lynniearts - Tumblr blog

lynniearts · 5 years

Text

how this episode should have gone:

-Dany, still reeling from the shock and grief of her best friend’s death, learns of Varys’s betrayal

-They hold a proper trial where Varys is found guilty of treason and subsequently executed. This is highly emotionally taxing for everyone involved.

-Tyrion goes to Jaime and asks him for help removing Cersei peacefully, since he has fears about Dany’s state of mind. Jaime agrees, and they hatch a plan where he sneaks into the red keep and pretends to still love Cersei, appealing to her as a mother rather than a queen.

-Jaime asks Tyrion to tell Brienne that he loves her

-Dany flies on King’s Landing while Grey Worm, Jon, and Davos assemble their armies outside the gates.

-Dany takes out the iron fleet and the scorpions on the walls. When she sees the Lannister troops surrender, she flies straight for the red keep to confront Cersei

-The whole thing with Arya and the Hound goes down exactly as it did

-Jaime manages to convince Cersei to leave with him, and they are at the little shore at the bottom of the staircase when Euron shows up. Cersei turns against Jaime and orders Euron to kill her brother

-Euron and Jaime fight it out, much like they did in the episode. Jaime wins, but knows he cannot continue to live. Finally forced to confront what Cersei has become he kills her, before succumbing to his injuries and dying at her side

-Dany attacks the red keep, believing that Cersei is still inside and unwittingly sparks up the wyldfire, which sets off chain reactions across the city, causing irreparable damage and carnage

-We see Arya trying to get out of the path of destruction, much as she did during the episode

-Grey Worm, Jon, and Davos organize their troops to help people out of the city and rescue them from the fires. They are forced to make terrible decisions during this. We see Grey Worm allowing a few people to die in order to rescue a larger group of people, Davos must leave someone behind because he can’t reach them in the rubble, Jon commits a mercy killing for someone who is too injured to survive

-Cleganebowl goes down almost exactly as it did in the episode, but instead of falling into fire they just fall onto pavement. Arya finds the Hound dying a slow horrible death and he asks her to kill him. This time she agrees and gives him a swift, painless death, waiting at his side while he dies

-Much as the prophecy foretold, we see Dany walking into the throne room alone while it rains ash. She nearly reaches the throne when she hallucinates Drogo and their son off to the side (again, like the prophecy). She runs to him and admits that she thinks she is going mad. Drogo reminds her that she must be stronger than the madness. She must recognize it wherever she can and fight to get past it.

-Dany says a tearful goodbye to Drogo, finally letting him go, and takes the iron throne. The last shot is of her sitting tall and proud, but if you look closely you can see her hands shake a little.

11K notes · View notes

lynniearts · 5 years

Photo

Some actual footage of Gendry @ Storm’s End.

6K notes · View notes

lynniearts · 5 years

Text

14x20 Coda

Freaking zombies. They’re surrounded by freaking zombies, and honestly, they don’t even make the top 5 on the list of Things that Scare Dean Winchester. Not today anyway. No, the thing that scares Dean the most is the truth that’s been on the tip of his tongue, pressing against his teeth since the moment he saw Cas.

The truth that says: I’m terrified and hurt and I don’t know what to do. This is my fault and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s easier to push you away than it would be to lose you again. I can’t lose you again. I’m terrified to lose you again. Please don’t walk away.

Zombies, Dean Winchester can fight. Feelings are more difficult to pin down.

So he fights, and resolves to deal with the rest of his crap later. Much later. Probably under the influence of alcohol.

…

As it turns out, zombies aren’t all that difficult to ice. A firm whack knocks their legs out from underneath them, and a skewer through the eye finishes them off. Even so, Dean’s exhausted by the time they’re through with the hoard. He slumps against one of the headstones, his thoughts mercifully silent, if only for a moment.

He looks around and sees Sam, breathing hard and clutching his bullet wound. Worse, he sees Cas kneeling over Jack’s body, one hand covering his burnt eye sockets. Dean pushes himself to his feet and makes his way unsteadily to Cas’s side.

“M’sorry,” he says roughly, dropping to the ground next to the angel.

“For what.” Cas’s voice is cold, flat. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Dean shakes his head mutely. There’s nothing he can say that won’t come out wrong.

After a long moment, Cas turns his eyes to the darkened sky and sighs. “We should have let him die,” he says softly. “He could be in heaven, with his mother. She was so happy to see him.”

