.

those who are more inclined to a favorable view of sansa, though, might instead read it as “once sansa learned what the word bastard meant, she chose to call me something else.” this reading assumes that a younger, more ignorant sansa called jon a bastard without understanding what she was saying--but changed what she called jon to “half brother” once she did understand.

i tend to believe the second reading is the correct one because it better fits both the context of the quote and the evidence presented by sansa’s own words and actions throughout the series. in terms of evidence, we never witness her calling jon a bastard to his face, whether in her memories, his or anyone else’s--and we do witness her conscious care for courtesy and kindness toward those she interacts with no matter what she thinks of them inwardly. as for the context of the quote, jon thinks this about sansa in the midst of a chapter where people at the wall are repeatedly calling him bastard derisively, as well as the mocking “lord snow.” but the section where the line about sansa appears is a section where he is thinking nostalgically about his siblings back at winterfell. it makes sense that he is missing sansa’s courtesy of not calling him bastard to his face right at that moment.

but i noticed that the pre-released alayne chapter from twow actually subtly gives us sansa’s perspective on the above agot jon quote.

in the chapter, she meets harry hardyng for the first time, and the very first thing he does is call her “littlefinger’s bastard”:

“If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself.” This time her eyes met Harry’s. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn’t need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now.

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. “Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger’s bastard?”

All three Waynwoods looked at him askance. “You are a guest here, Harry,” Lady Anya reminded him, in a frosty voice. “See that you remember that.”

sansa blushes in embarrassment and has to work hard to hold back her tears. she finds his treatment of her hurtful. but why? because a boy she wanted to like her was mean to her?

well, fortunately for us, sansa herself tells us what is most upsetting her about the interaction, later when she is able to discuss it in private with littlefinger:

“And how was your first meeting with Harry the Heir?”

“He’s horrible.”

“The world is full of horrors, sweet. By now you ought to know that. You’ve seen enough of them.”

“Yes,” she said, “but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.”

sansa isn’t upset merely because harry was mean to her. what she is fixated on the most is the cruelty of his calling her bastard to her face in public. she is shocked that someone would be so callously cruel. keep in mind that this is a post-KL arc sansa who, as littlefinger helpfully points out in the same scene, has already experienced many of the world’s horrors. and yet, harry’s behavior here still shocks her.

jon tells us that at a young age, sansa learned what people meant when they called him a bastard, and that changed how she spoke to him. thirteen-year-old sansa tells us she thinks it’s shockingly cruel for a nobleman like harry to publicly call a bastard a bastard. with these two facts in mind, what sense does it make to conclude that younger sansa was going around intentionally reminding jon of his bastard status through her choice of language?

once again, someone inclined to assume the worst of sansa might choose to read her response in the twow chapter as “she can dish it out, but she can’t take it” and see it as her finally learning how her treatment made jon feel. however, in jon’s quote above, he explicitly says that she “never called him anything but ‘my half-brother.’”

in other words, jon himself tells us that he never heard her call him “bastard,” at least not once she had learned what the word meant. in other words, even if you are assuming the worst of sansa, based on jon’s own testimony, her treatment of him (always calling him “my half-brother”) was better than harry’s treatment of her in the twow scene (calling her a bastard to her face in public). it is also, importantly, better than the treatment jon is receiving from many of his “brothers” at the wall in the scene his quote comes from him.

if we interpret sansa’s decision to call jon “half-brother” through the lens of her twow alayne chapter, i believe it becomes abundantly clear that in the jon scene, he is reminiscing nostalgically about sansa’s kindness in choosing not to call him a bastard. sansa’s choice of “half-brother” was a reflection of her understanding that calling him bastard was shockingly cruel behavior.

#asoiaf #sansa stark #just a little literary analysis #perhaps someone else has already pointed this out and i've missed it #if so please let me know so that i can link your post!

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mega-ringsandthings-world · 9 days

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Okay. I know the general consensus is not this, but if Catelyn had been told the truth about Jon from the get go, she would have treated him better. Relatively. Like, she wouldn't have gave him shit for being a bastard or been ice queen bitch stepmother to him, but uh. there would have been other issues. Just think about how having Catelyn aboard the hide-Jon-train would go for one second. For one second. Okay? We are talking about Catelyn fucking Stark nee Tully. And we are also talking about Catelyn fucking Stark nee Tully before the other four kids came along. Just her baby Robb and Ned and Ned's nephew. (and if you don't think that Ned saving Jon from under Robert's nose on a promise to his sister wouldn't make I-released-the- king-slayer-to-bring-back-my-daughters-Catelyn fall so hard in love with him her head is still ringing fifteen years later you are LYING to yourselves) So think mother gothel. She would have micromanaged the shit out of Jon's life and upbringing. Ned is pretty lax so as security measures go in terms of Jon, but Cat? Winterfell would get turned into FBI headquarters. Vibe checks at the door and retina scanners and Jon and Robb have a praetorian guard on their cradles. Yeah she'd be cool to Jon in public as he grows but in private she's frantically brushing his hair every night looking for whites. Holding him up to the light to check for hints of purple in his eyes. As they get older she namedrops bastard a lot but secretly actively fosters a relationship between Jon and the other kids because Catelyn-Sansa-will-be-queen-of-the-seven-kingdoms-Stark nee Tully knows about the pact of Ice and Fire and having one of the last Targs bouncing around is tickling the politician in her. That being said she institutes a book ban on Targ history and is always on Ned's ass about them playing dragons. When Arya is gets old enough she makes it a point to put her and Jon next to each other at all times. Jon getting a direwolf are goddammed holy blessing to her. When Robert's dump ass comes to visit she's having a conniption about Jon being recognized and nearly locks his ass in the crypts until he decides of his own free will to sit in the cheap seats before she blows a gasket. She hates the Wall idea because who the Fuck is going to watch this kid as well as she's been doing for the past fifteen years? WHO? If she had found out about Aemon being up there she's have blown up castle black. Jon, who has had to deal with this shit since attaining spatial awareness tries to get Benjen to let him take his night's watch vows at Winterfell's weirwood. Man wants OUT. He can't deaal with tiger mom ass no more. When he comes to visit Bran she slips and says something cryptic and weirdly affectionate and it puts his ass in a tailspin all the way to the Wall.

Like, I know people think it'd go more downhill if she knew about Jon but why? Boring. Uninspired. Booooo. Get fun with it.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #catelyn stark #jon snow #catelyn tully #jon asoiaf #asoif/got #asoiaf jon #asoiaf meta #asoiaf au #asoiaf analysis

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axelsagewrites · 5 months

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Robb Stark*Cant Catch a Break

Pairing: robb x f!reader

Word count: 1223

Warnings: making out, sneaking around, almost oral, handjob, getting caught, slight begging, teasing, horny desperate robb, angry mother

Masterlist Here

a/n: i promise i'll have some requests up soon i just am struggling with one of them the now so its taking me a bit plus christmas etc but enjoy some horny robb i wrote at 2 am

Ned and Catelyn had intrusted their eldest with the most important task ever. Babysitting the kids. As Robb waved goodbye to them as they drove out the driveway your headlights switched on a street back when you got the ‘they’re gone’ text. Hey, you had to seize the opportunity.

“Hey,” Robb grinned as he opened the door, deliberately leaning on the frame to show off his arms not that you were complaining.

“Hi,” you grinned back as you leaned up to kiss your boyfriend, ignoring the loud ew Arya gave as she walked past, “Do I not get to come in?” you pouted.

“I suppose you can,”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yeah,”

“On what conditions?”

“A kiss,”

“How about more than a kiss?” you teased as you kissed him again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Whereas I’m going to kill myself if you two don’t get a room,” Jon grumbled as he walked down the stairs as Robb finally let you cross the threshold.

“Good idea Jon,” Robb smiled obnoxiously as he grabbed your hand, “You know where to find me. Now forget,” he said as he pulled you along up the stairs with him.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be babysitting!” Jon yelled.

“We’re not babies!” you heard Rickon yelling in the background as Robb pulled you into his room.

Usually in his snaps or video calls it was a mess but today it looked passable, “Oh you cleaned for me, how sweet,” you smiled as he closed the door, pushing your back against it as his lips dangled just above yours.

