#Arya Stark One Shot

[onekeii]

Wyman the Snowman

Day 1: First snow Game of Thrones: Robb Stark x Fem!Dornish!Reader Warnings/Genre: arranged marriage, fluff, show robb, light hearted game of thrones (god forbid) Word Count: 1,729 Summary: Your first time seeing snow. AN: Been working on a super long Robb fic for a while (10+ chapters in!) so this is a little teaser <3 excited for the rest of this challenge :))

Read on AO3

Weeks have passed since you first moved to the North, but it seemed the cold was something you might never adjust to. Just when you thought you discovered the ideal number of logs for your fireplace, or the minimal number of layers you needed to wear to not shiver while dining in the great hall, the next day would surprise you. The seasons turned; barren tree branches bent to the howling will of the wind and the sun dipped below the horizon faster with each cycle. You, too, had all but retreated, hugging your knees by the desperate fire.

“It’s snowing!” Laughter and footsteps barrel down the corridor outside your room, just as they pass your door the shrill voice rings again, “It’s stuck to the ground, come on- come on Bran, let’s go!” Slower footfalls follow, and they descend the spiral staircase together with varying levels of care.

Snow. The first snow of the winter season, and the first snow you had ever experienced. Dorne was lucky that it ever rained at all; snow was not something to dream about. It didn’t even appear in stories. All you knew was that it was cold and white, it looked soft but would sting your bare skin… Of course, you needed to see it for yourself.

You reluctantly crawl away from the fire and cringe at the draught that pours in through your window. But it pleasantly faces the courtyard, and for a moment you are blinded by how bright it is, like the Dornish summer sun. The courtyard is devoid of its usual drab of greys and muddy browns and darker greens, covered instead by a thick, white blanket. Already, Bran and Arya had ruined the perfectly flat surface, free from any grime or imperfection, in their valiant attempt to wade through. Now two lines streaked from the corner - the great keep’s exit - to the very centre of the courtyard. You’re a married woman, you remind yourself as you look away, you can’t just throw yourself face-first into the snow.

So, of course, you put on your layers and cloak, a warm hat and gloves… You’re still pulling them on your icy fingers when you, too, descend the spiral staircase. The doors at the bottom swing open for you and there it is: a wall of pure, white snow that reaches well past your ankles - the paths carved out by Arya and Bran before you would have to suffice to stop your skirts from getting soaked.

With one hand still bare, you reach out and close your fingers around a chunk, digging your nails in deep and prying a misshapen handful from the low wall. It really does bite, you wince but refuse to let go. It doesn’t slip through your fingers like sand. It just stays. And then it stings.

You drop the ball to the ground, wiping the cold and wet from your red palm on your skirts before finally putting on your glove. I’ll just check on Arya and-, you bravely step into the path they left for you, like trampled wheat in a field, when you notice a third party leaning against the stone wall - your husband.

“Good morning,” you say. Robb dips his head in acknowledgement, his attention still fully on his siblings playing in the snow. You hope that was enough to distract him from your spirited attempt to hold the snow bare-handed. There’s no way you can join the kids now unless your husband might start taking you for a fool. You turn to the door.

“This is your first time in the snow?” he calls out. He’s looking at you now, brown curls scattered with snowflakes and falling wildly about his face. He doesn’t wait for your answer and just holds out his own gloved hand - of course it’s your first time in the snow. “Let’s help Bran and Arya make their snowman.”

Robb leads you through one of the small paths, stopping now and then to push more snow aside with his foot or free hand, widening the path. Your skirts still scraped past it, but at least you didn’t need to push through with so much force. “What exactly is a ‘snowman’?” you ask.

He snaps his head around, “You don’t know?” You shake your head. Robb sighs, his breath turns to mist on its flight into the early winter morning, “It’s, uh, a man made of snow- We usually just roll up two balls of snow and stack them, and give it a face.”

You push your eyebrows together, “Why?”

“Why not?” A fair point. When you finally stop in the centre of the yard, you’re able to stand comfortably without the snow pushing into your dress - Arya and Bran had already cleared out an almost perfect circle in their excitement. “Here, if you push the snow together,” Robb grabs some from the infinite supply, clasping it carefully between cupped hands before holding it out to you, revealing a flawless ball, “It sticks, and we make our snowman like this, but bigger.”

You take the ball from him, watching it roll from one of your palms into the other with awe. “Man-sized?” You say. A laugh sticks to his throat. “Yes, man-sized, my lady,” he smiles.

The two of you spend the morning scraping and pushing snow into the centre of Arya and Bran’s carved-out space. Icy cold seeps through your thick leather gloves, rendering your fingers immobile, but you were desperate to see this snowman. Just when you thought the pile was tall enough, Arya piped up, “Taller! You’ve got to make his body taller!”

Looking at Robb in exasperation, your face twists in pain and horror when he simply nods at his sister and says, “Yes, ma’am.” She huffs in satisfaction and returns to the smaller pile that she and Bran are working on - it is to be the head, according to Robb. Finally, when the snow is piled as tall as you, and Arya gives a nod of approval. You and Robb start shaping it into a ball. He kindly offers to work on the lower half, so you don’t have to crouch and ruin your dress. Part of you wants to retire and just watch from your cosy window above - you swear you’d never forsake that draught again - but shaping really took no time at all. Sometimes he’d get carried away with his handiwork, sliding his hand over yours before you snapped your hand back. It warmed your face up just a little every time, making you thankful the cold had already bruised it red, and each glove-to-glove kiss reminded you of the last time you two actually touched.

Embarrassingly for a woman long-married now, it was when you exchanged vows on your wedding day. Robb’s warm hand, calloused and rough from swordplay, grasped yours gently. At night, you shivered in front of him in just your night shift, and he shook his head. “Only when you’re ready,” he said. You should have stopped him from leaving the room, but you didn’t want to. Weeks of nothing passed since; only polite, awkward conversations and short-lived glances.

“Finally!” Arya says. She was crouching by her perfectly round, smaller ball of snow. Bran smiled sheepishly on the other side as he watched his older sister spring to her feet and wrap her arms around their own masterpiece, lifting it up with ease and waddling over to Robb. He graciously lifts it from her without a word, carefully placing it in the divot the two of you left at the top of your perfect sphere. Robb steps back, and you follow, to admire the fruits of your labour. He leans over your shoulder and whispers in your ear before you can protest his proximity, “He looks like Lord Manderly, does he not?”

You scoff, trying to stifle your laugh, but it takes you by the shoulder and shakes you, “He does.”

Rickon soon comes flying into the clearing, holding out his hands to reveal several black and jagged stones in his palms. He looks up at you and Robb with blue eyes blown wide and mumbles, “I want to give him a face, but he’s too tall.”

“Oh dear,” you crouch down to face him properly. His lower lip is stuck out, pulling the corners of his mouth down, and his lopsided hat is evidence of a struggle to dress him properly. You tug it over his ears before scooping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his backside, pulling him close to your chest and standing up with effort. “How about now?” you bring him closer and he beams when he is perfectly level with the snowman’s soon-to-be face.

One stone is slightly off-centre - the nose, he says - followed by two eyes, one much bigger than the other. Then he presses the remainder into a jagged, upward-curve smile, underneath the nose. “Perfect,” you marvel. Robb smiles at you from the corner of your eye, and you shoot one back.

“Yeah! His name is Wyman,” Rickon exclaims, throwing out his arms in celebration and nearly throwing you off balance.

“Gods,” you whisper in shock.

Unsurprisingly, you were bedridden by the next morning. You weren’t even in the cold for as long as you thought, but your body had yet to adjust to such extreme conditions. The Maester assured you would be better in a few days. You hoped the snow would come again before then, staring fondly at the now lopsided Wyman, who smiled at your window from the courtyard below.

Two knocks at your door pulled you from your thoughts. “May I come in?” Robb’s voice was muffled through the thick wood.

Your hair was unbraided and, instead of the usual shapely dresses, you were just a ball of blankets and furs. You were sick, you could say no. What could he possibly want, anyway? To slide his ungloved hands over yours? To warm your shivering yet feverish touch? Finally, you speak up, “Come in.”

Robb slips into the window nook next to you, but you don’t take your eyes off the men at work in the dwindling snow. Every single one makes an effort to leave the proud snowman uninterrupted. A smile creeps across your face at the sight, at Robb’s presence, and at the way his fingers so naturally slip through yours.

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ☆

P.S. Thank you for letting me do this according to how I traditionally celebrate Yule !

[fineosaur]

Drabble challenge!!! GENDRYA, please! :D <3 <3 <3 .... 47. I thought it was a one-night-stand…and now we’re married…48. We’ve become the clingy couple that you used to complain about.58. I’m just a guy with a wife, two kids, and a Harley.88. After everything…I’d still choose you.103. Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries.

from this drabble challenge

47. “I thought it was a one-night-stand…and now we’re married…” + 48. “We’ve become the clingy couple that you used to complain about” + 88. “After everything…I’d still choose you.”

i’ve only loosely followed the prompts this time because they were a bit harder to pull all together given how many there were in one go.

i’d take one for you | m | gendrya

The house is quiet and airy besides the noise that her brothers make outside while they set up. She still doesn’t know how big of a party they’re deciding to have but it makes her happy to see them all putting their efforts into planning it.

Arya makes her way to the guest bathroom, pulling out her phone to ask her sister when she plans on arriving. Normally, she can walk through the house with her eyes closed and not even bump into the skirting.

So, when she hits into a solid frame, it causes alarm. Her phone falls to the hardwood floor and she looks up into familiar blue eyes.

“Stupid,” Arya says under her breath as she picks up her phone.

“Good to see you too, Arya,” he gives her a tight smile. “Are you alright?”

Arya sighs and puts her phone into her pocket. “Gendry, I didn’t even know you were here.” She tells him. He looks different from when she last saw him.

“Your brothers told me they were having a party, I thought I’d give a hand in setting up.” Gendry explains. He seems to catch on that she doesn’t really want to be having this conversation, so he leaves her to it.

Arya watches him walk away. Either he’s taller than she remembers or she just hasn’t seen him in three years. He’s also definitely bigger.

She can admit that she’s always found Gendry rather beautiful. His deep black hair was always messy and his eyes so deep and blue. Now, he looks more a man than he ever was before.

In the bathroom, she notices the blush that colours her cheeks. “Stupid,” she says to herself in the mirror before pulling out her phone again and texting Sansa.

read more on ao3.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

➤𝐅𝐥𝐲ⵑ 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲ⵑ 𝐅𝐥𝐲 || 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 ||

A/n: got asked for More dad Robb, Targaryan!Reader

Who has a much smaller Dragon than Dany's, also everyone is alive.

Robb stood in the courtyard, cradling a squirming Alec in his arms. The little boy’s curls bounced as he giggled, eyes wide with excitement as he reached for the dragon nearby. The creature was small for a dragon, with shimmering silver scales and bright, inquisitive eyes that followed Alec’s every movement.

Robb adjusted his grip, a determined grin on his face. “Come on, Alec. Just a little ride. It’s not that high—”

“Robb Stark!”

Your voice echoed through the courtyard, sharp and fierce as you marched toward him, eyes blazing. Robb visibly flinched, his grin faltering as he turned to face you.

Alec giggled louder. “Dada want me to ride dragon!”

“Your Dada is going to be the one in trouble,” you snapped, hands on your hips.

Robb gave you his best charming grin, eyes twinkling. “Come on, love. It’s a tiny dragon. Practically a pony with scales.”

“Practically a—” You pinched the bridge of your nose, muttering in Valyrian. “Robb Stark, you put our son down right now or I will have your head mounted as a trophy.”

Jon and Eddard, standing nearby, tried to keep straight faces. Jon pressed his lips together, eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. Eddard cleared his throat, hand hiding a grin.

Sansa scowled, crossing her arms. “Robb, are you trying to get Alec killed?”

