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                   WAR MAKES MONSTERS OF US ALL

FEAT. JAIME LANNISTER. VARYS. BERIC DONDARRION. ROBB STARK. SAMWELL TARLY. TYRION LANNISTER. MARON GREYJOY. VISERYS TARGARYEN. BRYNDEN TULLY. GENDRY. VICTARION GREYJOY. GRENN.

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IT IS DONE !!!

find my new asoiaf multi over here. with that this blog will now be an archive and all future interactions will happen over on the multi. a proper self promo will happen once there is some ic interactions on the new blog. go follow, munchkins!

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is2g I’m gonna open a bottle of champagne when that multi is done. I hate icons. with a passion. pray for me that i get this done before season 8 airs.

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ugly mobile psa that the next ic post will wait a while now while I’ll start working on an asoiaf multimuse. there will be 12 muses on the blog including Maron, Jaime, Gendry, and Robb. setting it up will take a while including icons so bear with me, folks.

remember: I do RP on discord so there’s where most of my ic interactions will happen for a while.

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my whole dash: freaking out about the trailer

meanwhile my stupid ass, starting a re-read from book 1 onwards, because the muses going on the multi are all over the place and scattered through all the books: game of thrones? I don’t know her

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               We are ironborn. We’re not subjects, we’re not slaves.                               We do not plow the field or toil in the mine. 

                    BALON  /  ALANNYS  /  RODRIK  /  MARON  /  ASHA   /  THEON

and then there is also this weirdo, who wishes to be a greyjoy so badly but he is not allowed to sit with us. Harlaw’s can you believe them? 

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Reblog this and tag your insecurities as a roleplayer.

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Then Jaime went to one knee and kissed him quickly once on each cheek, his lips brushing against the puckered ribbon of scar tissue. “Thank you, Brother,” Tyrion said. “For my life.”

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BODY LANGUAGE.

bold what applies + tag mutuals to do the same in a new post !

tagged by : @zcldrizes <3 tagging : @tyrion @thesellsword @seasworth @estoires (for Oberyn), @coldhonovr, @wolfqueennamedstark, @stcrmswithskin (for Arya)

defensiveness.

arms crossed on chest /   crossing legs   /   fist-like gestures   /   pointing index finger /    karate chops   /   stiffening of shoulders  /   tense posture   /   curling of lip  /   baring of teeth

reflective.

hand-to-face gestures   /   head tilted   /   stroking chin  /   peering over glasses   /   taking glasses off — cleaning   /   putting earpiece of glasses in mouth   /   pipe smoker gestures   /   putting hand to bridge of nose /   pursed lips, knitted brows

suspicion.

arms crossed  /   sideways glance   /   touching or rubbing nose   /   rubbing eyes   /  hands resting on weapon   /   brows raising   /   lips pressing into a thin line  /   strict, unwavering eye contact   /   wrinkling of nose

confidence.

hands behind back   /   hands on lapels of coat  /   steepled hands   /   baring teeth in a grin  /   rolling shoulders   /   tipping head back but maintaining eye contact   /   chest puffed up  /   shoulders back /   arms folded just above navel   /   wide eyes  /  standing akimbo

insecurity & anxiety.

chewing pen or pencil  /   rubbing thumb over opposite thumb   /   biting fingernails  / hands in pockets   /   elbow bent/closed gestures /   clearing throat /   “whew” sound   /   picking or pinching flesh   /   fidgeting in chair   /   hand covering mouth whilst speaking   /  poor eye contact /   tugging at pants whilst seated   /   jingling money in pockets   /   tugging at ear   /  perspiring hands   /   playing with hair  /   swaying   /   playing with pointer/marker/cane   / smacking lips   /   sighing   /   rocking on balls of feet  /   flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

frustration.

short breaths   /   “tsk” sounds   /   tightly-clenched hands /   fist-like gestures  /   pointing index finger  /   rubbing hand through hair  /   rubbing back of neck  /   snarling   /  revealing teeth/grimacing   /   sharp-eyed glowers w/ notable tension in brow  / shoulders back, head up — defensive posturing   /   clenching of jaw/grinding teeth   /  nostrils flaring   /   heavy exhales

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thesellsword‌ . [ bronn ]

how cute. bronn leans against the column of the grand hall beside him, tilting his head curiously. he listens, intrigued by his reasoning – before he SNORTS. “aye, and it’d be one of me not looking so dandy like i do tonight.” bronn used to be a secret agent; he knows how to change himself. so tonight he actually looks normal – hair cut and coiffed, clean shaven, in a suit. it’s not his usual look by a long shot, not anymore, but he’ll buzz his head later and make sure to get out his best fishnet shirt to feel more alive. 

“i’m chuffed that ye think there’s more to me than tha’.” not many people see HIM behind the mask, and now that shae is dead… he feels more alone. the only thing he knows how to do well is kill, and this is the life he chose. but he supposes jaime understands in a way, after being a war hero. or maybe he doesn’t. “are we doing more tonight than standing around in monkey suits?” he asks, glancing out to the gathering crowds. he wonders what jaime will think of him when he puts his full posh on. it should be fun.