“What can I say? I’m a gentleman,”

You laughed as your hand snaked up to the back of his neck, “Its just a shame I don’t plan on acting very lady like,”

Usually, you loved Robbs siblings but if one more knocked on the goddamn door you may just combust. Sansa had come complaining about Arya hogging the tv which meant Arya then came to complain about Sansa being an ‘air head’ for watching reality tv which resulted in Robb going down to tell Jon to deal with it. Jon however had also been up about four times to ask dumb questions like where the batteries were or if you wanted any pizza put on or any other excuse, he could muster to ruins Robbs evening with a shit eating grin.

“Where were we?” Robb asked as he all but slammed the door after helping Jon figure out the oven.

He crossed the room to where you sat on the edge of his bed. His lips quickly found yours as he moved you to lay down on his bed. “This is better,” he teased as his lips moved to your jaw, kissing down your neck as his soft hands slipped under the thin fabric of your top which he’d tried to get off at least three times already.

As his hands cupped your tits, squeezing slightly making him groan against your skin there was a soft knock on the door. Robb groaned so pathetically you wondered if he’d cry, “What?” he called.

However, Rickon took this as come in which he did making Robb quickly shoot up to be kneeling over you as you fixed your top as Rickon pouted, “Its bedtime,”

“Goodnight little man. Close the door on your way out,”

“But story time,”

“Get Jon to do it,”

“But you always do it,”

“So, it’s his turn,”

“but you’re better at it,” Rickon whined, stamping his four-year-old foot with a pouted lip.

You sighed as you looked to Robb, “Cmon how long can it take?” you whispered.

Robb sighed as he looked down at you, “But we were gonna…you know,” your head turned to Rickon then back to Robb and the look you gave him was enough, “Okay fine, c’mon Rickie,”

“What were you doing on top of her?” Rickon asked as he padded out the room, Robb quickly behind him to tell him never to repeat what he saw with the promise of candy.

You were straddling his lap as his head rested against the headboard. you had finally ditched the t-shirt leaving you in a cute bra and skirt as you grinded against Robb’s painfully hard bulge through his strained sweatpants. Thankfully the sweatpants were the only thing left on him. His hands had moved under your skirt, grabbing your ass as you tugged on his curls making him moan into your mouth.

Your lips moved to his jaw, kissing down his neck, “What are you doing?” he half groaned as your hands roamed his abs as your lips moved to his chest, kissing all the way down his torso.

“Can’t say you haven’t earned it,” you grinned, shuffling back as your hand moved to palm him over the fabric of his trousers making his head roll back, “Unless you want me to stop,” you teased.

“Dear god don’t stop,” he groaned as your hands toyed with the hem of his waist band. “You wanna hear me beg? is that it?” he asked, his desperate eyes searching your teasing ones.

“Maybe, could be kinda hot,” you teased as your hand slipped under the fabric to take hold of his hard on making him moan softly. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking it softly, “I like it when you’re all desperate,”

“Fuck please baby. I really am desperate, so fucking desperate please,” he said as your hand sped up slightly.

You grinned as you leaned down, moving the fabric away painfully slow to reveal his hard cock already wet with precum. You leaned down to place a kiss to his tip, Robbs hand moving to rest on the back of your head as your tongue poked out to lick it when suddenly the door slammed open, banging off the wall as laughter rang out.

You shot up as Robb quickly pulled up his sweats and jumped out of bed, accidentally pushing you on your back in the process, “Bran I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Robb screamed as he chased his cackling brother down the hall as you scrambled to pull your top back on and run after him to stop murder.

As Bran bolted down the stairs, Robb soon after him, and you just reaching the top of the stairs the front door swung open to reveal a once happy looking Ned and Catelyn. Their faces first turned to shock as Bran ran into his mothers’ arms still grinning like a Cheshire Cat then to confusion, then you felt Catelyn’s eyes fall on you and then quickly turn to Robb in anger.

Meanwhile Ned put the pieces together slightly slower before muttering “poor kid,” under his breath as you quickly rushed down the stairs.

“I’m just gonna-“you said, pointing to the door which you were soon heading out of, “yeah. Bye Robb, bye guys,” Cat watched you leave with a fury and Ned with a sorry glance.

“Wait but-“ Robb said, trying to reach out but you gave him a sorry look as you left the house, hearing him sigh and go, “Aw man!” he said before muttering, “I can’t Catch a fucking break,” making Cat cross her arms and Robbs life suddenly flash before his eyes. One thing was for sure though. He was going to kill his brother.

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gendrie · 1 month

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arya meeting lady stoneheart is about closure. it’s about coming full circle. its about the cycle of life and death and rebirth. it’s about family. it’s about purpose. its about mercy and justice and grief and, yes, vengeance. but i don’t think its in a “ohh arya needs to learn revenge is bad” sort of way and i seriously doubt thats the effect this meeting will have, at least from the character’s perspective.

arya already knows revenge doesn’t make her feel any better. she’s under no illusions about that. she associates the ability to kill with survival and with good reason because, for better or worse, that what it means.

Arya edged farther into the room. Joffrey's dead. She could almost see him, with his blond curls and his mean smile and his fat soft lips. Joffrey's dead! She knew it ought to make her happy, but somehow she still felt empty inside. Joffrey was dead, but if Robb was dead too, what did it matter? (Arya, ASOS)

arya is aware that joffrey dying didn’t bring robb back nor did it make her happy. she still feels empty. in her own way this is fairly similar to the comments made by catelyn and ellaria - grown women and mothers with a lot more life experience then her.

in order for arya to have a “revenge is bad” moment she would need to think it’s good to start with. she doesn’t. arya doesn’t think her actions are heroic. she actually has more self awareness on that account then most povs who run around making excuses for their actions or close their eyes to their wrongdoings.

“As I cannot be the hero, let me be the monster, and lesson them in fear in place of love.” Mercy mouthed the last lines along with him. They were better lines than hers, and apt besides. (Arya, TWOW)

she recognizes the relevancy of tyrion’s monologue in the bloody hand, literally mouthing the words about being a “monster”. arya knows that whats she’s doing is dark and dangerous. since the very beginning, arya has felt she is bad and unwanted that feeling only intensifies as the series progresses because of what she has done.

Knights were captured and ransomed all the time, and sometimes women were too. But what if Robb won't pay their price? She wasn't a famous knight, and kings were supposed to put the realm before their sisters. And her lady mother, what would she say? Would she still want her back, after all the things she'd done? Arya chewed her lip and wondered. (Arya, ASOS)

it cannot be stressed enough that arya really doesn’t think revenge and killing are good. nor has she ever prioritized it over her family. that is not why arya is at the house of black and white. arya has every reason to believe she is the last stark left and that she has no home.

A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold winds blow the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned.

Winterfell is burned and fallen, Arya reminded herself. Old Nan and Maester Luwin were both dead, most like, and Sansa too. It did no good to think of them. All men must die.

There is no place here for Arya of House Stark, she was thinking. Arya's place was Winterfell, only Winterfell was gone. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. She had no pack, though. (Arya, AFFC)

"Do they frighten you, child?" asked the kindly man. "It is not too late for you to leave us. Is this truly what you want?" Arya bit her lip. She did not know what she wanted. If I leave, where will I go? (ADWD)

that could not be clearer in the text. arya’s pack has been “taken and slain” her home is “burned and fallen”. she has no one and nowhere to go. even grrm has said this:

“She’s having a very hard time letting go of those last remnants of Arya...but where else does she turn?” George R.R. Martin

arya believes she has no other options. her family is gone anyway so what is left for her? sure, she could take the kindly man’s advice and become a wife or a courtesan, but those paths are dead ends for arya of house stark. instead? she can risk the faceless men’s indoctrination in exchange for their skills; which might actually give her the power to do something.

arya’s list serves a couple functions. initially, its a way to cope with fear and self hatred.