Robb chuckled, bouncing Alec in his arms. “Oh, he’d be fine. I was riding horses by the time I was his age.”

“That’s a dragon,” Sansa deadpanned.

Arya darted forward, eyes gleaming. “I think he should do it! Come on, Alec! You want to ride the dragon, don’t you?”

Rickon hopped up and down beside her. “Yeah! Fly! Fly!”

Bran, sitting nearby with Summer at his side, groaned. “Why do you all encourage him?”

Catelyn stepped forward, hands on her hips, brow stern. “Robb Stark, what in the Seven Hells are you doing?”

Robb winced. “Mother, it’s just a little dragon—”

“Just a little dragon?” she echoed, voice rising. “You have a perfectly good direwolf and yet you’re trying to place my grandson on a dragon?”

Robb’s jaw clenched, but he kept his smile, looking at you. “Come on, love. Just a tiny ride. I’ll hold him the whole time—”

You stepped forward, hands gripping Alec and plucking him from Robb’s grasp. Alec protested, reaching for his father. “Dada! Dragon!”

“Not until you’re older,” you said firmly, bouncing him on your hip. You shot a glare at Robb. “And you—”

Robb held up his hands, smirking. “Alright, alright. No dragons. For now.”

His men, watching from the sidelines, chuckled and shook their heads. One of them muttered, “The King in the North, brought to heel by his wife and mother in one afternoon.”

Robb shot them a mock glare but couldn’t suppress his grin as he walked up to you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You know, you’re terrifying when you’re angry.”

You raised a brow. “Keep that in mind next time you try to put my son on a dragon.”

“Your son?” Robb teased, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his forehead to yours. “I thought he was our son.”

“Keep testing me, Stark,” you muttered, though a grin tugged at your lips.

Alec giggled between you both, his small hand reaching up to pat his father’s cheek. “Dada! Dragon!”

Robb chuckled, eyes softening as he kissed Alec’s forehead. “Not today, little wolf. But soon.”

[esther-dot]

Downton Abbey AUs

Look for the Silver Lining 7k, WIP by @ohhaveyouseenme

“He’s coming to stay…” Lord Eddard Stark’s announcement was met with silence before it was broken by the incredulous scoff of one Sansa Stark. “Here?” she bit out, turning fully away from her father. “With all of us?” Sansa looked around imploringly at the rest of her family.

And Then There Was You 49k, WIP by @periwinkle39

Lord Ned Stark and his family live in a beautiful stately home called Winterfell in the northern English county over which he presides as earl. His wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, is an American heiress whose fortune helped secure the Stark estate and keeps it running. They have three children: Robb, Sansa and Arya. Robb, who was set to inherit everything, has died tragically. By law, Ned’s heir is the next oldest male Stark and that turns out to be a distant cousin named Jon.

Of Love and Land 2k (incomplete but works as a one shot)

A Downton Abbey inspired AU - When Eddard Stark, the owner of one of the largest estates in England, Winterfell, dies on the sunken Titanic along with his wife and sole son, Robb, only his daughters Sansa and Arya are left. Given the absence of a male heir, the estate is inherited by their estranged cousin Jon Snow, who lived the entirely of his life on his own mysterious father’s modest lands in Scotland. While Arya adores cousin Jon, Sansa is as disconcerted by him as he seems to be by her…

The Chauffeur and the Lady 1k (incomplete but works as a one shot)

AU set in 1921 Jon Snow is hired by the Stark family to be the Chauffeur and Jon and Sansa find themselves drawn to each other. Loosely inspired by Downton Abbey

Gifsets: Downton Abbey AU by @winterrobb and Downton Abbey Jonsa and Gendrya AU by @divinespairings

Edit: Downton Abbey AU manip by @sardoniyx, "Marry a man who can barely hold his fork like a gentlemen?" by @azulaahai, “Don’t do this Jon! You can’t just kiss me!" by @jonsa-creatives, “I’m not going to give you an answer until you say it properly.” by @kitten1618x

General Edwardian AUs

Even a Small Love 54k

After the war that sundered her family and tore her homeland apart, Sansa had thought a loveless marriage to a near-stranger a small price to pay for her honor, her safety, and, above all, Winterfell. Over a year later, she begins to wonder if that's really all she wants out of life. Then her husband falls ill.

A Just Woman and an Honorable Man 12k, WIP by @sibyldisobedience

A story of politics, corruption, blackmail, marriage, and love. (an Ideal Husband AU)

The Sweet Intoxication of the Fall 30k by @vivilove-jonsa

When Jon is hired on as the new undergardener at Winterfell, Old Willem’s rules are simple:   “The godswood takes care of itself. The rest of the estate does not. If a task can be done by sundown, I expect it to be done by sundown. If not, go eat your supper and finish it the next day. Don’t neglect the lemon trees in the Glass Garden. They need constant care to thrive up here. Leave Lady Catelyn’s roses that grow there be. She prefers to tend them herself. Leave Lady Catelyn’s daughters be as well.”   Keeping to four out of five isn’t so bad, he reckons.

Cousin Jon ficlet by @amymel86

“Cousin Jon?” Lady Catelyn rolled her eyes in exasperation and set the letter gently down on her writing desk. “Yes, cousin Jon. Who else were you expecting to swoop in and save us from this scandal?” Corresponding gifset

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE -SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES - JON X ALAYNE

[thealtoduck]

Forbidden Fruit

Theon Greyjoy x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut, Theon in his asshole era, anal sex, loss of virginity, doggy style, use of the word ”whore”, Theon referring to your ass as a ”cunt”, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding, spit as lube, everyone kinda wants to fuck you too…

Summary: Theon has his eyes set on you and wants to be your first…

——

The sounds swords clanging against each other rang out over the courtyard of Winterfell as Theon Greyjoy and Robb Stark practised their swordfighting. Both of them in full focus on the task of beating the others.

Theon was just about to land a winning strike when someone behind Robb distracted him, stealing his focus. A beautiful young man, Y/n Poole, the son of the steward of Winterfell. Theon was distracted just long enough for Robb to be able to knock him to the ground.

”Come on Theon, keep your eyes on your opponent” Robb said annoyed and turned to see what Theon had been looking at, his eyes landing on you. ”Y/n, the steward’s son?” Robb questioned his friend. ”I’ve heard one of the chefs claim he took his virginity but he was drunk so i think he might have lied” Robb gossiped as he continued looking at you.

”I wouldn’t mind fucking him myself” he then said to the annoyance of Theon. ”Oh please, is the little lord Robb Stark gonna fuck the steward’s son?” Theon mocked him. ”He needs someone to take his boy cunt like the little whore he is” Theon said looking hungrily towards you as you were talking to a couple of castle guards.

”And that’s going to be you?” Robb questioned sarcastically. But Theon wasn’t listening he was already planning.

——

That night during dinner…

Theon watched you as you sat next to Jon, chatting cheerfully. Theon needed to catch you alone. Luckily for him he’d get his shot soon… You were also sat next to Sansa Stark which put you in the crossfire between her and her sister Arya’s never ending war.

Arya loaded her spoon with a piece of meat pie and launched it towards Sansa… but she missed hitting your chest, dirtying your light grey tunic. ”Arya! Look what you did?!” Sansa scolded her younger sister. ”I’m so sorry about her” Sansa apologised frantically as she tried to wipe of your shirt with a cloth napkin.

”Don’t worry about it Lady Sansa, i’ll just go change” you said calmly, standing up from the table and walking off. Theon saw this was his chance to finally meet you alone.

He soon managed to sneak away from the the dining hall. He stopped by the kitchens and snagged two goblets and a pitcher of wine, then he made his way through Winterfell castle towards the small part occupied by Steward of Winterfell and his family.

He knocked on the door he knew belonged to you. ”One moment” came your voice from the inside. Then the door opened revealing you in a nightshirt and underwear, you quickly wrapped yourself in a thin blue robe to cover up more for you’re unexpected visitor.

”Theon” you said happily at sight of him. ”Sorry, i’m not more properly dressed i was just about to go to bed” you said tying your robe. ”Oh no worries” he said with a flirty smile, you were gonna be even less dressed once he was done with you.

”How can i help you?” you asked. ”Oh, i just wondered if you’d like to have quick drink with me” he said holding up the pitcher and the two goblets he brought. You looked unsure. ”If you’re not too tired of course” he quickly added.

”Of course, a drink wouldn’t hurt” you said and held open the door for him, letting him in to your bed chamber. Theon observed the room, it was smaller than his own. It had a small square window with a nice view. A little fire place where a fire was burning, heating up the cold castle room.

A square table with a set of two chairs and a clothing chest right next to it. And finally the bed, which was draped in soft blankets. Above it hung a banner for your House, House Poole. The room was textbook definition of what Theon would describe as cozy.

You sat down in one of the chairs by the table, as Theon put the goblets on the table, pouring wine in each and then putting the pitcher down. He sat down in the other chair, you both grabbed your goblets. ”Cheers” Theon said and you clinked your goblets together and drank.

The two of you talked for a while. Theon decided to start testing the waters. He moved his leg slightly making it rest against yours, your eyes drifted to his leg for half a second before you looked back to him but you didn’t move away.

Time passed as you told Theon a story, once you finished it became quiet through the chamber. ”You’re really pretty you know” Theon stated boldly filling the silence in the room. Before you had time to respond Theon started talking ”Some of the staff has been talking about it, how they want to fuck you. Even the lordling Robb Stark said so”.

”And i understand them, you are very pretty” he continued. You looked rather unsure what to answer. ”Tell me Y/n, have you ever been fucked before?” Theon asked shamelessly, leaning closer to you. ”I… no, i have not” you told him, trying to stay casual.

”Would you like to be?” Theon then asked immodestly, leaving you slightly stunned. ”By-…By you?” you asked, Theon gave you a smirk as comformation. ”I-I wouldn’t know what to do” you said shyly. Theon played with the strings of your night shirt and said ”Don’t worry, i’ll show you”.

He then pulled you in to a kiss, his lips pushing hungrily against yours. Theon pulled you both up from your seats leading you to the middle of the room as you made out. Theon pulled of your robe, then his own jacket and he continued until you were both left naked in front of each other.

Your dick had gotten erected from Theon’s sudden interest in you and it made Theon’s own manhood swell with pride. He took your wrist in his hand and guided your hand over his slightly fuzzy chest down to his erect manhood. It was the first time you had ever touched another man in such a manner.

He made you enclose your fingers around his hardend cock and tug at it a little, rubbing him off slowly. ”Feel what you do to me Y/n” he uttered.

He led you backwards towards your beds and your naked bodies climbed up on it. Theon laid you down on the bed and the two of you passionately made out. Theon moved his hands to you ass and let his fingers graze against your hole.

You were unfamiliar with his action as you had never experienced it before but let Theon continue. He slowly started pushing his finger inside you, making you audibly gasp against his lips at the feeling of being streched out. ”That’s right relax” Theon instructed.

Once he added next finger he did it more hastily, making you yelp quietly. Theon let out a small chuckle ”Such a warm nice cunt for me to fuck” Theon said before shoving in a third finger.

Theon then stood up on his knees, he grabbed you and positioned you on all fours, ass spread out in front of him. He spit in to his own hand rubbing it on his manhood. ”I’m gonna take you like a real lord would” Theon said which you wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a warning.

Theon didn’t waste any time and started pushing his rockhard cock inside your virgin hole, making you groan, feeling yourself be filled. ”Fuck your tight around my cock” Theon said pleasureably sheathing himself fully inside you.

Before you had time to adjust he snapped his hips forwards thrusting into you making you release a small cry. ”Was this what he had meant? Was this how lords fucked their wives?” you thought to yourself.

Theon grabbed your hips and started setting a pace a his hips thrust against your ass. His raw cock forcing your walls to stretch, you released several whines as Theon roughly plowed in to you. ”Fuck Theon, you’re so big” you said through your pained but pleasured moans.