“We’ll give him a hunter’s funeral,” Dean says, at a loss for anything else.

Cas gives a slow nod, but refuses to tear his gaze from the starless sky. “I’m not sure it matters anymore. It’s what Jack would’ve wanted, though.”

“Cas,” Dean begins, but trails off. He doesn’t even know how to approach the apologies he needs to make, let alone if they’d be welcome.

“Once it’s done, I’m leaving.”

Dean’s blood runs ice cold.

“I can’t keep returning to a place I’m unwanted.”

“Cas,” Dean croaks. He aches to reach out, to say something that will convince Cas to stay, but the only syllable he seems capable of uttering is the other man’s name.

“You’re feelings on the matter are clear, Dean. I see that now.”

No, no no! He wants to scream.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Cas scoops Jack against his chest and stands abruptly. “We have to leave this place,” he says, louder than before.

Sam staggers to his feet. Dean is slow to follow. He watches Cas walk stiffly to the Impala, and realizes that perhaps it’s time to tell one of his truths.

I never meant any of it.

I’m terrified of losing you.

Please stay.

170 notes · View notes

lynniearts · 5 years

Note

Could you do a ficlet of Dean and Cas after everything is done and over with. No more monsters? No rush

Where the Heart Is

Dean awoke with his nose buried in Cas’s hair. The other man had shifted during the night, rolling over in Dean’s arms so that the two of them now lay facing each other, Cas’s right arm draped loosely around Dean’s waist and their legs entangled beneath the sheets. He could feel Cas’s breath against his neck, soft and steady as the former angel slept, and he smiled, shifting his hold on Cas to pull him in just a little bit closer.

Not a bad way to wake up your first morning in a new home, all things considered.

It had been Sam who’d found the place, a cozy three-bedroom farmhouse just outside of town. There was an old barn that Dean already had plans to turn into a shop, a yard big enough for the dog Sam wanted to adopt, and a plot out back where Cas could plant the garden Dean knew he’d been dreaming of for ages. There was even a tire swing, a feature that had made Jack practically glow with happiness when he’d first set eyes on it.

These days, the Nephilim split his time between renovating Heaven with Gabriel (“Eh, it’s the least I can do after the kid sprang me from the Goo place,” the archangel had said with a shrug. “Besides, I bet Crowley that I could fix Dad’s mess up there before he can get Hell back under wraps, and I can’t lose to a guy that sold his soul for an extra few inches of wang: that’d just be embarrassing.”) and taking classes at the local community college, which Jack insisted was important for his future.

“I want to help people, so I need to learn as much as I can about as many different things as I can,” he’d said when informing his three dads of his decision.

Sam in particular had been delighted, and he and Jack now spent most evenings pouring over Jack’s course readings, having animated scholarly debates that would have given Dean a headache if he hadn’t been too busy smiling.

In his arms, Cas stirred slightly without waking, mumbling something incoherent before curling back into Dean’s chest. Dean’s thumb traced a slow circle against Cas’s back, and he did his best to ignore the little voice in his head that told him he didn’t deserve to have this.

When Gabriel had told them that day at the bunker that, just as human souls could be used to make angels, angelic grace could be fashioned into human souls, Cas had immediately turned on his heel and walked out of the room, ignoring Sam and Dean’s inquiries as to where he was going. Dean had gone after him a minute later, nearly colliding with Cas as the latter exited the storage room, a small trickle of blood flowing from the neat cut on his neck and a shimmering glass bottle clutched tightly in his hand.

“It’s my choice,” Cas had said simply, and the sheer genuineness of his expression had made Dean want to shout. “Jack is our family, and this is how we save him.”

“Yeah, and what happens to you?” Dean had demanded, stepping into Cas’s personal space with a glare. “You just give up your mojo, for good this time, and what? Embrace humanity and all its crap?”

“Humanity isn’t ‘crap’, Dean.” Cas was frowning even as he’d thrown the air quotes. “You’re the one who taught me its value. I rebelled for humanity because I fell in love with it.” He dropped his gaze for a moment, then raised it again, blue and brilliant and so goddamn sure that it stole Dean’s breath away. “Because I fell in love with you. And there is nothing, not even my grace, that I would not give up gladly if it means keeping you and the rest of the people I love safe.”