She hated the villagers for their sheepishness, almost as much as she hated herself. (Arya, ACOK)

the only way arya can deal with the march to harrenhal - where she watched torture rape and murder day after day - is by promising herself one day she will right these wrongs. it was traumatizing for her to witness those things AND be powerless to stop it. she is filled with GUILT. in the hob&w the list does become a connection to arya’s identity. because, again, she believes it’s all that’s left to her.

but thats not true. the list is not the only thing left to her. news of the north is going to arrive in braavos sooner or later. bran is calling out to arya across thousands of leagues. her connection to nymeria doesn’t just endure but grows stronger. arya is going to return to westeros where i think her path will cross with lady stoneheart’s. the meeting of these two will close the circle. it’s only fitting arya do that. she made beric swear to reunite her with catelyn. nymeria pulled her body out of the river. beric gave her the kiss of life, ensuring that his his promise to arya would be fulfilled.

lady stoneheart isn’t catelyn, though. she had a mental breakdown at the red wedding and was dead for three days before being resurrected. her heart doesnt beat anymore.

"Lady Catelyn?" Tears filled her eyes. "They said . . . they said that you were dead." "She is," said Thoros of Myr. (Brienne, AFFC)

"She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead," said the big man. "She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We'll give her those, as many as she likes.” (Brienne, AFFC)

lady stoneheart is also driven by the only thing that she believes remains to her: vengeance. she turns on brienne who faithfully served catelyn even after her death. stoneheart and arya aren’t the only ones either. stoneheart has “galvanized” (as per grrm) the brotherhood down a darker path too. she hasn’t forced them. those who remain? lem, harwin, and gendry chose to do so.

but they search for arya too. in the ASOS epilogue stoneheart and the bwb are searching for arya. arya can bring out the humanity left within lady stoneheart. arya can give her a little bit of peace before she dies - regardless of how that happens. maybe even let her know bran and rickon and sansa survive. in return lady stoneheart can give arya the acceptance she needs. arya doubted that catelyn even wanted her back. arya deserves to know that she did.

that is what arya needs. not for someone to tell her “revenge is bad!!!” (she knows) but to tell her she is loved and wanted despite everything. lady stoneheart can deliver arya a new purpose too. she will entrust in arya robb’s crown - the symbol of northern sovereignty. arya can take control of the brotherhood and lead them on a different path just like she did at the stoney sept. she will always pursue justice but arya will not serve death any longer.

a meeting between arya and lady stoneheart will derail their mutual need for vengeance because in their hearts arya and catelyn value their family above all else. thats what drove catelyn in life. thats why lady stoneheart will entrust the future of their family to arya because she cannot be with them any longer. its up to arya now.

#asoiaf nonsense #in my head i am responsible for this theory lol #so you can imagine how it pains me to see the fandom get it twisted

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agentrouka-blog · 10 months

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Its incredibly funny when people try to paint jon as not-classist and not-shallow, unlike sansa, to prove he is too good for her (in the story, actually she is too good for him), when his first pov chapter began with him dissing other people's appearances and making assumptions about them because he did not like them. He is an asshole to other night's watch boys because he thinks he is better than them (every time people say sansa looked down on people beneath her, i am reminded of this). He literally thinks ygritte's looks are common so she could be pretty in a peasant sort of way but not enough for a highborn lady 💀, his entire attraction to val is superficial based on her looks, he knows nothing about her. He dreams of his mother being highborn and beautiful. Judging this by standards everyone judges Sansa, this is classist and shallow. His best quality is that he learns, but so does Sansa, people just refuse to acknowledge it.

Very true, anon.

Sansa has a very judgmental opinion (that is actually based in the text and not plain projection like the idea that she held disdain for Jon) on exactly one lowborn person and that's about the kid her sister prefers playing with instead of herself, embedded in context pointing out how upset she is that she and Arya have so little in common.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to [instead of Sansa how dare she]: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody [except Sansa how dare she]. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block [TOTALLY UNWORTHY WHAT DOES SHE SEE IN HIM]. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers [THE INJUSTICE!!!]. (AGOT, Sansa I)

Mycah is her rival for Arya's company and 12-year-old Sansa lists all his Horrible Terrible Qualities in her head to avoid acknowledging this.

The same way Jon projects his abject disappointment with the Watch on his lowborn fellow recruits and voices some very judgmental and shortsighted misgivings.

People ignoring one thing in Jon and then castigating Sansa for the same thing are hilarious. 🤭

#my pressed and judgmental babies #sansa stark #jon snow #parallels #classism

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vivilove-jonsa · 7 months

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The Stranger's Bride

For Day 2 of the Jonsa Halloween Event: The Stranger - Pumpkin - Full Moon

(This is just a little something because I'm tired of outlining the next book tonight and the spooky season brought this to mind❤️)

It's nearly nightfall. Sansa wishes they hadn’t waited so late for the ceremony. The moon hides behind the clouds like a child playing peek-a-boo, eager to spoil her surprise. She breathes in deeply and checks her reflection one last time. A picture-perfect bride with auburn hair and a fragile, haunted beauty stares back. He will be eager to bed her once the feast is over and the Wolf will be eager to feast in turn. She’s been dutiful all her life but, tonight, duty dies.

The music swells as the massive doors of the sept open. All guests turn to watch her coming down the aisle in her ivory and grey cloak, embroidered with the direwolf, the symbol of the Stark Family. Every man in her family has the beast tattooed over his heart from the age of sixteen when he swears the oath. So silly. As if a tattoo makes a man into a fearsome beast. What does her groom have tattooed over his heart? A dragon? Perhaps so though she knows he is the son of her long-dead aunt.

Outwardly, this looks like a happy occasion but the bride knows better. The men are all armed and ready to spill blood at a moment’s notice should something go awry. And, the women present either look at her with pity (if they have sense) or envy (if they have none.) One thing is agreed though - they all think she’ll be lucky to survive one year as his wife.

Sansa ignores the stares, holding her head high as she walks with measured grace, letting her blue eyes sweep over the images of the gods above the altar. She could relate to the Maiden’s plight or seek the Mother’s comfort or Crone’s wisdom today.

But there stands the Stranger.

How fitting when she is to wed a stranger today, the ruthless new underworld boss of the South, Jon Targaryen. They say he is a cold-blooded killer. It's rumored he can't be killed. Nonsense. All men die.

When she dares look at him, his dark eyes burn with fire, reminding her that his family’s favorite method for eliminating their enemies is burning them alive. Gruesome but effective. The Starks prefer the old ways.

“He will never harm you,” Father had said when he’d told her of the arrangement he had made with the now-deceased Rhaegar Targaryen.

“There is little you can do about it if he does.” Father knows it to be true even if he prefers to pretend otherwise. She’ll be his wife and under his power. At least, that’s what they all think.

“A marriage between our houses will bring peace. It’s better for business.”

Business. That is the name of the game when you’re born into the mob. Arranged marriages are still popular in their world, a way to broker peace. The Northern Families had needed peace badly enough for her father to barter his oldest daughter away.

Through stained glass, the moon winks at her from behind the clouds and that familiar, savage hunger unfurls. Not yet, not yet. She clutches her tummy, hoping to mask it as maidenly nerves.

Father grips her hand a little tighter, the tiniest sign he’s not the emotionless ice man everyone believes him to be. Is it a desire to comfort her that prompts him to do it? A warning to her not to run? Or fear of what may happen this night?

The endless walk to her groom is over before she knows it and her father's protection ends. It's fine. She can protect herself.

The septon starts to speak and the rustling behind them tells her the guests are taking their seats. What a show they may have if those clouds can’t contain the moon a little longer.

But a cold, scarred hand slips into hers, drawing her from her murderous thoughts. The darkness of his eyes is not as profound up close. The grey reminds her more of her father’s with flecks of lilac visible in the candlelight.

His lips twist into a wry but undeniably fetching grin. She would prefer if he’d been plainer. No other appetites would be raised if that were so.

“Good evening, wife.” They are the first words he has ever spoken to her. They feel like a caress meant to calm.

“Good evening,” she murmurs in reply. She is well known for her courtesy after all. He is handsome. Perhaps she will let him bed her before she allows the wolf to-

“You smell…” He lets the words hang and she wonders if he means to insult her here at the altar as they are being wed. Her eyes snap to his and those mesmerizing eyes have changed again back to something dark and unfathomable when he finally finishes the sentence. “Delicious.”

And, it’s then that she hears it in his voice, that rumbling growl his civil mask can’t contain as the moon emerges from the clouds. She knows that sound like her own heartbeat. His thumb sweeps across her wrist, setting her pulse to pounding and drawing an answering growl from her own throat. How curious.

"You smell... dangerous," she says, testing.

He smiles, showing her his sharp teeth. Oh. Her groom is a stranger to her but they share an unexpected kinship.