Theon grabbed your head as he pounded your ass saying ”What would your steward father say? Seeing his son deflowered by Eddard’s Stark ward like some common whore”. As he thrusted as hard in to you as his body would let him.

”Maybe i should go get him after this and make him come look at his son’s cum stained body” Theon said cockily. You however couldn’t answer him as you had your face pressed against the matress moaning endlessly from the ecstasy of Theon’s cock fucking you.

”Maybe i should start coming by every night and make good use of your cunt and fill you with my seed” he suggested, his thrusts rocking your bed back and forth. ”Shame you can’t have my bastards” he added.

From the endless groans to the creaking bed, you hoped no one could hear you getting your virginity fucked out of you by Theon. You felt your own cock twitching getting close to your orgasm. ”I’m gonna cum” you moaned. And soon after your load dripped down on the sheets below.

Theon kept plowing in to you for several minutes, claiming your ass as his. Sweat glazed his and your body as the room had gotten hot and damp. He grunted and uttered a satisfied ”I’m gonna fill you with my cum”.

With one last rough thrust Theon shoved his manhood deep inside you, his cock erupting staining your innocene with his warm seed. He then pulled out of you with a smirk, seeing his cum leak out of puckered hole and running down your legs. You collapsed on to the matress below in exhaustion.

Theon was just about to get ready to leave but he couldn’t leave you like this. He covered your nakedness under the covers and blankets. He then started getting dressed and before he left planted a kiss on your forehead saying ”You were so good to me, Y/n, better than any common whore, you were divine”. He then gave you a last kiss before he left your bed chambers with a smirk and a feeling of satisfaction, and maybe even a little bit of love.

[kitnjon]

I will be forever glad I was a Jonsa in 2019. The fics were truly the best thing to come out of season 8.

Do you have a season 8 fic recommendations??

Yeah those fics really helped us after the trauma d&d put us through right? I started reading jonsa fics around the same time to get over S8 ending. I had read a lot of S8 fix it fics back then but didnt have ao3 account so unfortunately I don't have many of them bookmarked :( Sharing a few I can recall reading and was able to find.

they tumble down by thimbleful

He meets her gaze for the shortest moment before turning to look out over the woods, gesturing at it with a gloved hand. “Is this why you brought me here? To talk about memories?” “No. I wanted to talk about marriage.” When Sansa suggests it's time for her and Jon to marry, she means they should make marriage alliances with the other Northern houses. Jon, though, assumes she means they should marry each other. A post s7 story where Jon and Sansa struggle to navigate their new political landscape while suppressing their feelings for one another, Arya does everything in her power to protect her pack, and Bran and Sam try to figure out how to kill the Night King.

2. intentions of gold (with my plans) by @jonsaslove

this is a series of one shots that follow a loose season 8 au. each episode has a fic and it works under the premise that Jon and Sansa orchestrated political!jon back in season 7 and planned to have him manipulate Daenerys into coming north.

3. victory is in my veins (oh ye of so little faith) by Lady_Alice

“Jon,” Sansa says quietly, her hands twisting together in front of her. “Tell me the truth. Do you love her?” He starts, eyes widening. “Love her?” That’s all the confirmation she needs, but Jon rushes onward, stepping closer to her, hands outstretched and voice nervous, reassuring, as if he were a husband swearing to his wife that he loves only her. “Sansa, no, no, gods, after this, I hope I never have to see her again.” // The Season 8 we deserved. (and that the characters deserved) (yeah i'll die mad about s8, sue me)

4. and no net ensnares me by thimbleful

Since Jon left, Sansa has struggled to keep things together and she longs for his return. However, when he does return things only become worse. Jon learns about his parentage and doesn't know how to make sense of anything, how to fix the inevitable mess the reveal will create, or how to protect the people he loves. But at least, after all these years, the pack is finally back together. Then, one day, Sansa disappears. Post season 7 fic.

5. such simple words (such a complicated truth) by thimbleful

"You don’t have the right name to make men rally behind you, you don’t have any armies nor land or a castle or--” “No, but I do.” Sansa drops her necklace and Jon shifts in his seat to get away from the twisting sensation in his stomach. He knows where this is going: his depraved dreams come true under the worst possible circumstances. Jon and Sansa get married and consummate that marriage. That's it. That's the fic.

6. what do you want (that you do not have) by thimbleful

When the Winterfellians learn that Cersei has hired men to kidnap Sansa, they decide that Sansa needs to run away and Jon volunteers to protect her. During their travels the tension builds between them--especially after Jon suffers an injury and they're taken in by an older couple. Because, in hopes of protecting their identities, Jon and Sansa have to pretend to be happily married and in love. Every day. In close quarters. For quite some time. Takes place after the war against the NK is won. Not a kidnapping fic.

7. soldier, go bravely on by @missfaber

King's Landing is ash. The game is revealed. Jon Snow faces the consequences of his choices. Daenerys Targaryen seeks subservience from all. Sansa Stark will not go quietly. Westeros hangs in the balance. + an alternate ending for Game of Thrones. 8.x06 fix-it fic

8. we are buried in broken dreams by @writerbri-archive

Prompt: Sansa and Jon sleeping together before he goes to Dragonstone and when he comes back he finds out she is pregnant. A full on s8 fix-it fic at this point.

9. A Time for Wolves by missgreeneinthlibrary

Winter was coming. Now it's here. Season 8 reimagined with a Jonsa twist.

[silver-inked-quill]

Lost in the North

Ch. 1 Lions in the snow

Summary: Robb's twin sister has widowed a few months after her marriage to a young lord in the North. Since there was no heir she returned to her birth-home.

Pairing: Jamie Lannister x reader, Theon Greyjoy x reader (it is yet to be decided)

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: General Game of Thrones warnings🙄

“Y/N!” my mother exclaimed- her voice toned with pure panic as she was preparing the castle for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon, friend of my father’s but still the King of the seven realms along with the house Lannister.

“Yes mother?” I responded loud enough as I moved to the main dining room.

“Please do see that Arya is properly dressed- and aid Sansa with her own dress.” She spoke and I looked at her. “Oh and please tell the boys to shave- be presentable as well.” Her gaze rather apologetic, she never really enjoyed burdening me with the matters of our household ever since my return from White Harbor- Barely married to young Lord Manderley who passed before we have been together for a moon. No heir- No nothing just the first born daughter of House Stark in a foreign land with no heir. My father claimed me back and cancelled our wedding. I loved my husband but the 7 gods had different plans for my future and his.

I paced down the balcony, my eyes searching for my brothers, they were by the targets. My twin Rob, always followed by Jon Snow-my father’s bastard- and by Theon Greyjoy, my father’s ward. Bran huffed, another missed arrow, I noticed a galore of them stuck everywhere but the target. Jon kneeled and tried to tutor him and I smiled. Arya rose out of nowhere grabbed the bow and pulled the string releasing an arrow straight at the target’s center. I saw Arya chime and the boys make gentle fun of Bran as my father came and stood by me.

“Fine little beast your daughter has become.” I commented as he stood by me leaned in the railing, I could see the pride flair up his eyes as he looked down at his boys- no at his children. “Reminds of another fine beast that used to run around my feet with her braids and play with bows and arrows instead of dolls.” He commented and I chuckled looking at him “At least one of your daughters turned out to be a proper lady.” I said still smiling as I stared back at the targets. “You turned out to be a proper lady… and you can stab an arrow within an arrow too.” My father spoke, his voice gentle like he snow falling upon our roof. “How do you know I can do that?” I laughed and asked, I felt eight again and he would tell me stories and convince me and my twin that they were true.

“I can see it in your eyes- they shine when you see something you enjoy and you exceed at.” He said, his voice poetic- too poetic. “Oddly specific thing the glint of my eyes told you…” I laughed at him, it was a rare thing for me the years passed. “We were exchanging ravens with Lord Manderley, concerned how your stay at the White Harbor was- he mentioned that you were quiet the archer… Why don’t you show your siblings off?” My father asked me, his smile apparent- one only his family could see.

“You want me to boast? Father are you feeling alright?” I asked him laughing. “Yes- However, love, it doesn’t hurt to boast on boasters.” He commented and pointed at my siblings and then kissed my forehead as climbed down with a swift motion snatching the bow from Arya.

“Didn’t know you could handle a bow sister?”  Robb looked stunned as he saw me take an arrow from Bran’s quiver.

“You do not know many things Robb.” I turned at him gently pressing him and Jon to take a step back. They stared at each other for a moment.

“In the Iron Islands, it is common for women to fight.” Theon commented and opened the way. “I was surprised to see in the North there aren’t such habit.” He said.

“We honor tradition here” I said and pulled the string. “But women here are allowed to have hobbies…” I smiled and as I breathed out I let the arrow go, It flew to the one Arya shot at the target making it tear in half.

“Did you see that?! she is better than all of you three combined!” Bran exclaimed and hugged my waist looking up at me. “Me too- You will teach me first!” Arya exclaimed crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“No- it is me, I should learn first” Bran huffed pointing at Arya.

“That was impressive Y/N.” Jon spoke and smiled at me.

“It was- alright” Theon spoke and looked at me and then at Robb.

“What happened, feeling overshadowed?” Robb spoke and placed an arm around my shoulders. His voice mocking but no real meaning behind his words.

“Oh- you should feel overshadowed too Robb.” I chuckled and patted his cheek. “However brilliant my archery is- I am here as a bearer of bad news… The lot of you has to shave before the arrival of the King… and even more unfortunately for me- I have to dress you up Arya…” I smiled and looked at her eyes, she really despised them dresses and gowns.

“No… Not happening.” She exclaimed and she attempted to flee but with a spinning motion Robb caught her like. “We do not like it either” Jon smiled and ruffled her hair and I gently took her hand leading her to her room.

~

Not many hours passed. Bran’s voice exclaimed that the King was arriving. I chuckled as Mother was outraged that Bran was climbing again at the wall… Sansa and Robb were already close to my father as my mother guided Bran and I bore Rickon’s hand as he soon left me to go next to my mother. Arya appeared wearing a helmet. I heard Jon’s chuckle from behind… He always stood behind us with Theon.

The kind arrived, the stag and the lion banners stood next to the ones of the direwolf. We bowed as King Robert Baratheon who stood before us. He signed us to rise and we did. “You grew fatter.” Robert commented staring at my father’s grim face. The grim in his gaze was unbearable but his lips tugged nodding “You too your Grace.” He said and after an exclamation of joy he hugged ny father and then my mother.

“you are a handsome future lord.” Robert said and shook my twins hand. “And what is your name?” “Arya, your grace.” His gaze shifted to Sansa “You are a pretty one” he giggled before he ceased his movements standing before me. I swallowed staring at his blanked gaze. I knew what I reminded him of and it made me feel bizarre. My father’s face hardened and the Queen looked at me in despise “You look just-.” He was to say but then Bran got his glare. “And you- you will be a knight! Show me those muscles!” Bran flexed and I smiled my glare lowered to the floor.

~

They all gathered at the main ballroom to have the feast and once the formalities came to an end. I fled the room and went to the cellars first taking a skin of ale, as I stumbled upon the imp. “Lady Stark- or is it Mandreley.” He asked me and I raised my eyebrows. “What are you doing down here lord Lannister?” I asked him and looked down at him. “Same as you I assume- seeking comfort in the warmth of alcohol… However it isn’t suitable for a lady to drink alone now is it- It could be scandalous.” Tyrion Lannister commented. “But then again you are a widow- one in grief can do as they wish.” He added and I simply walked alone up on the wall, there was this small spot- it allowed me to have the greatest view- one painters could never draw and bards could never sing about. I simply sat there and drank from the skin- it tasted horribly but my mind was at peace.

“I love coming up here as well- All the times I would think of my father and the Iron islands I would come here.” Theon came from behind me and leaned in the stone railings I was seated upon.