Dean had stared at him, stunned, and there was a part of him, one which he was long accustomed to obeying, that told him no, that he had to fight Cas on this, had to make him understand that humanity wasn’t worth it, that he, Dean Winchester, wasn’t worth it…but before that part of Dean could get its thoughts together, an even bigger part had him backing Cas up against the wall and kissing him with over ten year’s worth of repressed want and need. Cas had given as good as he got, hands coming up to grip the collar of Dean’s shirt and pulling him in, lips hot and desperate and every bit as incredible as they’d been in all the dreams that Dean had ever had about them. The two of them had barely made it down the hall to Dean’s room, where no sooner had Cas kicked the door shut than Dean was pulling him down onto the bed, clothes pinwheeling out in all directions like sparks thrown by the sheer force of a collision millennia in the making.

I love you.

I can’t lose you.

You won’t.

Their words, those and the countless others they’d panted into each other’s mouths that first time they were together, came back to Dean now, sweeping up the little voice that told him he didn’t deserve this and bearing it away like a pebble in the tide, because Dean knew in his heart that the bond, the love between him and Cas, it wasn’t a question of choosing, it wasn’t a question of deserving, it wasn’t even anything either of them could help. It just was, a simple, undeniable, universal truth in a tale otherwise full of lies. It always had been, and it always would be. They’d been hurtling unknowingly toward one another before either one ever realized they were falling; that they’d somehow managed to land together, alive and happy and whole, felt equal parts miracle and foregone conclusion. Of all the possible ways in all the possible universes that his story could have ended or had yet to end, Dean felt certain that none of them, not a single one, could possibly make him any happier than the one in which he was living, here, now, with Cas asleep in his arms, their family safe, and the entire rest of their lives ahead of them.

“This is what you gave me,” Dean whispered, his lips brushing against Cas’s forehead in a soft kiss. He closed his eyes, settling his head back down on the pillow and breathing in the familiar scent of Cas’s hair. “And now…now I’m gonna give you everything.”

And so he did.

388 notes · View notes

lynniearts · 5 years

Text

Daughter of the Hand

They were overlooking the sea and the docks below. A ship departing to Dorne, another to Lys, one to Pentos, another to one of the Free Cities; the ships came and went endlessly. As they looked on, the silence surrounding them began to grow thick. It wasn’t until the King finally spoke that Ned turned to look at him.

Keep reading

54 notes · View notes

lynniearts · 5 years

Text

So freaking beautiful.

Whisper

Response to AxGWeek prompt: WHISPER

It starts as a whisper across Westeros. Have you heard? Yes, the Stark girl. No, the younger one. No, don’t be daft, she’s alive. Yes, her. And old King Robert’s bastard, they say. Of course he had a bastard, you dunce. He had one in every kingdom if the tales are to be believed. No, this is the oldest. Aye, a blacksmith, they say.

Then suddenly it’s a buzz, heard in dark corners of taverns and inns from Flea Bottom to Harrenhall to Wintertown to Dorne. That’s right, the wolf and the stag. Or is it a bull? The very ghosts of Robert and Lyanna, roamin’ the halls of Winterfell, old Lord Eddard’s castle. Don’t you lie, Hugor, you never saw ‘em. During the War of the Five Kings, you say? Wandering the riverlands with Beric and Thoros? Do you take me for an idiot?

Next thing you know it’s common knowledge, north and south of the wall and as far as the free cities. The true and the false. Married? Are you certain? He’s a bastard. More like he stole her away. Oh, that’s right, she’s half wolf that one…if anyone did the stealing, it was her. Married, with King Jon’s blessing?! Legitimized?! Huh, wish the king would legitimize me. Well, they must be halfway to Storm’s End by now. Staying in Winterfell?! What’d they want there? That’s her brother’s right. Most like they’ll be hoping to inherit somehow.

Soon it’s a proclamation for all to hear, the rich and poor, old and young. The son of late King Robert and daughter of the Hand, late Lord Eddard. What a sight to see. If only they ever left that blasted freezing North of theirs. Ned and Robert were best of friends, you know? As good as brothers. It’d tickle them pink to see their children married, I’d wager. They say the two fought side-by-side as children and, later, during the War of the Dead. Say they slew thousands of them white walkers in their wake. Side-by-side in battle just like their dead fathers, them two. Of course the girl can fight! That’s how they make ‘em in the North.