Old Nan had always said she would recognize another with the dark gift without ever uttering a sound. She was right. What an interesting discovery to make on one's wedding day. She can't wait for the wedding night.

#jonsa #jonsa halloween #jonsa halloween 2023 #jonsa fic

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mkstrigidae · 15 days

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Winter's Child Preview WIP (Surprise!)

Some of the pieces I have written for Winter's Child are more edited than I realized, so I thought I'd share one here as a treat for all of you who have stuck with the story through my accidental hiatus. We start reeeeally getting into some of the lore I've developed for the story going forward, and I'm excited to hear what you think of it!

“It’s so dark, father.” Sansa shuddered as her eyes flicked around her and she clutched tight at her father’s hand. She was all of eight years old, and had never been this far back into the crypts. Her other hand was firmly ensconced in Bael’s fur as she held onto his leg. “Why must our kin rest in such a- a lonely place?”

Her father chuckled, the sound echoing in the cavern.

“’tis not lonely, child.” He told her, easily lifting her up onto his hip. “Our crypts hold our kin- the history of our house. Hard men and honorable men and men who survived many winters. Can you think of better company for us in death?”

Sansa had to admit that this made sense. she snuggled closer to her father, tucking her head in his neck. Lady seemed wary as well, sticking close by Bael’s side. She was still tiny, next to the massive adult direwolf, and kept darting under him, eyes flicking around at the stone figures.

“You’re freezing already, sweetling.” Her father frowned, putting a hand to her cheek. “Your skin is like ice.”

“I’m not cold.” Sansa insisted, stubbornly. She didn’t want to go back yet. The crypts frightened her, but it was so rare that her father’s attention was focused on her and her alone. “Why are our crypts underground?”

“Where should they be?”

“Mother’s family lay their kin to rest in the rivers.” She murmured, playing with a lock of her father’s dark hair. “The Targaryens burned their dead, Maester Luwin said.”

Her father smiled at her.

“Would that your brothers paid half as much attention in their lessons.” He shook his head. “We return to the embrace of the earth- to rest under the roots of the weirwood and the eyes of the old gods.” he was quiet for a moment as they reached her aunt Lyanna’s tomb. “The old gods grant us the privilege of their power while we live.”

“Our gifts.” Sansa murmured. “The direwolves.” Bael leaned his head down, nuzzling at her dangling feet and she giggled.

“Yes, sweetling.” her father murmured, his eyes flashing for a second. “We return that gift to the earth when we die. The stone keeps in our bones, but our ancestors rest on the earth itself.” he gestured towards the older tombs, overrun with great, twisting white roots. “We feed the weirwood in death, allowing her to take back our magic.”

“Old Nan told me that the crypts are deep enough to keep our wild magic in.” Sansa told him. “Especially the Starks of old. Before Torrhen. The kings of winter.”

“Perhaps she is right.” Ned murmured, setting Sansa down to stand next to him in front of Lyanna’s statue. His gaze was indecipherable as he looked on her stone face. She had been beautiful, Sansa knew. Everyone always said so. She was beautiful even in stone, her companion, Alya, carved beside her. “The gift granted to the Starks of old was different from the wolves, sweetling. Harsher, wilder- more dangerous. Those who could call winter to their fingertips do not rest easily.”

“Why not?”

“To hold sway over winter was to call and command death itself.” Her father told her, his voice soft. “To live with one foot in the world of the gods. It was a wild gift, Sansa, and not one to be taken lightly.”

She nodded, solemnly. She had read the stories of the Stark kings of old. She wasn’t sure she would ever want to meet one, even if they were kin. One question kept tugging at the back of her mind, though.

“Father?”

“Yes, sweetling?”

“Why did the gods take it from us? The winter-blood gift, i mean.”

“I wish I knew.” Ned told her, his gaze not directed towards her, but rather to his sister’s face. “But none but Torrhen Stark and his immediate kin would know, and his bones remain silent. They hold no answers for us here.”

The two were silent for another moment.

“Do you think the gods will ever give it back to us?” Sansa asked, softly.

Her father’s face momentarily crumpled into a deep grief before he seemed to steady himself, digging a hand into Bael’s thick fur.

“Perhaps.” he murmured, laying a wreath of evergreen atop his sister’s tomb. There were snowflakes etched up and down the stone. Sansa had always thought it oddly beautiful for something so grim. “We can only wait on the gods, sweetling. One day, they may answer your question.”

#my writing #my wips #writing wip #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #got fanfic #jonsa #Sansa Stark #Ned Stark #Jon's not in this scene sorry guys!#He's up having some... interesting conversations with benjen at the wall #tell me what you think!#Winter's Child

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year

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Hi! I would love if you could write something about robert baratheon and stark reader wedding day. Maybe her mother and sisters helping her get ready, and her mother talking to her about the wedding night. And ofcourse the wedding night itself.

Also LOVE that robert would only marry stark or not marry at all. I imagine ned wasn't too happy about it at first.

AN: Hehe, i'm so glad you like it. I hope this is good for you x

NSFW

“You look beautiful.” Your mother whispered into your ear as she gently placed your jewels in place. A soft blush came over your cheeks as you ducked your head. The nervousness of now becoming Queen and a wife all at the same time was daunting. Your mother’s touches continued as she stroked your sides.

You did not know if she was trying to calm herself or you. “You are so pretty.” Sansa reached for your hands too. Your eyes caught sight of Arya as she slipped into the room. You could feel your body and mind relaxing now. A soft smile came over your face as you tried to find happiness on the day.

You had heard Robert was the complete opposite; his happiness had engulfed him easily. It helped you relax more even as your nerves continued. “You got away from marrying for a while.” Sansa giggled. You gently shook your head at her words but they were true, you thought as your locked eyes with your mother.

In the back of your mind; you had always wondered why you were still not betrothed. Sometimes you wondered if they knew about the last Queen’s extramarital activities. Surely not, you shook your head of those thoughts. Moments passed as your sisters helped place the jewels in your hair.

“Thank you.” You hummed as Sansa only giggled; gently placing the oils on your arms as the delicious scents moved over the room. “You smell too much.” Arya hummed and you had to giggle as your mother hit her shoulder. “Now, leave us. You have helped enough.” Your mother gently dismissed them both.

You smiled to yourself as you looked into the mirror once more. The beautiful white grey dress clung to you so perfectly. “Are you nervous?” Your mother gently asked as her hands moved to cup your face. “About what?” You asked; your face prettily screwing up in confusion for a moment.

A beat of silence moved over you both, “For tonight…” Your mother gently reminded you and watched as you blushed madly. You could only duck your head; your heart racing once more and you had only just calmed yourself. “He shall be gentle…even if it’s only because you're his friend’s daughter.”

You couldn’t stop the blush coming over your cheeks as you chewed on your bottom lip. “Mother…” You whined in embarrassment. “I’m sorry dear. He will not want you after one heir. I’m sure of it.” You knew she did not mean it as an insult and time would tell that your mother was wrong.

You were shaking as his large hands moved up and down your sides. The thin under clothes hiding nothing. “Shh, do not worry, little love.” He whispered into your ear. “This will be better…you can control everything.” Robert purred up at you. The words your father had threatened to him came over him.

He was completely bare beneath you. Your fingers had taken the time to trace his still muscled body. It had been something you hadn’t expected and arousal began to move through you even more. This was not how you had expected the night to go; not after your mother’s words either that hardly filled you with confidence.

“Help an old man out, my Queen..” Robert couldn’t help but tease as you nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “Yes…anything…” You whimpered out in desire to do your duty as well as your own new desire. “Good girl..” He whispered his praise. Those dark eyes of his watching your every move.

“You can touch it.” Robert purred and watched as your soft, delicate hand finally moved to hold his hard, fat cock. “It’s so big…” You whispered out before you could stop yourself. Your nails moved down his length and had Robert twitching for a moment. His head was already leaking as you moved in curiosity.

His head brushed against your clit as you hiccuped in pleasure. Fuck, you were too much, Robert thought to himself. How could he possibly be gentle with you when you looked like this? His hips jumped and his head pushed inside you. “Oh ! Oh my…” Your eyes widened as your lips parted.