“My father treated you better than yours.” I told him and drunk down the ale. “But you are rather ungrateful and bitter.” I spoke

“I am bitter because Ned is not my father…” Theon spoke “I do feel affection for this family- I was only ten when I was brought here. You Rob and Jon- you treated me no different than you treated each other- I always loved you a bit more than the other two you know- you showed more compassion which is normal- you are a girl—a woman now. It pained me to see you in tears Y/N… It always has.” Theon spoke and I looked at him with a small smile.

“Are you confessing you have feelings towards me Theon?” I asked with a small laughter hiding behind my voice as I turned to look at him and he didn’t respond he simply grasped the ale and drunk it down.

“I always hoped to be for you- I know I am a lord without a kingdom. I admire you Y/N- your compassion your skill” He smiled and kissed my knuckles gently as he looked at me and left with no other word.

“Ah… scandals of the North I always enjoyed seeing the word and the lady of the late Lord Manderley with the hostage ward of the Iron Islands. I thought North was about honor.” I heard a voice yet unknown to me.

“Sir Jamie Lannister is it…” I turned around “And what would a kings guard wished wandering on our wall.” I made the question towards him.

“Lady Y/N Stark second of her name… And yet you steal kings words just like the first of your name did” The knight responded.  “They say you take after your aunt Y/N, in looks and spirits” He added, his voice smooth and mocking.

“I am alike her in both you have heard correct.” I said and looked at him. “Therefore I bet my twin brother wouldn’t enjoy hearing your manner sir… Just like you do not enjoy insult when it comes to the Queen’s name…” I smiled and looked at him. “It’s a twin thing isn’t it… But then again, some twins are closer than others.”

Jamie Lannister’s face didn’t shift as if it was okay for me to say those things. “Watch your sharp tongue Lady Stark.” He smiled.

“Or- Will you threaten me Jamie Lannister- inside my home, for noticing how much you love your sister.” I smiled and leaned in, I could smell his perfume and sweat.

“You are a bittersweet thing Y/N Stark. I have never fucked another’s twin…” He spoke and I didn’t flinch, I maintained the eye-contact. “Interesting, I bet the Queen would be most delighted to hear of your new discovering appetite.” I said and he stared at me for some good moments. He was handsome- too handsome and my heart was racing as if I was running for my life. Perhaps I was. “Is that a threat, lady?” he asked and I smiled “It is a reaction followed by an action.” I smiled and then stood up making my leave.

Hey there gentle reader , First i would like to thank you for reaching this point and reading my fanfiction. I wish to know your opinion on it as a whole and on a more flaming matter- Jamie Lannister or Theon Greyjoy? I mean i think she has connection with both and quiet some chemistry too but please i need you to enlighten me... Yours, silvermist

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU Concept #1: Bran

One little post-Halloween treat: the first 1Kish words of Restoration AU, aka the "what if Resonant Daemon, Jon, and Rhaegar wake up with their dragons in Jon's universe, just after the Stark kids get their direwolves?"

I decided to go with Jon and Rhaegar being together at Winterfell, separated from Daemon (who is suddenly in the Vale), rather than splitting all three of them up. The last thing any of them remember before getting reverse summerhalled (aka winterfelled) is visiting...Winterfell. The twins are around ten-years-old here, and the hatchlings are roughly horse-sized--technically rideable, but they'd fatigue quickly.

x~x~x

It was Bran who spotted the strange light to the southeast, from atop the towers he was constantly scolded for climbing. It was mid-morning, the sun bright and glinting off the late summer snow, but this light outshone even that, forcing him to squint, his eyes tearing up. It winked a few times, dimmer each time, like a candle sputtering out, and then faded.

Bran continued staring in that direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of what might have caused the glint. Magic, he thought to himself with a mix of dread and delight, before frowning. Magic existed only in stories, Father was always reminding him, like the ones Old Nan would tell.

Bran’s focus was rewarded after a minute when he saw several dark shapes moving at the edge of the wolfswood, two large and two small. Men with horses, he thought at first, but the larger shapes started to rise, form elongating, until they looked like distant ravens.

But they are too big, Bran thought, puzzled. They disappeared into the forest, but the other shapes remained, small dots in the vast expanse of snow. Someone needed to be told, and he struggled to decide who. Father would think it his imagination, as would Jory.

Jon, he decided finally. Jon and Robb.

His brothers might tease him, especially if the distant forms turned out to be wild animals, but they would be curious enough to go looking. They might even let him come along. Bran was just as good on his pony now as Arya on her horse, and he had seen a man beheaded under the king’s justice. He stole one last look at the edge of the wolfswood, just to be sure the two men—it must be men, he decided, perhaps even wildlings—were still there.

They were.

Bran made one stop along the way to seek out his brothers, visiting his direwolf pup in his bedchamber. He had put on weight in the week since the direwolves had been brought back to Winterfell, the six littermates having been accepted at the teats of Rodrik’s red bitch. His eyes had not yet opened, but Bran eagerly checked each day, secretly hoping that they were red, like Ghost’s.

Bran carried the sleepy pup to the kennels, where he crawled over to suckle at one of the open teats of his canine wetnurse. He stroked the top of the pup’s head, watching him wriggle happily in response, and then bounded out of the kennels. On his way to his bedchamber, he had spotted Robb and Jon in the yard, doing trick shots with their bows.

Bran waited until they had exhausted their arrows and gone to retrieve them, then moved to help. Jon gave him a small smile as Bran handed him one of his arrows, his brother’s silent way of thanking him.

“I saw something by the wolfswood,” he said to him, voice hushed. “While I was up on the tower. I think—” He hesitated. If he said that it was wildlings, then his brothers might not let him come, but he did not want to lie to Jon, either. Only he didn’t know for sure what it was, Bran reminded himself. “It might have been elk, or a boar.”

He had heard Father talking about the king’s upcoming visit, and that the king liked to hunt, and that they would need to select the best hunting grounds.

Jon studied him quietly, the way Father sometimes did when he thought he might be lying, but Robb had overheard and nudged their brother. “If we scout worthy game for the king’s hunt, Father will thank us.”

“Is that so?” Jon asked, lifting a skeptical brow. “Admit it, Stark, you’re bored.”

“I am bored,” Robb agreed, his smile unabashed. “And I could do with some air.”

“I want to go with you,” Bran said, squaring his shoulders. “I saw it. I can show you where.” As they continued to hesitate, he added, “It is not very far!”

“I see no harm in it,” Robb said finally. “So long as you do exactly as we tell you.”

Bran gave an earnest nod. “I will!”

Jory was informed of their planned excursion, and the captain gave his blessing—so long as he accompanied them. It was better than being denied, Bran decided eventually, swallowing his disappointment at not getting to do something adventurous with just his brothers. The last summer snow had melted enough that they were able to venture out on horses, and Bran settled eagerly onto his pony, directing the group toward where he had last seen the strange figures.

About half a mile from the edge of the wolfswood, Bran caught sight of the figures again, pointing them out to Jon, who nodded and did the same to Robb and Jory. They were men, Bran thought now, and he wondered if they were wildlings too, from beyond the Wall. Bran found himself ushered to the back of the horses as they proceeded slowly for another minute or two.

“Children,” Jory said, sounding startled. “Two of them.”

Bran tried to peer around Robb’s horse, but it was difficult. Their pace quickened again, and after another minute, they had reached the wolfswood, finally close enough to the children for Jory to call out a greeting, which was returned warily.

Bran was allowed to pull his pony alongside Jon’s to look at them. They weren’t wildling children, he was somewhat disappointed to find, their clothing fine—though not well suited to the cold north. The other children were huddled together, shivering, and Bran felt sorry for them.

They were older than Bran, and maybe older than Arya too, but not by much. They were both staring at Jon, who was staring back at them, and Bran realized why after he looked closer at them. One had dark hair like Jon’s, though worn longer, and he looked like he could be his brother—one of their brothers. The other had hair so light it almost blended into the snow, pulled back into a long braid. Bran had thought he might be a girl at first, but he wore a knife sheath at his belt, which meant he couldn’t be.

Jory had dismounted to approach, while Robb whispered quietly to Jon, “Siblings of yours, Snow?”

Bran studied them with even more interest, uncertain what Robb meant. Robb dismounted as well, following after Jory, who had removed his cloak to offer it to the other children. “Who might you be, lads?”

“Jon,” said the boy who looked like Jon, which made things even more confusing. He scooted closer to the other boy, wrapping the cloak around them both. “And this is my twin brother, Raymar.”

[jaimexbrienne-fic-finder]

Do you have any good recs for fics inspired by films?

This is just off the top of my head, if anyone can think of any others please add them!

Right Off the Bat by hillaryschu

to be read in 90s Movie Trailer RomCom Voice

Meet Jaime. He used to be the most infamous player in Major League baseball but a career-ending injury brought him back into the family business. He hates it. What he doesn’t hate is coaching the best Little League team in Kings Landing.

Meet Brienne. After her father’s death, she left behind a successful career in women’s competitive fastpitch to start over. She’s trying to balance life and love in a new city, all while coaching a down-and-out Little League team.

In a world where everyone is looking to connect, Jaime and Brienne discover the best way to meet someone is to never meet at all. What they don’t realize, is that they already have.

This fanfic exchange season, follow along with Brienne and Jaime as they take to one another on Twitter and battle on the ballfield. Then find out what happens when those worlds collide.

(a You’ve Got Mail AU)

Vows by theworldunseen

Jaime Lannister profiles the most interesting and romantic weddings in the country for his super popular blog, The only problem? His own heart has been stomped on, and it might have ruined weddings for him forever. When he finds out about a woman who’s going to be in her twenty-seventh wedding party, he thinks writing about her might be his way back to loving weddings. But Brienne Tarth isn’t anything he ever expected.

Inspired by 27 Dresses

Battle is the Great Redeemer by Lady_in_Red

Jaime Lannister dies in a tunnel under the Red Keep, and wakes up days earlier at Winterfell. And then it happens again. And again. But he's not the first to live the same battle over and over again. Arya Stark, the slayer of the Night King, went through it first in the Battle of Winterfell.

Edge of Tomorrow AU

A Big Cop in a Small Town by SeeThemFlying

When Brienne Tarth, a tough London copper, is forced to move to a sleepy town in Somerset to be their new police sergeant, she is partnered with Jaime Lannister, who is not happy about the whole deal. However, things are not what they seem in Casterly, and Brienne and Jaime end up uncovering a conspiracy bigger than anything they were ever anticipating.

A bit of ridiculous, murderous fun to help us all forget about Series 8!

References to a certain 2007 buddy cop comedy abound.

Hot Fuzz AU

The Ice Cream Anthology by SeeThemFlying

A series of unconnected and semi-connected Jaime/Brienne fics based on various films starring Simon Pegg:

1) "A Big Cop in A Small Town" - Hot Fuzz (2007) - Complete 2) "Woman Up" - Man Up (2015) - Complete 3) "Run, Fat Knight, Run" - Run, Fatboy, Run (2007) - Complete 4) "Lannister and Tarth" - Burke and Hare (2010) - Complete 5) "A Good Knight Sleep" - The Good Night (2007) - Complete 6) "Zombie Horror Hordes" - Shaun of the Dead (2004) - Complete 7) "Many Flavours of Ice Cream" - A Series of One Shots drawn from the ICA universes - WIP

the time of my life by djelibeybi

When Brienne arrives in King's Landing for the first time, she expects two tedious months of uncomfortable gowns, embroidering with the queen, and her father's failed attempts at matchmaking. She does not expect the Kingslayer secretly teaching her to joust, under cover of darkness, so that she can compete as him in the king's nameday tourney. And she definitely does not expect to fall in love with him.

Dirty Dancing AU

With All Your Faults by sea_spirit

In 1943, small-town slugger Brienne Tarth is recruited to play for Tywin Lannister’s newest business venture: the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. There, she meets Jaime, a maimed former Major League pitcher who’s been talked into managing one of his father’s teams. She can't stand her arrogant coach, and he is definitely not interested in his annoyingly principled star player. They don't like each other at all, really...until they do.