CHUFFED, IS IT? Jaime’s half expected the paid thug to be rather unhappy with this subtle little intrusion into his personal life, counting on Bronn quite enjoying that brooding-loner-schtick he occasionally threw at everyone’s faces. cue Jaime thus mildly surprised at the exact opposite happening right now. especially considering that while he is sure there is more to that murdering edgelord, he still couldn’t say what that is exactly. and he finds himself far too curious to find out.

“we might additionally eat canapés. that’s it.” someone hand him a bottle of champagne and then allow him to hang himself on his silk tie, thank you very much. the true horror of Jaime’s life, perhaps, is the undeniable fact that he feels much more comfortable in a warzone, than he does at a party. small talk and smarts will forever give him much darker nightmares than roadside bombs and lost limbs. and he unwittingly rubs the part of his arm where flesh flows into metal. “how much would I have to pay you to murder every single person in this room so we can call it a night?” hah, killer humour. someone just shovel him his early grave already.

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The Great Houses of Westeros - House Lannister

‘Not every Lannister is fool for glory.’

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ircnreaver‌ . [ balon greyjoy ]

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  The Lion of Lannister saw through the Reaver - he knew that he was not welcome at the capital but he’d come at the summoning of his ‘King’ in hopes to petition for the return of his last son. “Perhaps that is what makes us so different Ser ; you know not of the pain that comes with the loss of your children. Especially when my Rodrik was twice the warrior you ever will be.” Balon motioned his fingers to the sword on his belt. “And you shall never be half the warrior that I am. Yet here you style yourself as if you are the false Warrior god himself. The Drowned Lord versus the Warrior - what a tale that would tell aye?”

“PERHAPS HE WOULD HAVE BEEN had he been allowed to grow a little older than he did.” there was no bad jape buried in those words, no cruel little mockery. the notion of losing one of his children filled Jaime with unspeakable dread, and he would not mock a man who had not lost one, but two of his sons. I would go mad with grief, he figured. and the next moment wondered if he truly would if only it were Joffrey who died. a terrible thought, really. “actually, I style myself as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, which, incidentally, I am. and I’d imagine that tale to be very brief, given that any drowned thing usually is already quite dead.” he smiled. “why exactly are you in King’s Landing, Lord Balon?”

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coldhonovr‌ . [ wyllas ]

Try as he might to not stand there, mouth gaping, his eyes widen just a little: 4000 dragons. An inconceivable amount, and Wyllas can only imagine what he would do if he won. ❝ 4000 Dragons could buy me a lifetime’s supply of meat pies! ❞ He looks to Jaime, rag in hand as a half-smile tugs at his cheeks – while he wouldn’t allude to being tired, he certainly wouldn’t mind being paid for his services in food. His lips pull back to his show his teeth as Jaime’s hand sits heavy on his shoulder, the prospect of being done for the day being one he readily accepts, and all too eager is he to leave the tourney grounds.

❝ Even your drinks are Southron, ❞ He quips, tossing his rag onto a nearby table. ❝ We don’t really drink wine in the North. Can’t really afford it and there’re no vineyards that’ll grow that far north.❞ Getting used to their pompous, overblown normalities was harder than he initially thought, and often he found himself yearning for the simpler things. It had taken him even longer to get used to the colours; reds and yellows with flecks of green here and there – it all hurt his eyes. He never truly knew what to look at it, and despite his insistence he hated the Capital, Wyllas could confidently say he didn’t hate it as much, if only because of Jaime. The fact he was interested in what the he had to say wasn’t something he expected. He was a squire now, not a lord; his purpose was simply meant to serve and be trained, and he had assumed he wouldn’t be of any real importance to anyone in the Capital… If anything it helped to ease the chronic ache in his chest for home.

 ❝ I doubt you want to hear about Northern tourneys, they’re not as nice as yours, ❞ As most things were when comparing anything to the Capital. Wyllas steps along behind Jaime, careful not to bump into anyone.  ❝ But, if anything, I think our tourneys are more exciting. ❞ Wyllas snickers, poking fun at their Southroness yet again. They made it far too easy, but he wouldn’t lie if he ever got the chance to talk favourably of the North.  ❝ Good fighters can make a tourney, but that’s only half the excitement if the crowd is practically dead. ❞ 

“A DRINK FROM THE SOUTH IS SOUTHRON, what a remarkable enlightenment.” o, it sometimes is too easy to poke fun at the boy. strangely enough, Jaime’s words ring in good favour, drenched in nothing but amicable humour. the image of the brooding, cold Northmen slowly begins to melt         literally         in the delightful company of Wyllas, slowly finding itself replaced by the notion of just another boy from another part of the world, but just as curious and audacious as any squire from the South would have been. and Jaime feels almost relieved to find that the truly impenetrable wall remains the one further north than most men had ever ventured.