“Shh, keep going, little love.” He purred encouragement up at you whilst your wetness was already coating his cock. Inch by delicious inch you began to take him until he was completely stuffed inside you. “Oh, that’s good…fuck.” Robert hummed; his head falling back as you stayed speechless.

You whined as your hands moved onto his chest now. Gods, you were precious as you seemingly waited for more instructions. His larger hand moved onto your arse now and he gently moved his hips. “Oh..deep…too big..” You were babbling nonsense now as he groaned at your weeping pussy hugging him.

He kept his teasing to himself. That would come another night, Robert thought as he slowly moved his hips once more. The soft locks of yours were falling from your ties now. “Ride me..like one of your horses, pretty girl.” Robert gently instructed you and watched your blush move across your cheeks once more.

You whined as you took his advice. Your soft, ample breasts begging to be touched as they bounced but he would wait until you were begging for him. It did not stop his hand from moving up and down your sides as you took him so well. Oh, he was not going to stop playing with you, that was for sure.

Your walls were fluttering around him nicely as you leaned closer. He watched as you looked over his face before your soft lips found his own. His hand moved into your locks and passionately deepened the kiss. Your surprise was evident as his tongue moved to dance with yours.

He cheekily began to suck on it as you gasped and wiggled on top of him. Only bringing pleasure to you both as his hips began to pick up speed. His cock pushing against a new spot that had you seeing stars. His free hand moved to your arse and kept you close; kept himself deep inside you.

#robert baratheon x y/n #robert baratheon x reader #request

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balbigalum · 2 years

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Debt.

When Reader has to go back to King's Landing after so many years the idea of seeing Aemond again fills her with dread, she doesn't like court but know courtesies are the best weapon a Lady can have. Still, Aemond wants pay back for his eye and he will get it.

(reader is the second daughter of rhaenyra, she took aemond's eye as kids, since she took something from him he has an urge to take something from her.)

Aemond/Reader Incest +18 Enemies to lovers if you squint Words: 4.9k

hey so i haven't written anything since i was 16 years old so if some of this doesn't make any sense, or aemond is too oc, or any comment or critique you have let me know. okay i picture reader to be a little bit like sansa in the sense that she really tries to use her manners to save herself but yeah

Your younger brother’s birthright had been questioned. That’s what you heard. You had an ill habit of sneaking around the long and empty halls of Dragonstone. Both the isle and the castle could feel so… void sometimes, so you found a way to pass the time while your older brother, and heir to the iron throne, and your younger brother, and heir to Driftmark, trained on their duties. Your feet felt cold against the stone floor while you listened, barefoot to not be heard, your mother wanted to fly all of you to King’s landing. She wanted to stand in front of the king herself. You felt dread take over you, the court of King’s landing had always felt so unwelcoming to you and your brothers, young Lucerys was too little to understand but you and Jacaerys knew better, “Bastards” People would whisper too often about you all. You didn’t need to guess why Lucery’s inheritance to Driftmark was being questioned, you knew. “Bastards”

Back in your bed, after the thrill of sneaking around had died when you heard the news, you tried to recall the last time you saw the rest of your family. It had been a grim occasion, the only type of occasion that seemed to be able to pull your family all together in one place, Lady Laena’s funeral. You remember Driftmark, and the casket, and Queen Alicent’s green dress and… You remember him. Aemond. You remember what he did and what you did. He had taken Vaghar from Rhaena and you had taken his eye.

It was not often you recalled the incident, he had called Lucerys a bastard and held him by the neck, Jace’s blade was on the floor by your feet and scaring Aemond seemed like the right thing to do. You had responsibility over your younger brother and your family name, you had to act. And you did. Untrained, what you had hoped to be just a threatening move turned out to be so much more. Prince Aemond Targaryen had lost his eye that night, and Queen Alicent had demanded yours to pay the debt. That was court to you, a black nest of vipers, always out to get you and your brothers, and now you had to go back.

The morning came damp and fresh like it always did on Dragonstone, your mother told you the news over breakfast. Luke looked worried but not enough to say anything, Rhaenyra assured him that she would talk in his name and that there was nothing to worry about. The journey was about three mornings by sea, and some five hours on dragonback, but only your mother took her dragon, she wanted to show she came on peaceful terms. You didn’t feel like joining your siblings and cousins during the trip, you spent more time staring at the sea than doing anything else. You liked the sea, and you liked to travel, you just didn’t like King’s Landing.

You looked over to Daemon, your stepfather, he dreaded court as much as you in some ways, the jesters never seemed to make him laugh and he thought courtesies foolish. You thought so too yet courtesies could be useful. He smiled at you and came closer “I don’t recall you getting seasick, darling, your lord grandfather wouldn’t like it,” he was playful, his violet eyes bright, he was trying to lift your mood. “Please don’t tell the Sea Snake, I could never bear the shame.” You said dramatically and he laughed, “It will be a short stay,” he assured you “We will talk with my brother and next thing you know we’ll be out of this shithole of a city.” You saw him walk away after that. You sighed, you already missed Dragonstone and you missed your dragon.

Finally you could see the shore in the distance after some days. It was around mid-day when your mother came to you to see that you were ready for your arrival, you chose a fine silkdress in velaryion green, with some details on sea blue and gold. She had told you about her days on the Red Keep and how much she had loved her home, how much fun and enjoyment she had felt in that castle. She would often leave the grief out of her stories, even if you knew about it. She smiled at you, as soft as ever. She let you know that while Jace and Luke were expected at the throne room to discuss the politics of Luke’s inherence, your presence wasn’t as necessary. She looked hesitant at you, you knew she wanted you there next to your siblings, but she understood if you wanted to explore the keep or to keep to yourself in your chambers.

And you did, you had prepared yourself for court, wore a heavy necklace and put some colour in your face but at the last minute you couldn’t do it. You weren’t scared, you did not scare easily but you were unsure of how many friends you truly had among the court. How many of them thought of you as a bastard? How many disliked your mother or Daemon? You did not want to know. You stood in your room pacing around, you felt almost suffocated by the high walls of the keep. Your room back at Dragonstone had open walls that looked over the sea, so big your own Dragon could come to visit you sometimes, peering his curious eyes through the balcony. But now you were locked in. So you did what you did best, you took off your shoes and opened the door.

The Keep had been built by Maegor, as red and cruel as he was, you heard there were secret passages and halls and to be fair you wanted to see how true that was. Sneaking around was easy while most guards and nobles were at court, you did pass some Ladies and servants but none seemed to pay you any attention. Stairs, and long hallways, doors that were closed and some other that open small passages in between walls. Finally you arrived at some distant part of the castle, you couldn’t tell if it was the west side or maybe the east side, maybe the next door would take you to the Tower of The Hand, you couldn’t help but giggle a little over this, you were truly enjoying yourself.

You stood before a long hall, empty. Probably a forgotten part of the castle, you could see an arch that led to a library, maybe where the Maester spent most of his time, maybe the people of the court thought too high of themselves to pick up a book. Either way, you were having fun, so you made a run for it. Your long dress felt soft against your legs as you ran through the empty hall, you were laughing to yourself, this was much better than whatever was happening at the Throne Room, it almost felt like Dragonstone and then it didn’t.

You stopped all at once at the arch that led to the library. Your breathing was harsh and you still held your skirts in your hands, a shiver ran up your back and you held them even tighter. Aemond. Prince Aemond, your uncle, the “one eye” prince was sitting between the books. Why was he not at court? Doing whatever princes are supposed to do at court. It was too late to turn back and find a way back to your mother or to Daemon or to Jace or Luke or anybody, he saw you.

His lilac eye sized you up, like he could not believe it, the rest of his face did not show emotion. You stood still, trying to command your face to do the same. He dropped the book he was reading and finally broke the silence. “Lady Strong,” You dropped your skirts finally. “How odd to see you here.” He was mocking, a smirk on his lips. “Do not call me that.” “Or what?” He stood up. “You’ll take my other eye?” You looked away, you didn’t like thinking back to that night, something broke in your family that day and it was never the same after. He hummed. “What’s wrong my Lady?” He was coming closer now. “Can’t find your words?”