Loosely inspired by "A League of Their Own," with slightly less baseball and lots more love story.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Arya Stark Masterlist

To join my taglist

Kinktober 2023-2024

Requests: Open

Arya Stark:

Aesthetic:

One Shots:

Requests:

[sare11aa11eras]

I know I post intermittently abt the basketball AU of ASOIAF that lives in my head rent free but anyways the women’s college basketball season in the US just ended and I really do have some thoughts:

Sansa Stark 6’3” and kind of stacked she SHOULD be a post player but has never once driven to the basket in her LIFE. Somehow manages to make up for this in sheer volume of 3 pointers. Keeps getting compared to her mom who was the most terrifying power forward you ever saw in the Riverlands 20-something years ago despite the fact that there is almost nothing in common with their game styles.

Arya Stark, guard, has a really sweet mid-range game that everyone always forgets about but she’s got like 18 points in 28 min, makes about 5 steals a game. Unfortunately, gets in foul trouble. Keeps getting compared to Jon which drives her nuts.

Robb, went to the Westerosi National Basketball League at like 18, but before the championship game, the coach of an opposing team got a second coach to get players to deliberately injure him during a game. Somehow he got called for a technical foul on this. Ended his career in professional sports.

Dany, 5’6”, floor general and sharpshooter. Regularly beats defenders with more than half a foot on her to rebounds. Plays internationally full-time but her highlight reels still end up on Westerosi ESPN bc her family was at one point a dynasty in the basketball world. 90% of her instagram page is her with her three lizards.

Brienne is the Post Player’s Post Player— always boxes out, gets the rebound, blocks shots, drives etc, impeccable footwork. And then she also hits from distance and can guard. Cersei, the aging vet on the Lannisport Lions, wants her dead for once committing SEVEN blocks on her in a game when she was a rookie. Currently coached by Cat for the Riverlands Fighting Trout. There is a not insignificant fanbase of lesbians who want her to crush their heads with her thighs online but she is tragically into disgraced ex-Lions player Jaime Lannister who keeps bumming around the Riverlands for unclear reasons.

<insert that one post about Aeron Greyjoy as a basketball player here>

Jon Snow has been fouled out of games with technicals. He has never made a basket apart from a fast break layup or a free throw— except for like, two separate years??? where he got his team to the semifinals through a buzzer beater logo 3????? Somehow the undisputed defensive player of the year, the most universally loathed player in his conference, beloved by his own team, and a guy who once went viral for a video of him crying on his girlfriend after HER team lost while she just sort of patted his head.

[whateverthedragonswant]

Rewatching 8x05 for writing reasons, which is just a brilliant episode, despite any reasons some might have to hate it, valid or invalid. Miguel Sapochnik is directing and you see his talent and epicness in every shot (that man deserves a freaking Emmy already, I said what I said) but also there are so many things being shown here that if you muted the episode after Daenerys makes her decision, during the battle scene, you would be able to tell exactly what each character is thinking and what's really going on in the story besides the surface action.

Which brings me to that one scene that a lot of people said the woman being attacked as a stand-in for Sansa in the episode for Jon. They are correct and here's how.

Jon is walking through the melee, only coming to life to defend himself when Lannister soldiers are trying to attack him. The Northerners aren't listening to him, they're attacking innocent civilians, Grey Worm is on a killing spree, Davos is trying to help people get away from the bloodshed, Dany is burning the city, Tyrion is off somewhere horrified, Cersei is watching in terror from the Red Keep... But during this scene, the sound is muted to a point where the sounds of battle happening all around Jon sound very far away. We're now seeing what Jon sees, we're in his shock fugue with him. We see on his left civilians, namely women, being brutalized by soldiers -> he keeps walking. We on his right a woman being knocked down to the ground while a child is watching in horror, blood spatter and bodies all around her (and obviously traumatized & also in danger herself since no one is left to protect her) -> he keeps walking. He then sees a Lanniser soldier telling people to run, something his soldiers should be doing (and something he himself should be doing like Davos) but he's not. While the sounds are still muted, Jon notices another Lannister soldier about to rush him and he goes into autopilot & fights the soldier off. He then looks around in horror.

This is not what he signed up for and he almost looks lost, like he doesn't know what to do. Then the sound comes back fully and he hears a scream. In all of the melee, chaos, and death around him, he hears this one woman above the rest and turns to see her being dragged into an alley to presumably be assaulted by one of his own men.

Sure enough, she's about to be and she is trying to crawl away when the man catches her again. Jon ends up saving her, threatening to run his sword through the man. When the latter tries to fight him off to go back to assault this woman, Jon kills him and tells the woman to hide.

So how is this woman standing in for Sansa besides the obvious?

Two ways.

1) Ramsay was the former Warden of the North, the former bastard of Roose Bolton who was a Northerner who "served" Robb Stark, the first King in the North, before betraying him to the Lannisters. The soldier Jon faces off with is a Northerner and is supposed to be under Jon's command as Warden of the North and the former second King in the North.

2) Sansa is who stirs Jon into action when he feels lost.

Every.

Time.

And the parallels between the gif above with Dany and the dagger to the Northern soldier that had Jon's sword run through him, and Jon's staring almost sadly at the man, realizing he had to kill one of his own are far from being coincidental.

Not only was this a precursor to what would occur in 8x06 (and why Jon would make the decision he did) but it also is symbolic of the dynamic between Jon and Sansa as a whole. She's the one who stirs him into action, no matter how terrified or traumatized or angry he might be in that moment (like the shock fugue). No matter how lost he might feel. She gives him direction and dare I say a purpose when he has none (after his death; after the WW are defeated & Dany has gone into tyrant mode).

No wonder we weren't allowed to see Sansa's (or Arya's) reaction to the news of his being a Targaryen.

No wonder Jon told Melisandre not to bring him back if he lost the Battle of the Bastards (after Sansa told him if he lost, she wouldn't be going back to Ramsay alive).

No wonder Jon was not happy with Sansa on the dock in 8x06.

She's always stirred him into action when he doesn't want to be or know how to do it himself (after his death).

He passed a woman he could have saved.

He passed a child he could have helped.

He saw someone on the other side helping and doing the right thing.

The only time he steps in to help someone else is the woman about to be assaulted.

(x) "You are the shield that guards the realms of men. You've always tried to do the right thing. No matter the cost. You've tried to protect people. Who's the greatest threat to the people now?" (no reaction)

"Do you think I'm the last man she'll execute? Who is more dangerous than the rightful heir to the Iron Throne?" (no reaction)

"And your sisters? Do you see them bending the knee?" (a little bit of a reaction)

"Why do you think Sansa told me the truth about you? Because she doesn't want Dany to be queen." (more of a reaction)

"No, but you do. And you have to choose now." (he hesitatingly goes to confront Dany and then 🗡️)

It's not just about her being his "sister" or because she's Lady Stark or family or because they were the last two Starks once upon a time. She literally stirs him into action and gives him purpose. Her pushing to go back to Winterfell led to him caring about the WW invasion again. Her being the one he chooses to protect ended a tyrant and changed history, leading for her to become the first Queen in the North and regain Northern Independence, where she can be forever safe.

It was always Sansa for him, starting in 6x04.

[inkandarsenic]

these hollow empty spaces (2)

“do what is right, not what is easy.”

Synopsis: The youngest daughter of Tywin Lannister refuses to stand idly by, and the currents of fate shift.

Pairing: Robb Stark x Lannister!OC

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers but like enemies more in the political sense

Pt. 2

masterlist | previous | next

Jaime was outside her door at precisely the moment people were beginning to gather for the feast. Eleyna rolled her eyes but took his arm.

“I am perfectly capable of making my way down to the Great Hall myself, you know,” she told him, exasperated amusement coloring her tone.

“And let the opportunity to escort my beautiful little sister pass me by?” Jaime shot back. He glared at a passing serving boy who dared to look at Eleyna for longer than a second. “Say the word, sister, and I’ll walk you in just as originally planned.”

“You would risk offending our hosts and go against Cersei’s wishes?” Jaime said nothing. They both knew he wouldn’t go against Cersei for Eleyna. His protectiveness of his younger sister knew one bound — his twin. “I thought not.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Jaime handed her off to Robb Stark with a warning glare that made the man swallow hard, and Eleyna sighed, pushing at her brother’s shoulder until he joined Tyrion.

“My apologies for my brother, my lord,” she said quietly as she took his arm. The pale gold of her dress sleeve was a nice contrast to the dark grey of Robb’s shirt. “He is… protective. I’m sure you understand, what with having four younger siblings yourself.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “It’s no harm done, my lady, I understand completely. And please, call me Robb.” He quirked half a grin and tilted his head toward her. “If we’re to be friends, we should drop the formalities, don’t you think?”

“Oh, we’re to be friends, are we?” Eleyna raised an amused eyebrow and Robb’s grin grew. She’d been right — it lit up his face. “Rather forward of you to assume.”

“Well, your nephew has just been betrothed to my sister,” Robb said logically. “We’ll be family someday. We ought to be friendly, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong,” Eleyna conceded. Robb’s grin grew a little smug. The doors opened, Lord Stark began to walk Cersei in, and Robb and Eleyna took their place behind Robert and Lady Stark. Eleyna hummed thoughtfully as they entered the Great Hall, then nodded once. “Call me Eleyna, then. If we’re to be friends, that is.”

Robb walked her to her seat and leaned down to be heard over the noise of the feast. “Enjoy the feast, Eleyna.”

She watched him go — only looking away when he took his own seat and she risked being caught — and pointedly did not acknowledge Tyrion's smirk and Jaime's disgruntled expression.

****

Arya complained the entire way to the Great Keep about having to leave the feast early. Robb did the responsible older brother thing and pointed out that if she wanted to stay, perhaps she shouldn’t have thrown food at Sansa, and really, she wasn't missing much by leaving now. All this earned him was a glare, but Arya was at least in her room and he himself could return to the festivities.

A flash of gold caught his eye, and he turned to it instinctively.

Eleyna Lannister, with her golden-brown hair and her golden dress, was walking in the courtyard, a handmaiden trailing several feet behind her. He changed course and joined her. “Y’weren’t enjoying the feast, then, Eleyna?”

“I enjoyed it just fine, Robb,” she replied. He liked the way his name sounded, in her softly accented voice. “I just wanted some air. And quiet, before I retire for the night.” She shot him a vaguely amused look. “You Northerners are very…”

“Loud?”

Eleyna hummed airily. “I was going to say high-spirited, but yes, loud works, too.”

Robb laughed. “You’ll have to forgive us if we got carried away, it’s not often we host a king and his family.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Eleyna replied. “Robert frequently holds feasts in the Red Keep, and they are frequently boisterous affairs. I suppose I’m just not quite used to them, even after two years.” She shrugged, a somehow distinctly ladylike movement Robb rather thought Sansa would be jealous of. “I grew up in Casterly Rock, where things were… quieter. It was just myself, my uncle Kevan, my father and my brother Tyrion for most of my childhood.”

Robb cast another glance at her. A late summer snow was beginning to flurry through the air, and Eleyna had snowflakes in her hair. “The queen and the kingsla-Ser Jaime didn’t visit often?”

Her eyes flicked to him briefly — she’d definitely caught the slip. “No. They stayed in King’s Landing.”

“What of your mother?”

“She died when I was young.”

"Ah.” Robb cursed himself mentally — what a way to bring the mood down. "My condolences."

"It's fine," she said, waving it away. “It was years ago, and I hardly remember her."

Robb frowned. Something about that didn’t seem genuine. "My condolences anyway."

There was a pause during which he got the distinct impression that he’d surprised her, before she said a soft, "Thank you."