It’s deafening after that. It’s all anyone can talk about. Bah! No one wants to hear about the bloody beautiful dragon queen no more. It’s that Stark girl we’re all wantin’ a glimpse of now. They say she’s twice as beautiful as her aunt and ten times ferocious. You hear the blacksmith is the pretty one? He’s a lord now, and try sayin’ that to his face and see if he don’t bring his war hammer down on yer head now. That’s right, just like King Robert’s hammer, and this boy’s hammer is thrice as heavy. Made of Valyrian steel, they say. Forged it ‘imself. And the lady carries Dark Sister. Who do you bloody think gave it to her? The new Targaryen king, ‘er brother. Well, yes, cousin, ‘tis true. But she calls ‘im brother all the same.

But pictures speak louder than words, after all, and Westeros is soon graced with the sight they’ve all been waiting for. Look, there they go, on the way to see the king married, they are. Yes, those two. The tall one what looks like he could drop your house on your head, and the maid astride in front of ‘im. ‘Course that’s a girl. They don’t got to wear dresses to be girls. She’s more beautiful than they say even. And look at them eyes. Those are Lord Eddard’s eyes or I’m the queen. She’s’ a deadly one, she is. Just look at that wolf aside ‘em. That’s a direwolf, that is. Near as big as that stallion. They say the girl and the wolf are one, you know. Wargs, that’s what them Starks are, and thank the gods or spring might never o’ come.

Time passes, as it’s wont to do, and the talk dies down eventually, settling finally into whispers once more. Settled in Winterfell for good, they say. Them Starks stick close make no doubt about it. The smith’s as good a Stark by now. A little one you say? Ohhh, well they would name him Ned, wouldn’t they? Takes after the smith though, I’d wager? All of Robert’s actual welps did, didn’t they? There’s two you say? Three in all?! A little Ned, a little Robb and a wee Cat, ey? And more’s the better. Wild little things they’ll be. Strong as their father and fierce as their mother. Couldn’t ask for a better match.

*******

Back in the castle everyone dreams of having a peek into, it’s all whispers in the bedroom and shouting in the forge. Neither of the two notice the whispering about them nor the shouting nor the pointing and staring. They’re too intent on whispering, shouting or staring at each other.

Marry me, Gendry whispers to her one crisp cool night in the godswood, just as winter is melting into spring. He has been watching her bathe in the hot springs beneath the weirwood trees. She has sidled up to him in the pool, and he has tears in his eyes because he’s sure he’s never seen anything or anyone half so beautiful as the woman who saved the world, who saved him.

Yes, Arya whispers too in the eyes of the old gods, the ones her father kept, the ones she keeps now, now that her god of death has finally given them all a long reprieve. The wind whispers too, softly through the branches and red leaves of the pale white trees. And he knows he’s done right by her after all, despite his doubts. Their kiss is a whisper, the soft brushing of lips against lips. And it’s a promise, one he intends to keep for as long as he draws breath.

Many moons later, he’s sliding her gray and white cloak off her shoulders and replacing it with the black and gold stag of the house of his father, the one he never met. Somehow, it seems wrong. He was never a stag; he’s a bull, through and through. More than her becoming a stag, it’s him becoming the wolf.

So he does the only thing he can think of to rectify his uneasiness. He pins the black and gold cloak over her shoulders, then holds the gray and white one out to her. And he doesn’t have to wonder if she’ll understand because it’s Arya, and she is as much a part of him now as he is of himself. He turns around so his back is to her and crouches down so he is at a height at which she can pin the cloak over his shoulders. He hears the whispers this time, of those gathered as witness. But he doesn’t care. Never did. Not when it came to doing whatever it took to make her happy.

When he turns back, she doesn’t wait for the official ceremony to end before she’s leaping into his arms and kissing him the same way she did after the last battle of the frozen war. The moment they’d reunited at the crest of a hill overlooking the bloodshed and gore. They’d been separated halfway through the battle, and neither had known if the other was still alive. Until that moment. The kiss was a battle in itself, a clashing of lips and teeth and tongue. A plea for confirmation of life. This kiss is much the same.

I take this man, Arya whispers after, once he’s released her from his grip. She’s faltered on the last word and by the tilt of her precious lips, he knows she’s almost said bull instead of man.

I take this woman, Gendry whispers back, and he’s struggled too. It would have been easier to say wolf instead of woman, and he knows Arya has noticed because she’s grinning madly up at him now. And Gendry wonders how he ever could have had doubts that this was always the right path.