You finally found your strength and looked back to him. He was taller now, his hair was pearl and he dressed in black. “I don’t think it is proper to talk about such things,” Since you were at King’s Landing you might as well use the courtesies septas had tried to teach you so many times. “Uncle.” You added after a beat. He seemed to think for a second, “Such things?” “Yes, such things.” For a moment you thought he wanted to say something else but two guards doing their usual round walked by. You could feel his stare as you left following the guards, it burned your back, he did not move from where he stood at the door of the library.

By the time you came back your siblings and cousins were back too, they told you Luke’s inheritance was saved and that they have been betrothed to each other. You congratulated them, it was a good match after all, the people you loved with the people you loved. When you asked where your parents were at they finally let you in the bloody details about what happened to Vaemond Velaryon at the hands of Daemon and how they had to talk some things out with the King himself about it. You thought about whenever you should get a sword too, maybe one day when your mother sat the throne you would get one, that was the only way to face the nobles of the court and their accusations. You kept your encounter with Aemond to yourself and made a note to at least carry a small blade next time you left your room.

A dinner was planned, hosted by the King himself. You sat next to Lucerys who sat next to Rhaena, Aegon had found his place to your right and in front of you, against your own desires, sat Aemond. You would not be intimidated by him, not in a room surrounded by your family, yet his presence was too strong to ignore. You could feel him looking at you through the night but you didn’t let him intimidate you, you stared back. You could read anger all over his face, and something else you could not tell. You weren’t the Ladies of the court, you were a dragonrider and a Targaryen by your mother, you were not scared of a mauled face. You held his gaze and used the opportunity to study his face. He had grown as much as you did, his features were sharper and his skin pale, everything about him was pale. Your eyes wandered up and down him, his long hair, his arms holding a cup, his hands with long and pale fingers. You wondered if years of sword training had made them rough... And then the servants put a plate in front of him, roasted pork and he turned to anger. His hands put down the cup he was drinking from harshly against the table as he stood up, you looked at Lucerys as he smiled, this was his idea. You kicked him under the table as Aemond picked up the cup again to speak. You wanted to tell Luke that this was not a good idea, that the people of King’s landing had no humour, including their own kin, but Aemond spoke first.

“Final tribute...” The music stopped. “To the health of my nephews and niece, each one of them handsome, wise,” He made a pause while the promise of a smirk played on his lips, you swallowed. “Strong... Come let us drain our cups to these strong heirs.” Jace stood up harshly, his hands fisted to his sides, he wanted to fight, the tension was too high to bear, before Jace could speak you stood up too.

“A dance?” You said, looking at Aemond. All the eyes in the room shifted to you, you were not going to allow these people to think the worst of you and your brothers. You walked closer to Aemond and offered him your hand. “A dance, uncle?” You repeated while you gestured to the band to play again. Aemond seemed intrigued, he knew he was provoking your brothers but he didn’t expect this response. He took your hand and led you to the empty side of the room where you could dance, Jace did the same with Helaena.

He knew the moves but felt stiff, as if he had been taught the technique but never tried it himself. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking above you, scanning the room probably, seeing what your brothers might do. His hands held your waist and your own hand tightly, you wondered if he could tell how harsh he was being. To answer your own question, his hand actually felt soft and cold, he shifted the one on your waist and that was when he finally bothered to look down at you. “What is this? A dagger?” He knew the answer, he was just letting you know that he knew. “Yes,” You said. “Who were you planning on using it on this time?” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his eye was back at the table while you danced. “Nobody, it’s for protection. I don't know this place.” You explained, your gut felt knotted, he was referring to the incident again. Had he truly never gotten over it? Or was he just holding it above your head, knowing how uncomfortable it made you? “Well... I guess you already know how to use it, would love to see you try to get a sword out with this butter knife of yours.” You looked away this time, it was hard to keep your head up with his cutting words.

The night had ended in tension, nothing big enough to worry about, nothing your family wasn’t used to. You excused yourself to your chambers as soon as you could, yes, you had stopped Jace and Aemond from ripping each other’s throat, but dancing with Aemond had left a bitter taste on your tongue. You felt guilty about his eye, you never stopped feeling guilty after that night so many years ago but you couldn’t find yourself feeling bad for him. His mother had tried to take yours, she had hurt your own mother, Aemond had called your little brother a bastard and then called all of you bastards in front of the King himself. He had taken Vaghar. He was poisonous like Queen Alicent. You lay on your bed with the blade in your hand, twisting it around, sleep came to you late and dreamless, you could still feel the ghost of Aemond’s hands on you.

You didn’t see Aemond after that dinner, you stayed in your room and sometimes visited your grandfather at his bed. He was growing sicker everyday, you wanted to spend as much time with him as you could. Sometimes the Queen Alicent would come by, she would help her husband and maybe compliment your dress. She looked tense, you wondered if it had to do with your mother’s presence in the castle or if that had been her natural state since Laena’s funeral. Some nights you’d overstay at your grandfather’s room while he slept, looking through his books and the small built of Old Valyria he had on the tables. Once when you were going back to your room you swore you saw prince Aegon being dragged by two guards in the dead of night, he looked drunk.

Tonight was one of those nights when you stayed with the King even when he slept. The doors of the room opened and Queen Alicent entered the room. “Princess... I didn’t see you,” She said. “Your grace.” You replied. “Sweet child shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” You nodded but didn’t move from your spot reading the spine of the books on Visery’s shelf. “So you should go,” She said, you finally looked at her... Gods she looked nervous. You nodded again. “Goodnight, Your Grace.” You smiled at her, you tried to make it a warm smile and she smiled back, tense.

You closed the door behind you and saw Ser Criston Cole and Aemond standing by, probably guarding the Queen. “Princess,” Ser Criston said but you were looking at Aemond, he looked... Angry? He was hard to read but he seemed more uneasy than normal, his right hand was fidgeting with the handle of his sword. He didn’t acknowledge you, you nodded at Ser Criston and started making your way back to your room.

You were walking through the darkness of the Keep, illuminated by small flames along the walls when you heard him. “Riña,” Aemond was following you, you quickened your pace. You could hear his heavy boots echo across the halls. What did he want? Why couldn’t he just let it go? “Ao enkagon iā gēlȳn” Your high valyrian wasn’t as sharp as it should be, you felt cold sweat in the back of your neck, you only understood one word: Debt. You couldn’t handle it anymore you started running, you swear you could hear his laugh, loud in your ears, he sounded nothing like the composed prince he was known as. You ran and you ran until you finally reached your room. You closed the door behind you, breathing heavily, you leaned against it, you couldn’t take your hand off the handle, you were scared if you did he would open the door. You stayed like that for a while. Listening. Trying to figure out if he was out there. Your heart hammering away in your chest. Debt. Debt. Debt.

You awoke with your back against the door, body sore and cold from sleeping on the floor all night. You had a bitter taste in your mouth and could still feel some sweat clinging to your back. Have you had a nightmare? Were your memories of Aemond torment true? Suddenly you felt like a fool, was Aemond really chasing you through the halls? That couldn’t be, right? Were you losing your mind with every passing second in the Red Keep? The strength of every ghost dead by the hands of a Targaryen finally coming for you? Was this how the madness started?

You felt an urge to pray, to the Mother or the Warrior for protection, maybe to the old gods even – but you knew better, you were a Targaryen by blood and heart, there were no gods in the sky, only dragons. Your heart felt heavy with sorrow, oh how you missed your dragon.

You didn’t leave your room much after that, your mother had decided to extend your stay at King’s Landing to get accustomed to her own future Queenly tasks. With your grandfather so ill it was a matter of time before her ascent to the throne. You did not want to worry her in such times, some nights you thought maybe of telling her... No, begging her to take you to Dragonstone on dragonback, just a couple of hours and you’d be home or even better you could bring your own dragon back to King’s Landing and things would be easier.

It was one of those mornings when you debated what to ask your mother for when you heard a knock on your door. You didn’t know when was the last time you’ve seen a person besides that one servant that brought you food. You crawled out to bed and opened it. Aemond. “Princess,” He spoke before you could close the door. “Your mother has grown worried about your absence, she originally commanded Aegon to accompany you on a walk... Yet it seems like he has lost himself somewhere,” He didn’t look happy about it. “So it’s up to me to attend his duties.” He commanded a servant that was standing in the hall. “Wash her. Get the Princess ready, her mother commands.” It was clear he did not care what you thought about any of this.