A sharp wind blew through the courtyard and Robb used Eleyna’s slight shiver to change the topic. “It’s cold out tonight. Let me walk you back to your room, my lady.” At her raised eyebrow, he amended his statement with a sheepish smile and an offered arm. “Eleyna. Please.”

The conversation flowed easily as they made their way unhurried to the guest house. Robb had almost worried it would be made awkward by his bringing up her mother, but thank the gods, it hadn’t been. He liked Eleyna, he was realizing — she was pretty and engaging, she was easy to talk to, he liked the bemused expression she wore when he said something particularly flirtatious, he liked her westerlands accent, he even liked the way she sometimes smiled like she was simply indulging him. In another life, he imagined, one where he wasn’t Ned Stark’s son and she wasn’t Tywin Lannister’s daughter, he would be asking his father to petition Lord Tywin for her hand.

By the time Robb actually made it back to the Great Hall, nearly an hour after he’d left with Arya, his mind was stuck on snowflakes melting in honeyed curls and a soft, faintly amused smile.

****

Her footsteps echoed through the halls of the Red Keep.

Every highborn lord and lady in the city — and a good number of the smallfolk at that — was attending the Hand's tourney. Eleyna herself was meant to be there, to support Jaime and represent House Lannister as the heir apparent, but a quiet fury had been burning in her blood ever since she'd been allowed to see her father's ledgers — so much gold and resources sunk into the Iron Throne over the last 14 years, and none of it paid back — and the heat was only going to make her mood worse. No need to argue with Cersei in public.

"Lady Eleyna?"

She stifled a groan and turned around, polite smile in place. She'd thought the keep empty, but no, there was Ned Stark and his loyal guard, walking up on her. "Lord Stark. How lovely to see you again."

Last she'd seen him, he'd been standing alone in the courtyard of Winterfell, hollow-looking with preemptive grief for young Bran. She and a few of her guards had left a full week before the royal retinue, and Bran had been freshly comatose, but Ned Stark had still insisted on seeing her off like a proper host. The rest of the Stark family had not been present, not that she'd expected them to — Lady Stark had not left Bran's room since he'd been found, and the two Stark girls had been in their lessons along with Myrcella. Robb had withdrawn and busied himself with training and preparing to be the Lord of Winterfell, so she had not even spoken to him since Bran had been found.

"What a surprise to see you again," Lord Stark countered. "You left Winterfell for Casterly Rock so quickly, I thought you'd remain there for some time."

"Yes, well, someone was needed to support my brother Jaime for the Lannisters in an official capacity," she said, regarding him with an almost challenging expression. "What with Tyrion... otherwise occupied." Held prisoner by Lady Stark, more like. The unsaid words hung in the air for a long moment before Eleyna's expression dropped into a friendly smile. "Who better than the heir?"

"Hard to provide support from the Keep, isn't it, my lady?"

"A tourney in your name, and yet you're also in the Keep," she pointed out. Ned Stark was regarding her with a measure of suspicion she really felt was unwarranted. She shifted her expression to something more compassionate and changed the subject. "I was very pleased to hear that your son has awoken."

"Were you?" Eleyna blinked and started to frown, but Ned Stark shook his head and smiled before she could comment on his strange response. "Thank you, my lady. We are all overjoyed that Bran lives."

"Right," she nodded slowly. "And may I offer my congratulations on your appointment as Hand?"

"Likewise, for your appointment to heir." There was an odd light in his eyes as he looked at her. “I was surprised to hear you had been named Lord Tywin's heir apparent. I would have thought Lord Tyrion would have that position. He won't be upset to learn that he's been passed over?"

Eleyna's smile grew fixed. "My siblings and I have all known since I was a child that I would one day inherit Casterly Rock. It was hardly a surprise to us, but the formal acknowledgement will not endear me to my brother, no."

The odd expression hadn't faded. "You're Tywin's daughter by his second wife, aren't you? The Ashford girl that King Aerys made him take as wife?"

“Yes.”

“Maryana Ashford was said to be brown haired and brown eyed, and you…” He waved a hand in her general direction. “You seem to have inherited her traits. You look remarkably unlike your siblings.”

“I am aware. It has long been a point of contention,” Eleyna replied agreeably. Cersei and various other Lannister cousins had made her hate her coloring for many years - Cersei hated the walking reminder of Maryana, and her cousins thought it made Eleyna less of a Lannister. “Though, as I’m sure you know, I am not the only Lannister ever to not be blonde or green-eyed, rare though it may be.” She shrugged. “I cannot control the features I was born with. Ashford blood runs strong, I suppose.”

“Clearly,” Ned said flatly. “Your sister’s children certainly look Lannister to their core, though.”

“Cersei has jested more than once that Robert’s genes were used up on his natural-born children,” Eleyna said in a conspiratorial manner. “Easier to tell the trueborn from the bastards that way, she says.”

“Easier, indeed.” Ned Stark gave her a tight smile and a nod. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady.”

He walked past her down the hall, head bent toward his guard as he spoke. Eleyna watched him go, bewildered. That man could not be more different than Robert — she struggled to see how the two could have been best friends, brothers, at any point. She shook her head and turned to finally make her way out to the tournament.

****

That conversation was at the forefront of her mind as she stood with Cersei and Sansa Stark on the steps of the Sept. Had Ned Stark suspected, even then, that Joffrey wasn’t Robert’s chosen heir? “Lannister to their core,” he’d said. Had Robert told his oldest friend that he didn’t want Lannister blood on the throne?

That had to be why he’d challenged Joffrey’s right to the throne after Robert died — Robert’s dying wish, apparently, not that Cersei would let anyone believe it. Not for a second did Eleyna believe that Eddard Stark, paragon of honor, had committed treason.

Eleyna made eye contact with Ned Stark just before he confessed to a crime he didn’t commit. His eyes flicked to her left, where Sansa was smiling tremulously at her father. Eleyna’s heart sank — he knew he wasn’t getting out of this. She gave the barest nod.

Even Cersei looked shocked when Joffrey called for Lord Stark’s head — she and Varys both started trying to reason with Joffrey to no avail. Sansa started sobbing. Eleyna caught her as she started to step forward, turning the girl into her shoulder to stop her from watching.

Ned Stark’s head hit the ground.

taglist: @dipperscavern @justmymindandstuff @thecrownprincessbride

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

CHAPTER TWELVE — THE OLD GODS AND NEW.

the hands that cradled your face and tilted

it upwards to kiss your forehead, are soaked in

unfathomable amounts of blood.

but they cradled me, yes?

The flames engulfed Lyarra's body like a blanket. Her vision was hindered by thick, black smoke. She could feel the vibration of the screams surrounding her, everywhere she turned, another became more discernible. Her feet struggled to carry her weight, building into a sprint as she ran her hands along the stone walls. She was in Riverrun. At the very least, she knew that. She could recognize these walls as well as her own.

She could feel words pouring out of her mouth, frantic and desperate — and yet, they were impossible to capture. It felt as if someone else was in control of her body, pulling her strings as though she were a puppet.

All of a sudden, the screams quelled into silence. The flames dwindled, leaving only a mist-like level of smoke lingering in the air. Lyarra paused, taking in the sight. Her feet carried her forward, into a room which she could only vaguely recall being the main hall.

Just before her stood Petyr, standing tall on a pile of something she could not decipher. He was as she knew him to be. The small, thin, frail boy with wide, hopeful eyes. He turned to her with glee, and at once, her heart filled with warmth. The boy that she knew, that she loved — had returned to her. It was then, that she noticed the dagger in his hands. Memories flooded in one by one. She'd seen that dagger not long ago, in the hands of Catelyn Stark. It was Tyrion's, or so Petyr had said.

Her vision cleared, taking in the true sight before her. Petyr was coated in blood, the dagger digging into the tip of his finger as he beamed at her. As he stepped down to approach her, she noticed what he'd been standing on all that time. Piles of bodies. Each, someone that she had come to care for in her life. Lyanna, Brandon, Ned, Benjen, Her mother, Her father, Catelyn, Jon, Reyne, Arya, Sansa, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Old Nan, Wyllis, Jory, Jaime, Tyrion, Bronn, Ros, Aianna — and in the very front, Sandor. His body was charred, unburnt only on the left side of his face.

"Don't you see, Lyarra? Don't you see that this is all we have ever wanted?" Petyr, with the tone of a child, inquired. As he approached, his voice seemed to deepen — taking on a mature tilt. With each step, the boy grew — morphing into the man that she had come to know. "We don't need anyone else. Only each other. All we ever dreamt of is in our grasp, Lyarra. Don't let it go to waste."

Petyr reached forward to take her chin into his grasp, thus tainting it in the blood of her loved ones. She trembled in his hold, and yet even still, she leaned into his touch. He was warm, familiar. She tried to tell herself to move, to get away from him — but he only brought her closer. At once, pain shot through her — blossoming from her stomach. Blood began to pool, pouring out of her in waves. The dagger twisted, forcing Lyarra to look up in horror. Petyr only met her fear with a sharp grin, one bearing no concern. He pushed the dagger in deeper, leaning into her space.

With each passing second, terror and pain bled through her in equal waves. Petyr was only moving closer, with his gaze trained on her lips. Just as he moved to claim her lips as his own, she was jostled from her sleep — a heavy weight placed on her chest. She blinked blearily, taking in all that had just happened. At once, she jumped from her bed — clutching onto the figure before her.

"Don't let them get me, please," She begged, though she had yet to take the time to address who the figure was. All she knew in that moment was fear. "Don't let the flames get me. Don't let him hurt me!"

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Little Wolf. You're alright," The voice promised, now pulling her against their chest. At once, Lyarra nestled into the figure — as if she were nothing more than a child. The touch was comforting, familiar. Eventually, she drifted back to sleep — the figure's warmth still covering her, holding her close. 'I'll keep you safe,' lingered in the back of her head, as her vision faded to black once more.

Lyarra pulled Sansa's hair back, brushing it gently with the softest comb she could find. Sansa had her own handmaidens, a number of them in fact. And yet, only Lyarra was allowed near her hair before bed. The silence that stretched between the two was not an uncomfortable one, with Lyarra humming under her breath as she focused on each strand.

Sansa had only just returned from supping with the royal family. More often than not, she chose not to speak of what transpired during the evenings she spent with them. Aianna was only a few feet away, preparing Sansa's bed for rest, when a light knock echoed through the room. Lyarra stalled in her motions, nodding for Aianna to open the door.

The door shut just as quickly, a small woman stepping inside in one fluid motion. Her hair was thick, dark curls cascading down her figure. Shae, she thought. Lyarra did not know her well, but from her past evenings with Tyrion — she knew one thing. One, Tyrion Lannister was a mouthy drunk — and could not keep secrets from her if he tried — and two, she was someone of importance to the man. What she was to him, Lyarra was not certain. But, she did know that Shae was someone he cared for.

"Who are you?" Sansa questioned, sitting up at once to face the woman. Lyarra reached to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slightly with her thumb.

"I'm Shae, my lady. Your new handmaiden." Her accent was thick, and her expression gave nothing away. Even still, Lyarra felt less tense than she likely should have. Aianna, on the other hand, seemed wary — her eyes wide with distrust, as she took in the sight of her.

"I didn't know I needed a new handmaiden." Sansa glanced over her, raising a brow. "You're not from here."

Shae shook her head, meeting Lyarra's stare. Only a night prior, she had been drinking at her side — as Bronn and Tyrion attempted to sing some vulgar shanty. Silence stretched through the room once more, as Shae did not so much as blink.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to tell me what to do."

"She shouldn't have to tell you to do things, you should just do them." Aianna chimed in, narrowing her eyes. Lyarra bit her tongue to hold back a response, instead shooting the girl a light, almost wary smile.

"There will be plenty of time for that later, I'm sure." Lyarra retorted, moving at once from her niece's side. Shae did not once show any sign of recognition, but her eyes did lighten in the slightest at her approach. "Come, sit with us. We were just preparing Sansa for bed."