speaking of places men rarely ventured to, finding a tavern indeed is quite out of the ordinary for Jaime Lannister. rarely does he drink at all, and whenever he does, he prefers the company of those he deems worthy of his company. those people usually do not include the likes of Ser Meryns or Ser Osmunds, nor would they include Wyllas of House Dustin, and yet Jaime moves through the narrow streets with the surety of a man who regularly visits the town’s taverns and pubs. it is for Wyllas’ sake, more than his own. to show the boy the places the knights and squires of the city frequent, in case he ever wants to disappear for a cup or two once his duties are done and he has grown tired of Jaime’s company.

the looks the pair thus receives when they enter the one inn usually packed to the brim with shining armour and longswords, is one of utter surprise. and soon whispers jump from table to table, of the Kingslayer settling down for a drink in a tavern. if Jaime heard any such whispers, he ignores them remarkably well. “in case you haven’t noticed before, practically everybody in the Capital indeed is already dead. most of them up here,” Jaime brazenly taps his temple with an index finger. “some days I believe even the half-starved figures clogging the streets of Fleabottom are more lively than your average spectator of a tourney. and alas, we unfortunately lack the good fighters, too.” a decanter and two cups are put on the table before them. “if you want something to eat, feel free to order. unless the Southron food is too inexplicably Southron for you as well.”

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coerulus‌ . [ brienne ]

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Everything was gray. Above them a light rain was falling, but few drops made it through the canopy to the forest floor. The sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds that made day look like dusk. Brienne was flanked by two golden lions, one at her hip and one riding along by her side. Why was he here? She couldn’t bear to look at him or Oathkeeper, but looking at him would’ve been worse. She’d somehow managed to craft a believable lie- why was he here, why did he agree to come with me?- but it was a constant struggle to keep the guilt out of her eyes. She kept her hood down and her head bowed, and sat slumped in the saddle. It will be over soon, she told herself, but that did nothing to ease the hole being gnawed in her stomach. 

Half a dozen times she tried to open her mouth and tell him the truth, but the words stuck in her throat. She could still see Podrick dangling from the noose, his legs twitching. If she confessed he was lost, but if not… she couldn’t think of that or the walls she had built up around herself would crumble to pieces. Instead she tried to listen to the rain and think of nothing as they rode along as slowly as she dared. 

WHY WAS HE HERE, INDEED. like yesterday, he remembered the cold fright chased through his bones when a bare foot had met the first light snowfall coming down in the Riverlands. he remembered talks about Edmure, remembered the sweet, but average face of Jeyne Westerling, remembered the grim look of Ser Ilyn, and talks of direwolves, and the letter. help me. save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. come at once. and he remembered it crumbling away to coal and dust in the open fire. a call for help like many he had received before, ever her knight in shining armour since they had been children              yet back then, Cersei hadn’t fucked her way through King’s Landing yet. and she hadn’t yet burned down the Tower of the Hand with such joy, the Mad King would have been delighted. back then, I still loved her unconditionally.

so buried in his own thoughts had he been, that he had barely noticed the deafening silence that had accompanied them along the road for the majority of the day. snow was still falling, covering the ground like a thick blanket that seemed to render everything even quieter than it already was. and green eyes then curiously glimpsed at Brienne for the first time in what felt like hours. why was he here. “you know,” after all that silence, his voice sounded loud like the sudden beat of a massive drum, and Jaime almost jumped at it himself. he wasn’t made for this. that brooding stillness drove his mind to places he’d rather not venture to. “I don’t mean to nag, but if we went any slower, I could have my horse shoed while riding. you said we had no time to lose.”

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So many vows… they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other.

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❛ I know. I know what and who you are. What will you do? Kill me? ❜

meme. accepting@needlcd

HE REMEMBERED A LITTLE GIRL. running around the courtyard of Winterfell with pigtails and muddied breeches, tousled and loud, waving a stick like a longsword forged to be driven through the hearts of whatever monsters she had been told were lurking beyond the Wall. perhaps it surprised himself the most that he remembered her at all; head in the clouds back in the day, Jaime had never cared much for those he hadn’t loved, or deemed worthy of his attention, and yet he remembered her. how far Ned Stark’s little girl had come. barely taller, still feisty, but now driven with a determination Jaime could not put a finger on, but found it impressed him greatly. and he briefly wondered whether it was chance or fate that had driven one of the Stark girls he had sworn to protect right back into his arms.

“and why would I do that?” Cersei wasn’t here. Cersei, who probably would have enjoyed seeing him hurt her; with her voice still ringing in his ears from so many years ago, demanding he’d punish Arya Stark for setting her direwolf on Joffrey. he had been incapable to hurt her then, he felt no desire to do it now.

“I cannot say I’m in the habit of killing young girls, unless they try to kill me first. so unless that is your intention, I’d believe it safe to say that the two of us will come out of this little chance meeting quite unharmed. doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

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““At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.””

— (via viciously-yours)