The servant girl kept quiet while she helped you and you were thankful for that. She helped you into a deep red velvet dress with black detailing, a ruby in the center of the neckline. When the door opened again Aemond was waiting for you as collected as ever. The promise of sunshine sounded nice but some dread found its way to your stomach. You tried to ignore it as Aemond offered you his arm. He was wearing all back again and his long sword rested on his hip.

You two walked for some time in silence through the garden, the birds were out and it felt nice. Your mother was right, you needed this. After some time you felt less tense, Aemond was known as a gentleman, the memories of him chasing you seemed to align more to a bad dream rather than a true event, you tighten your grip in his arm. “Tell me something, Uncle. You’re always reading, right? Tell me something you read about.” You said softly, enjoying the morning. He let out a small grunt. “I’m here to keep you company, not to talk” You pursed your lips. “Please?” You asked, voice small, he tensed under your touch, when you looked up to him he was already looking at you, an expression you couldn’t recognize. “You—” He took a harsh breath and grabbed you by the arms. “Who do you think you are?” He seemed puzzled... and mad. “I’m sorry, uncle, I didn’t mean to nag you, I just wanted—” “You want. You want. You always want and you take, don’t you? You’re a spoiled brat that always gets what she wants aren’t you?” You shook your head, you didn't mean it that way, and he was grabbing you so hard. “No, no, I’m sorry.”

He dragged you towards a hall and into a small room filled with books and herbs, a small table, it was an apothecary probably a place where the Maester worked. He threw you in and closed the door. He was pacing around like a locked animal, you didn’t know what to say. “Aemond...” You just wanted to go back to your room. He grabbed you by the jaw, not as harsh, and locked his eye with you. Lilac and menacing. “There is a debt to be paid,” He said, so it wasn’t a nightmare. Here before you stood Aemond, his composture lost, talking about a debt, talking about his eye. “And you will pay it, if I can’t take your eye then I will take something else.” You shook your head, he used his other hand to grab you by the back of your head. You were tired and he was hurting you. “You owe a debt.” Again. And Again. “Look at what you did.” Until he was yelling it to your face, he ripped the patch that covered his scarred eye. A saphire in its place, and that’s when it sinked. He didn’t know it was an accident. “I’m sorry,” you said but it sounded like a whimper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” You closed your eyes and you felt the sting of tears. “It was an accident, the knife wasn’t mine it was Jace’s, I was only trying to scare you, Aemond, I’m sorry, please forgive me.” You realize you had never apologized, not even explained yourself, you had told your own mother the story but never Aemond, all these years he thought you had wanted to hurt him. “No,” He said. You nodded. “I’m sorry, Aemond, I wish I could make it better.” You touched his face softly, your thumb brushing his scar lightly. He leaned into the touch. “You don’t mean that.” He said, sounding like a kid again, vulnerable. “Yes I do, Aemond.”

And he kissed you.

He kissed you deeply like no man had ever kissed you. He pressed you against him. “You are going to make it better,” He said against your lips, you let out a small noise, confused. “You’ll show me how much you mean it, how sorry you are.” He kissed you again and his hands started to explore you, your back and your waist, his long pale fingers all over you. He kissed your jaw and he was surprisingly gentle about it. “Aemond, please you shouldn—” “Don’t speak.” He said sharply and turned you around, your hands on the small table helping you support yourself. He held you by the waist, you could feel his weight on your back keeping you there, his breath warm on the back of your neck. “There is a debt to be paid, and you’ll pay it,” He kissed your neck. He breathed you in softly, again the gentleman in him showing through. “You’re beautiful,” He said, it sounded like he was talking to himself like maybe you were not supposed to hear. “You come back, after all this time, and you are beautiful.” He sighed and let his forehead rest against the back of your neck as he hiked your skirts up. You felt warm as if sunlight was bathing you, his touch was gentle, as gentle as he could be. You didn’t know what to reply or even if you were supposed to do so. Blindly you looked for his hand until you found it on your hip, you held it to your mouth and kissed his knuckles. He took a breath in. “Let me have you and there will be no debt left.” He said as you heard the clanking of his belt and the loud thud of his sword hitting the ground.

One of his hands, that always felt cold, found your core between your legs, you could feel your own shoulders shaking as his finger slid between your folds. “Uncle,” You didn’t mean to gasp so loudly but you were not used to this treatment. He shushed you. “Stay still,” He slowly rubbed you while he kissed your shoulder and neck. Your heart rate started to pick up until your skin felt hot. “That’s it.” He said as he slipped one of his fingers in, you whined. “Aemond,” You sounded like you were begging, you weren’t sure what for, he hummed behind you. “You sound so pretty.” He commented and one finger turned to two, his other hand groped at your chest, wherever he could, you felt like you were tingling, wet and desperate.

He took his fingers out of you. “Aemond, I—” You gasped, you couldn’t help yourself. “Is this what you want?” He asked and you shook your head no remembering what he had told you in the garden, you are not a spoiled brat, you closed your eyes and tried to still your breathing. “You do want.” He said again and it wasn’t a question this time. “It’s alright to want.” He said “It’s alright to want me” And you did. You wanted him. “You,” You said and your voice sounded foreign in your own ears, you’d never sounded this way before. “Please, you.” You told him.

He entered you slowly while holding your hips, he groaned and you whimpered. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, the pace was satisfying you in ways you didn’t know you needed. Small sounds escaping your lips as he trusted in and out of you, your maidenhood was his now, the debt had been paid, yet you desired to stay like this always. “Aemond,” You whined his name as his hand snaked around you to touch your cunt, he kept kissing whichever part of you the dress allowed him to. “Your honour won’t be tainted,” He said, his breathing heavy. “I won’t tell, nobody has to know.” His hand was moving faster and he was getting rougher, a new sensation formed in the pit of your stomach, bliss was invading your veins and you could tell it was invading his too. His pace was quicker and sloppier. “I won’t let them humiliate you, I- I’ll take you as my wife,” A groan interrupted him. “Please, let me take you as my wife.” “Aemond...” You whined high pitched. “Aemond I feel—” He fucked into you harder and you felt how your stomach bursted into a thousand dragonflies, you moaned his name and you could feel him holding you even thigher, fucking into you harder and harder until his own orgasm hit.

You stayed tangled together catching your breath. You turned around and buried your head in the croak of his neck, now you were breathing him in. He smelled woody and like mint leaves, you left a small kiss on his neck. “I meant it,” He said finally. “I’ll ask for your hand in marriage, you won’t have to face any shame. And if you don’t want... me, I won’t tell about this.” You shook your head from the spot in his neck and you heard him say “Oh.” Disappointment and guilt creeping up his back. “You come with me,” You said. “To Dragonstone. You, me, Vaghar, and Myrax... We could live away from all of this.” You knew the high lords and ladies weren’t kind to him either. “We could fly east, see the wonders across the narrow sea.” You said looking at him, really looking at him, not at the one-eye prince, looking at Aemond.

He hummed as he often did, you noticed, and gave you a small smile. “I have so much to learn from you, don’t I?” He asked you playfully. “My Lady Strong?” He smiled, a real smile.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 9 months

Text

Dead Girl Walking

Pairing(s): Jon Snow x Stark!Reader, Ned Stark x Catelyn Tully, refereneced!Rhaegar Targaryen x Lyanna Stark

Warnings: none

Words: 2086

Summary: If this could possibly be your last night alive, you wanted to make it worthwhile.

They were coming.

Arya and Sansa flagged either side of you, knowing that battle would be upon you soon. Maybe that night or tomorrow, the Night King’s army was drawing closer.

Winterfell had fallen onto your shoulders after your eldest brother was beheaded. When you took back your home during the Battle of the Bastards, the northern men that remained named you their queen.

No longer were the Starks scattered throughout Westeros. They were where they truly belonged: in the north. Fewer in numbers, but finally together.

Below the parapet you stood on, men and women alike were preparing themselves to fight for their lives. Surprisingly, their hustle and bustle soothed your nerves. Unsullied, Wildlings, Dothraki and noble blood laike were united. And despite the thumping of boots against stone, the night was otherwise calm and quiet. The fire at your back warmed you.

In a nervous tick, you hold the pommel of your sword. You hoped this wouldn’t be your last battle.