Shae agreed at once, taking a seat across from the pair as Lyarra attempted to coax Sansa into a state of calm once more. Shae reached out, taking a stray grape from a bowl on top of the girl's table. Aianna bristled, moving to her side in quick steps to pull it from her grasp before she could have any more.

"Have you ever been a handmaiden before?" She bit, scowling down at the woman. Shae, to her own credit, only smirked.

"Yes."

"For whom?"

"Lady Zuriff."

"Lady Zuriff?" Sansa inquired, leaning forward in curiosity. Shae grinned, reaching to take another grape from the bowl that Aianna now held. "There is no Lady Zuriff in this city."

"Then it is safe to assume that she wasn't in this city then, is it not?" Shae remarked, although her tone held no venom. Sansa went red at once, muttering under her breath.

"Well I don't know how they did things in that city, but in this city handmaidens wait on ladies — not the other way around," Aianna snapped, at once turning on her heel and marching out the door. The sudden outburst had Lyarra's gut churning in discomfort, but she swallowed it down with a smile, instructing Shae to wave it off.

"Do you want me to leave?" Shae questioned, directing her inquiry to Sansa alone. The thought gave Lyarra pause, as relief flooded through her. Someone, it seemed, had her niece's best interest at heart. It was a placating thought. Sansa shook her head, and for the remainder of the evening, the three sat in comfortable silence.

Once Sansa was tucked in, Lyarra followed behind Shae as subtly as she could manage — until the pair were safely locked in Tyrion's quarters. Unsurprisingly, Bronn was already half-drunk, with a stumbling Tyrion at his side. The pudgy man from before, Podrick — she'd learned was his name — was waving his hands frantically, trying his best to catch the man before he fell.

Just as she had the nights prior, Lyarra spent her evening drinking with the group, the sound of her sharp laughter echoing through the halls.

The following days had Lyarra scattered. Each free moment she had was spent in the brothel, buried in Petyr's paperwork. He and Tyrion were working side by side on something that she did not dare think of longer than she had to. The thought of those two men anywhere near one another was frightening enough. Tyrion was becoming increasingly comfortable in his position as Lord Hand, it seemed. Something that Lyarra couldn't help but think highly of. He seemed a fair man, one who, for once, seemed to have the best interest of the city itself in mind. Petyr later divulged the information that Tyrion was working to put Grand Maester Pycelle away, with the thought that he was behind the death of Jon Arryn.

When Lyarra asked if Petyr thought the rumor to hold any validity, he only shrugged. Something he often did when the murder of Jon Arryn came into discussion. Ros seemed to be her one comfort left, as her smile never faltered — a fact that filled her with both warmth and dread in equal measure. They both remembered their previous conversation with Petyr, where he all but threatened the woman. It stuck in her mind, never once waning when he came into view.

One night, she managed to have Ros brought to The Keep — something that took hours of pleading with Petyr to accomplish. That night, she did not do much more than drink — with Ros, Shae, Aianna, and Sansa at her side. Sansa only nervously laughed at the other women's tales, but Lyarra did take note of the light of curiosity within her eyes. For a moment, with the women surrounding her — it felt as if she had her sister back. A part of Lyanna flickered in each of them. Aianna never once took her eyes off of Shae, but she did seem to relax each time Lyarra shot her a smile.

From then on, it was easier to convince Petyr to allow Ros into The Keep. Some nights, she'd even join the group of herself, Tyrion, Bronn, and Shae. It was a strange pairing, but her wit matched each of theirs in equal measure. It was easier to face the troubles of the Red Keep with those she could trust at her side, she thought.

"You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons."

Joffrey peaked over his crossbow, looking down at Sansa through it. The girl let out another harsh cry, reaching forward to block his view. Lyarra did her best to wretch herself out of Meryn Trant's grasp, but he only dug his fingers into her shoulder deeper.

"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part. You know that, I beg you, please-"

"Ser Lancel, tell her of this outrage."

The man, Lancel, stepped out of the crowd then, going on a pointless ramble — detailing how Robb beat the Lannister forces, describing how the Northmen ate the bodies of the slain. Had Lyarra been in any other position, she would have scoffed. Sandor scowled from his position before the king, standing just out of Sansa's reach.

"Killing you would send your brother a message," Joffrey remarked, squinting down the center of his crossbow once more. Lyarra froze, meeting Sandor's gaze at once as his stare intensified. He knew what she was thinking of, before she could even act on it. Her movement was quick, as she kicked Meryn's shin, dashing forward to stand in front of her niece. Sandor did not do so much as startle, but his glare turned narrow. Meryn Trant dashed forward again to regain control of her, but the king raised a hand — cutting off the movement quickly.

"Or, perhaps, I'll send him your head. That'd be even better," Joffrey exclaimed, cocking the bow with ease. Lyarra forced herself to hold her chin high, pushing Sansa further behind herself. She felt herself tremble, only clenching her chin tighter to avoid falling apart at the seams. Joffrey could easily kill her now, with Sansa quick to follow. All of this would have been for nothing. The crowd would jeer, as they mocked her traitorous corpse.

"But my mother insists on keeping you both alive," He snarled, reluctantly laying the crossbow back down at his side. "Stand."

Lyarra turned at once to pull the girl up, slinging her arm across her shoulder. The two wobbled in their step as they faced the king. He took a heavy seat on the throne, resting one leg on top of the other. "So, we'll have to send him a message some other way."

"Meryn," He called, and at once the man stepped forward — spinning them both to face him. "Leave my lady's face, I like her pretty. Do what you will with the other one."

Meryn Trant turned to Lyarra first, giving her only a second to blink before bringing his fist down on her cheek. Pain flooded through her, hit after hit. First, he dedicated his time to her face — striking her across her cheek twice. Then, he hit her more times than she could count against her gut. Lyarra struggled not to cry out, biting the side of her cheek with fervor. As she fell to her knees, Trant continued his assault, bringing the hilt of his sword down against the back of her neck. He tore open the front of her dress, leaving it to slip down her back as she raised her hands frantically to cover herself. Lyarra could recognize the boots in front of her. She knew well enough that Sandor hadn't moved a muscle, nor would he.

It should have stung. She should have cursed his name. And yet, no bitter feeling came. No amount of surprise. She expected this, predicted it even. Lyarra only wished that he would break out of Joffrey's hold to defend Sansa, though she knew it was foolish.

"What an idea! Ser Meryn, I believe my lady is overdressed as well. Unburden her," The king commanded, causing Lyarra to spin to her niece in fear. Moving stung. She could feel each limb screaming in pain, and yet nothing caused her more distress than the thought of Sansa suffering the same fate. She felt Sansa's cry before she heard it, causing Lyarra to stumble to her knees. They'd given the girl almost the same treatment. Her dress swung open, tears coating her cheeks as she fell to her knees.

Lyarra forced herself to crawl to Sansa's side, covering her body with what little of her own dress remained.

"If you want Robb Stark to hear us, we're going to have to speak louder!"

Meryn Trant raised his blade to cut the girl, before another voice rang out. Relief flooded through her, as she moved at once to stand in front of her niece. Tyrion caught her stare before anything else, concern bleeding through him.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Bronn followed just behind the man, with nothing more than a raised brow. Though, Lyarra was grateful to even receive that much concern from him. Tyrion's brow furrowed at the sight of the pair, causing Lyarra to drop her head in shame. The fact that she was practically bare to the court was not lost to her. Instead of dwelling on it, she leaned to cover her niece further — who was now crying into her chest.

"What kind of a knight beats two helpless women?"

"The kind who serves his king, Imp."

"Careful now," Bronn remarked, "We don't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak."

"Someone get these two something to cover themselves with," Tyrion called. At once, Sandor was at her side, ripping his gold cloak off with a harsh tug to wrap around her shoulders. Before she could let him fully settle, she pushed the fabric off, nodding at once to give it to Sansa. His glare was instant, and she could almost faintly make out the growl that followed it. She pulled her dress tighter around herself as he stood again.

In what almost felt like amusement, she watched as Sandor stomped over to Meryn Trant, ripping his own cloak off with a growl. The man blanched, but did nothing to fight against the towering figure before him. Sandor returned to wrap the cloak around her, pulling it tight — as their eyes met.

It felt as if the room had gone silent. As if no one was there but the two of them. She found concern in his gaze — fear, even. He raised a hand to her cheek, one that lingered in hesitation. The action should have made her flinch after what she had just faced. Only, she felt herself longing to lean into his touch. The two were broken from their stupor by Tyrion, who approached the pair almost reluctantly. His stare lingered on Sandor, almost questioningly, before he raised a hand to Sansa. Sandor stepped away in an instant, making his way to his king's side once more.

Bronn stepped forward to raise a hand to Lyarra as well. As she stepped to her feet, her legs threatened to give out under her. Bronn raised an arm to both keep the cloak up, and allow her to lean into his side. It was an act of weakness. She was well enough aware of that. Her niece was far braver than she was, as had been proven time and time again. She was ready to face the battles that Lyarra was not, though she never should have been forced to. Sansa was marching forward, Tyrion following in her wake as he apologized. Lyarra should have been strong enough to march at her side. But she couldn't. Instead, she found Bronn's assistance comforting, as the two made their way out of the room slowly.

"Lady Stark," Tyrion muttered as Sansa continued to move forward — out of the room with a measure of calm, with her handmaidens following her quickly behind. "You may survive us yet."

Lyarra did not force herself to hold back a snort, as the group exited the hall. He was right, in truth. Sansa was proving herself stronger by the day. She was adapting far quicker than Lyarra had been. Bronn shook her from the thought once they reached her quarters, ushering her in with Tyrion at his side. The two stayed for only a moment longer, inquiring if she had a need for anything else.

That night, Lyarra did not dare move from her bed — save to pour herself a cup of wine. Aianna never once left her side, not until she was certain that she was asleep. The girl laid at Lyarra's side, brushing her hair as — for once, she spoke of her childhood. There was safety in the thought of thinking about someone else's family, someone else's life. There was safety in Aianna, she thought to herself.

A harsh rap at the door startled Lyarra from another fit of restless slumber. She strained to pull herself out of bed, stumbling to the door blearily. With a level of hesitance, she yanked the door open — fearful of what laid on the other side. Sandor's glower filled her with instant relief. He stomped in at once, all but slamming the door behind himself.

Before she could do much of anything, his hands were on her — raising her chin so that he could properly look over her. Heat blossomed through her with his touch, though she swallowed that thought down just as quickly as it appeared.

"The next time he hurts you, I'll kill the fucking cunt," He growled, stepping away for only a moment to retrieve a wet rag. Aianna had already done all that he intended to do, but Lyarra couldn't bring herself to tell him. It was such a staggering difference from the man that the world knew as 'The Hound' that she almost felt her legs give out in confusion. She kicked herself then, at that thought. The man before her now wasn't 'The Hound', it was Sandor. Not even Sandor of House Clegane, brother of Gregor — 'The Mountain'. In this moment, it was only Sandor. The man who cradled her chin with a level of gentleness that he shouldn't be capable of. Who swore to protect her time and time again.

"You shouldn't look at me like that, Little Wolf,"

His words gave her pause, trepidation threatening to bleed through her. She raised a brow. Admittedly, she had been staring at the man — intently, with the thought that if she looked close enough she could find his true motivations. Petyr, only nights prior in a dream, had held her face just as Sandor did now. And in that moment, it felt wrong — frightening even. Only now, the action made her feel safe.

"Like what?"

Sandor only grunted, intent on ignoring the question no doubt. The thought brought a fond smile to the corner of her lips, which caused Sandor to roll his eyes. Once he was certain he'd covered every wound, he stepped back — his brow raised with a question that Lyarra's brain was too muddled to decipher. As he nodded, she glanced down. No one had tended to the marks Meryn Trant left against her gut, she realized. She'd waved even Aianna away from them.