It’s almost a year later when Arya finds him in the forge. He senses her before he sees her, but he doesn’t want to mess up all the hard work he’s put into the day, so as difficult as it is not to turn to look at his wife (wife – he relishes the word every time he thinks and says it), he finishes his task first.

She resists at first too, watching him only, but she always did have less willpower than him. Soon she is wrapping her arms around his middle and, hard work be damned, he drops the sword and takes her into his arms. There is a glow about her, something new, something different.

She is kissing his neck, his earlobe. He feels her lips against his ear next. At the same time, she’s taken his left hand from her waist and is moving it to her stomach.

Baby, Arya whispers, and it’s the first time in a long time he can remember his wife sounding so scared and so exhilarated all at the same time. Goosebumps rise up and down along Gendry’s arms, and he gives an involuntary shudder. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but the grin that steals automatically across his face, wide and unapologetic, is the best indication that this is the best news he’s ever gotten after the news years ago that Arya was alive and well in Braavos.

He’s clutching her to him now like she’s his only chance at life, which she, of course, is. And she’s clutching him too. This will be unlike any other battle they’ve ever faced, but like all the rest, they’ll face it together.

He’s kissing her face now. All over. From her forehead to her chin to her lovely cheekbones to her nose to her lips. It is more than he deserves, he knows, more than any man deserves. This woman who managed to give him life, who is now giving life to someone they’ve made together.

Ned or Cat, Gendry whispers. And he knows he’s said exactly the right thing because she’s the one kissing him now as she never has before. And he thinks hard on what his life would have been if he’d never met the little orphan boy Arry on the kingsroad with his quick fists and castle-forged sword. What a wretch he would have turned out to be. He kisses her with renewed fervor. He means to make himself as worthy of her and the life she gives him as possible but knows it will still never be enough.

Their child has his hair and eyes. That’s a certainty. But the way the boy wraps his tiny little fist tightly around Gendry’s finger is a perfect indication that the boy’s personality is all Arya, all wolf. It isn’t the easiest thing for Gendry to cry, but this is one of the times he can’t help it. The little family, newly up three from two, is laying in the large bed in Arya and Gendry’s chambers. The maester has already returned to his own. Sansa and Bran are gone too; it seems babies that aren’t yours aren’t as fascinating past the first few hours.

Arya’s fingers are lost in Gendry’s shaggy hair, and she’s crying too. They’re both just staring at the babe, everything it does a new wonder to the two of them. The boy blinks and they’re in awe. The boy yawns and they’ve never seen anything as mesmerizing. When the boy looks right back at them, they’re beaming and tearful all at the same time. In contrast, the baby seems as disinterested in them, as they’re engrossed with him. Until it’s feeding time anyway.

Finally he sleeps peacefully between them, and they’re still both staring. Once in a while, they meet each other’s gaze, and the one seems as shocked as the other that they made this. This beautiful shaggy black-haired boy with eyes the color of the sky just around dusk in the winter. The boy is quiet, not so fussy as some. And there’s something stern and noble about his brow already, and Gendry knows.

Ned, Arya whispers in confirmation minutes later.

Ned, Gendry whispers back with a satisfied nod.

They go through it twice more, but the beauty of it never ceases. Each time is as fascinating as the last, as they get to know their little ones.

Robb, they whisper to each other the next time. And, like the king for whom he is named, the boy seems as kind and austere and commanding.

Cat, they whisper next. And she’s got his hair and eyes like the first too, but even though an infant, Gendry can see she’ll take after the beauty and strength of her mother.

The little family of five lays in the same large bed, Ned now three, Robb two and Cat a newborn still. The babes are asleep, but Gendry and Arya are playing their game of staring into each other’s eyes and daring to see how much each can get across to the other that they love each other using only their eyes. But Gendry feels he always loses because his eyes aren’t half as expressive as her beautiful and stormy gray ones.

I love you, Gendry whispers, cheating. And she can’t help but smile. Because he always ends the game too soon.

I love you, Arya whispers breathily back. And he feels her breath on his cheek, and he’s fallen under her warm little spell again, and he’s reaching his neck carefully over a sleeping Cat to kiss his wife full on the mouth. Then he sits back and proudly eyes his perfect little family, all wolves and stags and bulls.

253 notes · View notes