“Practice your dance moves while you still can.” You address Arya who nods and leaves to do just that. She had trained with the Faceless Men in Braavos; you hoped that would be enough to keep her alive. Leaving just you and Sansa alone. You didn’t want to scare her, but you needed to tell her the truth of things. “I may not make it out alive.”

Immediately she opens her mouth to protest but you silence her.

“It’s something that can very well happen. I want you to know now that if I am to die in battle, I want you to take my place as Queen of the North.” You took off the metal circlet that had been comfortably lying atop of your head. It had caused quite the argument between you and the Dragon Queen Daenerys. Even though she had accepted the north as its own separate dominion, she still didn’t like the crown on your head.It made her feel insecure. In a land where the people adored you and obviously didn’t trust her, Daenerys knew that the people were your’s. “This would look far better on you anyway.”

Sansa swallowed back whatever protest that had been sitting on her tongue. “You’ve been through worse battles than this.”

Unable to catch your laugh, you shake your head. “Never against the dead. The living are an easier foe.”

Clinking of metal behind you makes you turn. Sansa smiles fondly at the semi-armored direwolf. “Even Storm is ready for battle.” Sansa muses. Your dark gray direwolf was missing an eye from the bloody battle against Ramsay. It made her appear even more deadly than she already was. She towered over her albino brother Ghost and even some of the soldiers. The days when they were both playful puppies were long gone. Nostalgia grips you when you remembered how you and your siblings sat in a circle and picked your direwolf pups. Of course the odd looking one went to your bastard brother Jon. The albino pup had garnered your attention until Storm had stumble up to you in the most adorable fashion. She had chosen you. Out of all of your siblings, Storm wanted you as her partner in crime. From that moment you knew the two of you would be together until the very end.

And the end was probably creeping up.

As a child you had always been fearful, the kind of child that got scared over the smallest creature. Theon teased you relentlessly. Jon took the job upon himself to become your protector during such times. He would go after Theon with his sword and tend to you in an attempt to make you feel better. Thanks to Jon, he helped you learn how to be brave and not be so scared of the world around you.

You needed a little bit more help in remembering what it felt like to be brave. This was something your father had always warned you about. Winter had arrived and with it the Night King’s crusade. All of Old Nan’s tales were coming true.

Excusing yourself from Sansa’s side, you delve into the castle that was now completely your’s to control and protect. Old and ancient halls where you, Robb, and Jon would run through in the early years before Sansa and your younger siblings were born. Bruising knees on the hard stone when one of you fell down, the other two were always there to help their fallen sibling back up.

You passed the Great Hall where many were gathered, talking quietly amongst one another. Wine was being handed out to anyone who looked nervous. Liquid courage and perhaps the last sweet thing they may taste.

Some of the wildlings and Dothraki men were talking loudly, boisterous laughs echoing even though there was a language barrier. Drinking certified them as comrades in arms. The sight was enough to make you smile at least for a little bit.

Daenerys may have been gracious enough to loan you her army fro the time being, but it was you that made the Dragon Queen’s men and your own get along. The merging of Westeros and Essos. That was you. Something Robb was never able to do was keep his army together.

You inhale sharply and shake your head free of those thoughts that were best left in the grave. Yet your ears continued to grow numb to sound reducing you to stumbling about like a drunk until you finally made it to the family crypt. Your ever loyal Storm followed you down the tight stairs, making sure you didn’t fall. The musky smell of the crypts took the edge off of you as you entered the final resting place of your family. It was quiet and glowed warmly from the torches, revealing that there was one other living person already there in front of your father’s statue.

A man who turned out wasn’t Jon’s father. It must have been bittersweet for Jon to discover his true parentage.

“How fortuitous that you’re down here right when I need you most.” You smile shyly at Jon.

His lips turn up gently. “Something told me that I should come down here.” Ghost pokes his head from around the corner, red eyes two beacons of light. “Or rather someone. Besides, you used to come down here when you were younger. Something about it being quiet soothed you. For a child that was scared of everything, the crypts have never been a problem for you.”

“I felt like our ancestors were protecting me. Like they each gave me a piece of their courage.” The stoney face of Ned Stark looked down on you and Jon. Looking at the carved details of his face made you fill with sorrow. “I just wish Robb and mother could have been buried here too. . .”

“They may not be physically here, but their spirit is.” With the small amount of light offered to you, you catch sight of the scars on Jon’s face. Faint silver lines that told the story of his life at Castle black. They oddly suited him and his often serious expression. Catelyn may have never loved Jon, but Robb loved him just as much as Bran or Rickon. As hard as you searched his face, you just couldn’t see any Targaryen traits. Even if his father had been Rhaegar, Jon was of the north. The Stark in his veins was enough to overwhelm the Targaryen.

Gingerly, Jon wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you against his side. You focused on his warmth, the desires of your heart starting to become louder. There had always been an unspoken bond between you and Jon. Neither of you spoke of it out loud, afraid that even speaking of it would bring ruin to the both of you.

But he wasn’t by blood your brother. The truth was out.

Cheeks feeling warm, you take a step away from him. You laugh a little bit at yourself. “What kind of queen am I to show my fear? Mother would never have let her cards slip so easily. Sansa reminds me so much of her now. . .”

“You’re only human. You fear losing your home and people you love. You’re a good queen (y/n). Lord Ned would be proud of you and all that you have done. Winterfell once again belongs to the Starks because of you.” Dark eyes delve deep into you, eyes that wanted to let you know that everything would be okay and if not, well, Jon would stay by your side just like Storm. Until the very end. In the face of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon had to refer to her as queen; it was clear to all though that his real queen was you. He would not forsake you. Now now, not ever. Besides Robb, no man had ever loved you quite as much as Jon did.

Reaching your arms up, you cup his face with your palms. Easily Jon lets his face fall into your hands, nuzzling his nose into your touch. How easily Jon trusted you and put down his walls.

You wanted to hold him, place your head against his strong chest. Like you did when you went to the Wall to ask for his help. Years apart had changed you both greatly yet Jon’s arms still felt the same from when you had last embraced him.

Perhaps it was too bold of you, but being with Jon made you feel bolder; You sprung up on your toes and kiss. To finally kiss him after years of longing and confusion. If you were to die, you wanted to do so without any regrets. You wanted to let Jon know just how much you loved him and how you had never stopped. Relief had washed over you the moment Jon revealed what he had learned from Sam. That he wasn’t your half-brother which would still be looked down upon in the north if you were to have any sort of romantic relationship with him. Cousins were commonly married to one another.

Surprise took him as he slipped backward a little bit, but Lord Eddard Stark’s statue was enough to keep him up. It didn’t take long for him to melt against you. If you were to die, you wanted Jon to be the last thing you tasted.

Targaryen and Stark, perhaps the pair were always inevitable. The dragons had conquered the north centuries before, but had still been able to respect Torrhen Stark by giving him the title of Warden.

In his eyes you saw no dragon or wolf. You just saw Jon. Your Jon that you had known since you were a babe. Your best friend, your confidant, the one you had loved since you were a girl.

As he pulled away, stars filled his gaze as he breathed heavily.

“I love you Jon. More than a brother. More than a cousin. More than any man I have ever known.” You lower your gaze, feeling the sun in your cheeks. “If. . . If we are all to die tonight-”

Jon abruptly grabs your face and once again you’re kissing him. “We will live to see the sun rise. Not much good has prospered for me being half Targaryen, except for one thing.” To your utter shock, Jon bent down on one knee while still holding your hand. “My Queen, if you would have me it would be my honor to stand beside you for the rest of my life and after.”

You wanted to slap him initially for taking so long to propose, but you went with your second reaction: you threw yourself against him in an embrace. Both of your winter pelts smooshing against the other. “And how long have you been sitting on those words?”

Chuckling, Jon holds onto you as Storm and Ghost watch. “For years. It was never feasible until now.” You knew he could hear your heart beating fiercely. “We have no choice but to defeat the White Walkers now.”

Yes, you wouldn’t let the Night King take this one great joy away from you. For your future with Jon, you had to be brave. You would be brave. Jon had always been a source of courage for you.

The next kiss you gave him was of a different nature. Seductive and enticing, sweeter than any honey. You still wanted a taste. “Are you opposed to escorting me to my chambers?”

A boyish smile makes your chest flutter. “Of course, Your Grace.”

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fandom #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow imagine #jon snow x you #jon snow fanfic

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