With another wave of reluctance, Lyarra raised her tunic to the underside of her chest, leaving her stomach bare. Sandor hesitated for only a moment, hissing under his breath at the sight of her. For a moment, the sound had heat rising to her cheeks — before she realized at once, that it was a hiss of disdain. She looked down, then, to meet the wounds head on. Lyarra was littered with various bruises. The entire lower half of her was purple, with some patches darker than others.

The feeling of the rag against her skin forced her to jump, before Sandor placed his other hand against her shoulder. She intently avoided his eye, instead focusing on gazing out of the window in her room. She could just barely make out the sights of the city, of the lights that were still blindingly bright. Once he was done, Sandor was on his feet before she could blink. As was his way, he intended to say very little. It was only when she reached forward to grasp his wrist, that he fully paused.

"Don't go, please." She whispered, as if she was afraid of someone hearing. Sandor paused, grunting under his breath as he nodded. It wasn't the first time she'd asked him to do so, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Only, rather than take his seat across the room as he had before — he pulled a chair to the side of her bed. As he took Lyarra's discarded cup of wine in hand, he nodded once more, signaling for her to go back to sleep.

The last thing Lyarra saw before sleep invaded her thoughts, was the light of the candle at her bed — illuminating Sandor's face. He was sort of beautiful, she thought to herself. A beautiful man, in a monstrous city.

Tyrion had only just poured Lyarra another cup of wine, when Ros all but sprinted into the room — another girl, one that she recognized from the brothel, nestled in her arms. Lyarra shot up, reaching out to the girl. They had been a 'gift' for the king, an effort from Tyrion to placate the boy's streak of evil. He'd only told Lyarra once the deed had been done, a fact that wracked her nerves.

Petyr was gone. He'd left the night prior, kissing Lyarra on the cheek as he left. For the time being, she was to manage the brothel — keep it afloat while he was away. Tyrion later informed her that he was leaving to speak with Catelyn Stark, to deliver Ned's bones to her. He seemed almost shocked that Petyr hadn't told her where he was going, that he'd kept it all from her. Betrayal lingered within her, though she was not certain why. Knowing would have only upset her further. She would have wanted to be at his side, to see her family once more — but she knew fully well she couldn't leave King's Landing.

The girl wailed then, burrowing herself into Lyarra's arms. The king had taken out his cruelty on the girls, then. An unsurprising thought, although her heart panged with guilt all the same. Tyrion seemed just as distraught as she was, wrapping the girl in a blanket instantly.

Ros did not return to The Keep again in the days to come, not that anyone had been surprised. Lyarra wanted more than anything to keep the girls safe, to keep them away from Joffrey's wrath. She knew, then, that if she wanted to protect the ones she cared about: she needed to play the game, as it was meant to be played.

Tyrion, who seemed to have the same thought, reluctantly agreed to allow her to aid him in his current tasks. At the moment, he was intent on luring information on his sister out of his cousin, Lancel Lannister. Rumors spiraled that the two were close, as close as Cersei was with Jaime. The thought gave her pause, as she was forced to confront the mental image of Jaime Lannister. Jaime, who remained a prisoner to her nephew. Who had slain Jory. Jaime, who had hesitated each time he'd been forced to come close to causing her pain.

Lancel came back with information quicker than the pair had expected. Lyarra and Bronn had been drinking when Tyrion returned with the news. Cersei was commissioning wildfire — barrels of it, he'd claimed — with the intent of using them against Stannis' men. It was no surprise, in truth, that Stannis Baratheon intended on marching on King's Landing. He was the rightful heir, by all true meaning of the word. What she wasn't certain of, however, was how Stannis would respond to the Stark girls remaining in the city. Would he slay them, as he would the other men? Would they be spared, due to Ned's unwavering loyalty to the man?

Tyrion, in one of the following evenings, had given her a dagger. A small thing, one that she could easily tuck away if she needed to. The action itself meant more to Lyarra than she could properly express. For once, she had a way to properly protect herself. She no longer had to rely on the promises of those around her.

The day that Princess Myrcella was sent to Dorne, Lyarra knew it was only a matter of time before Tyrion properly incurred the queen's wrath. Myrcella was her only daughter, her one bit of light left in the world. Pity for the queen threatened to break through at that thought, but she ignored it intently. It was one of Tyrion's smarter moves, in truth. Myrcella would be safe in Dorne, and it would create a number of powerful allies in the respective city.

However, as the girl bawled from the retreating boat, that thought was not made any easier. Myrcella was sweet, kinder than the city deserved. Lyarra could only pray to the old gods that she would find a safer life in Dorne.

"Come, dog," Joffrey bit as he stepped away from the scene, scowling at the open-emotion that his family was willing to show. Sandor scowled at the name before following suit, with the remainder of his guard on their heels. Lyarra reached out to rub Sansa's shoulder as they followed after the boy. A crowd had formed in the city as they made their way back to The Keep. As the jeers grew louder, Lyarra knew at once that something was not right. Tyrion spun around, whispering for the guards to take the prince back to The Keep at once.

The moment that someone in the crowd threw a pile of dung at Joffrey's head, everything became a flurry of movement. Sansa, who was once safely tucked into her side, was nowhere to be found. She could just barely make out her handmaidens crowding the girl, as Lyarra was pushed harshly to the ground. Joffrey was shouting, loud enough that she could hear it over the current cacophony. He commanded his men to kill each of them, everyone they could find.

Lyarra felt someone dig their hand into her ribs, as she attempted to push through to reach Sansa. The girl had disappeared into the crowd, once again. In the distance, she could only make out Sandor — who still towered over the rest. Their eyes met only once, as she was pushed to the ground once more. Lyarra cursed under her breath, bolting into the first alleyway she could find. If only she could hide for a moment, she'd be able to reach the rest later. It was then, that the sound of voices became louder.

Men were following her, a group of them — each with dirt coating their body. The leader of the group, a particularly large man with a patch of missing hair on the top of his head, stomped towards her. Her hair had fallen from its place, her gown dirtied and tattered.

"Don't," She warned, stepping back as she realized with horror that she was cornered. "Don't touch me!"

The man snarled, reaching to rip her gown. Lyarra unsheathed her dagger hastily, digging it into his throat. She twisted the blade, burying it deeper until his blood was gushing down her hands. The men behind him only faltered in the slightest, before they dashed forward. Lyarra pulled back, swinging once more with the dagger — as they attempted to pull her back. Each man found her dagger buried in either their throat or their gut, leaving only one behind. It was only when a sudden scream shot through the alleyway, that Lyarra went quiet herself. Sansa was cowering in the corner of the room, as Sandor wiped his blade clean.

Lyarra, who was now all but covered in blood, frantically searched for her dagger — burying it back against her side. Sandor did not hesitate to grab her, slinging her across his shoulder, as he pushed Sansa against his chest. She could no longer hear the jeers of the crowd, though she was certain they were still just as loud. It was all but silent, as she focused solely on the sound of her own breathing. Terror bled through her, as she thought over what had almost just occurred. As Sandor laid her down once more, this time surrounded by Lannister guards, he pulled her to face him — looking into her eyes with an evident question. Lyarra shook her head dazedly, and at once he pulled away.

Sansa was quick to run into her arms, weeping loud enough that sound slowly faded back into thought. Lyarra wrapped her arms around the girl, brushing her hair back as she hummed. Sandor seemed to frown at the girl for a moment, before turning back to his king. All things considered, he seemed to care for the girl. Sandor seemed just as preoccupied with keeping Sansa safe as he was with Lyarra.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Tyrion questioned frantically as he all but dashed to the pair. The honorifics were not lost on Lyarra, though she only waved him off. She had never been more afraid than she was in the moments prior, but the thought of Sansa suffering the same fate made that thought easy to ignore.

"The little bird's bleeding. Someone take her back to her cage," Sandor snapped, the remaining handmaidens moving quickly to their side to pull the girls up. Lyarra was reluctant to move again, but she bit back her pain to stand — pulling Sansa against her.

"Well done, Clegane," Tyrion praised, though Sandor did not so much as blink at the man. Rather, he hadn't once looked away from Lyarra, a level of fear evident in his gaze.

"I didn't do it for you."

.. Heyy. So. Okay. Lets discuss. There was a LOT of Sandor and Lyarra in this chapter. I don't know whether to apologize or not. The burn is burning. I also did include a lot more of Tyrion in this chapter than I had planned, but it all has a purpose alright. I feel like I'm not doing a great job writing her relationship with Sansa, and I apologize if that's the case. I am simultaneously trying to write like 5 different relationships for Lyarra, and it's a bit difficult.

That being said! More Petyr / Lyarra development! What a weird dream.. I really hope that's not foreshadowing at all.. haha. Yeah. Anyways. I do feel the need to say as well, that Sandor & Sansa's relationship is also incredibly important in this. Sandor sees himself in her, and therefore feels obligated to protect her. It's a very complicated relationship. He feels that he failed his family, allowing Gregor to get his hands on them – AND he also feels that he has failed Joffrey. He doesn't want to fail her — or Lyarra — as well. Sansa reminds Sandor of who he was before the burn, when he was still idealistic and hopeful. Anyways! Yap sesh over.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And as always, please leave any comments you have below!

Thank you,

Zevran.

[fromstormsend]

Arya Stark&Willow Heddle (Little Sisters)

First we all know Willow Heddle is a character who have parallels with Arya Stark. But it’s not just paralles. If we look in detail she and her sister Jeyne and their aunt Masha both have paralles with Sansa and Catelyn. Three of them are living in an alternative universe for Arya&Sansa and Catelyn. Look at their surnames; Heddle aka needle.

I am going to focus on Arya and Willow’s paralles. I found some of them from the forums and some of them myself.

1) Willow and Gendry together look after the orphan children and before Gendry did this with Arya too. They looked after Weasel, Hot Pie and Lommy.

2) Both of them threatened with rape by Rorge with tools in their hands;

“You shut your mouth!” Arya tried to think what Syrio would have done. She drew her wooden practice sword. “Come closer,” Rorge said, “and I’ll shove that stick up your bunghole and fuck you bloody.” -ACOK Arya II

“Willow stepped out into the rain, a crossbow in her hands. The girl was shouting at the riders, but a clap of thunder rolled across the yard, drowning out her words. As it faded, Brienne heard the man in the Hound's helm say, "Loose a quarrel at me and I'll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it.” -AFFC Brienne VII

3) Arya&Gendry paralles;

-When Brienne first saw Gendry she thought he is Renly and said;

"My lord?" she gasped. "Lord?" The boy pushed back a lock of black hair that had fallen across his eyes. "I'm just a smith."

She thought Gendry is a lord. And after that she noticed Willow’s attitude on the children;

“Gendry was the closest thing to a man grown, but it was Willow shouting all the orders, as if she were a queen in her castle and the other children were no more than servants.”

Brienne started to think if Willow could be more, if she could be a highborn lady like Arya Stark;

“Brienne wondered whether Willow might be more than she appeared. The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty. Brown hair, brown eyes, skinny . . . could it be? Arya Stark's hair was brown, she recalled, but Brienne was not sure of the color of her eyes. Brown and brown, was that it? Could it be that she did not die at Saltpans after all?”

And the last shot comes from Ser Hyle;

“"One day that little girl will make some man a frightful wife," Ser Hyle observed. "That poor 'prentice boy, most like."

-Willow is stobborn girl too like Arya and made polemics agaisnt Gendry(again like Arya :)

“We better be careful. I’ll go around west, see if there’s some road. There must be if you saw a wagon. You take the shore. If you need help, bark like a dog.” “That’s stupid. If I need help, I’ll shout help.” (Just an example)

“"No," said the boy smith. "Yes," said the girl Willow. They glared at one another. Then Willow stomped her foot. "They have food, Gendry. The little ones are hungry."”

But of course real Arya says “no” with him at the same time 😂;

“"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look.”

BONUS;

“We have beds, though. Some featherbeds, but more are straw.”