#but got sansa is great too

[jaqenadar]

getting involved in the socmed game of thrones fandom has made me learn everyone hates sansa for some reason. what the fuck, take me back to when i didn’t know that

[leupagus]

Am I writing this largely because I enjoy the idea of Sansa and Stannis constantly hissing at each other like two belligerent cats? Listen,

x

By the first week of the siege, Sansa was forced to admit — if only to herself —that warfare was far less exciting than she'd imagined. When she had been told of Robb's victories in the Riverlands she had always pictured him triumphant upon a fearsome destrier, sword held high as he cut down his enemies before him. Then he'd been killed and she had lived through the Battle of the Blackwater, waiting either rescue or slaughter by the very man who was now her ally. That had not been exciting, precisely, but it had not been this dull and plodding affair. A far cry from the valiant knights and noble battles she'd read when she was a girl; but she'd had precious little turn out the way she'd been taught.

She slept at the camps near the front lines, in the same soldier's tent she and Brienne and Podrick had shared for the past four months. Stannis had made all sorts of ridiculous protests about "ladies" and "danger" until she'd had to remind him, once again, that her eight thousand men gave her the freedom to dictate her own movements.

"All very well while we're waiting out here, my lady," he'd growled in response, after his requisite glare at her flawless logic, "But when battle joins, you'll be nothing more than a nuisance."

"In which case, I'll be quickly killed and you can have Rickon installed as Lord of Winterfell instead," she'd replied, "as you were hoping to do in the first place." That had shut him up, at least, and he'd gone back to scowling at Winterfell's walls.

Every night when she returned to the camp, she stopped at Stannis's tent and joined the conference with their commanders and lieutenants. It was then that she learned about the waging of war: how men were best deployed, how training was maintained even in the midst of a siege, how sickness was kept at bay so that it did not kill more soldiers than did the battles. Stannis disliked her presence there, too, but she was rapidly coming to understand that he would only be truly happy when she was out of his life for good. Possibly not even then. He did not seem a man much given to smiles.

The men did not share Stannis's view, at least; as she walked through the lines each morning and night they stood to bow to her, and press the back of her hand to their foreheads as she remembered they had done to Mother so long ago.

"They say that the old gods have brought you back to us," Lord Reed told her one day, as he accompanied her on her daily walk to the winter town. "That they were angered when the Starks were driven from Winterfell, and that they're drawing you all back here one by one. They say that Robb Stark may come back from the dead, such is the rage of the gods, and avenge all who wronged your house."

Joffrey had been diligent in recounting every detail of what had happened to Robb's body after Roose Bolton had killed him. She repressed a shudder to think of it and held more tightly to Reed's arm, grateful for the warmth of him at her side. "I hope they are not disappointed if all they get is me and Rickon."

Reed chuckled. "They're well-satisfied, my lady," he said. They walked into the winter town just as the sun broke over the mountains. "You're a sight prettier than the Young Wolf ever was, that's certain."

The winter town was where her real work was done each day. It was the custom every winter for the smallfolk of the North to leave their hides holdfasts and journey here, bringing what they could cart or carry. The winter town would eventually house nearly one in three of every soul living in the North, seeking shelter together to endure the cold.

The Boltons had not bothered to do their duty, laying in no provisions and building no new housing. Up until now it had mattered little; even as the winds had begun to blow, few smallfolk had dared to come take shelter under the banners of the flayed man. The town itself had been all but abandoned, until word of the Starks' return had begun to spread throughout the North.

Now the winter town seemed to double in size with each passing day despite the ongoing siege of the Keep. Sansa had her hands full in directing builders, organizing kitchens, allocating what resources they had to feed and shelter everyone. In this she was aided by any number of friends and allies: those servants and household members who had first escaped during Winterfell's seizure by the Ironborn, or who had endured that but had fled the Boltons' brutal takeover; the households of her lords who had come to support the siege; even Lady Umber and her formidable staff lent a hand before she returned to Last Hearth. Her most steadfast assistants were Rickon and Shireen, who at first had joined her out of boredom but were now her little lieutenants, breathlessly updating her on all events of the previous night as she joined them for breakfast each morning. She received aid also from her men in the armies, assigning their builders to fortify the town in much the same way they were fortifying the siege camp.

Her lords approved of this; Stannis, of course, did not.

"You seek another threescore soldiers?" he demanded one evening.

The siege had now dragged on near a month. Bolton's men showed signs of distress, Lord Flint reported with no small satisfaction; they would not last much longer. But this had brought a fresh concern, and Sansa had broached it during their evening conference.

"We need to build up the palisades along the eastern side of the winter town," Sansa insisted, pointing at the map spread out along the table, with the various pieces representing the various companies all arrayed neatly atop. Stannis's wooden flaming hearts were outnumbered by Sansa's wolf heads two to one, though many of hers appeared hastily-carved from whatever spare wood was at hand. She reached for a flaming heart on the far side of the Keep, well away from the siege. "It need only be for—"

"Give me that," Stannis snapped, snatching it back. "Those men are covering the huntsman's gate, should any of Bolton's forces be cowardly enough to attempt escape rather than stand and fight."

"And you anticipate that happening in the next day?" she demanded, resisting the urge to lunge for the piece the way she used to with Robb when he had teasingly stolen her embroidery, holding it just out of reach. "There must be fifty or sixty men out of twelve thousand that can be spared."

"Why are the palisades in need of building up in the first place?" Stannis demanded, as Lord Glover opened and then shut his mouth to reply to her. "This winter town of yours is folly — you cannot grant entry to every farmer and tinker who pleads for shelter."

Sansa gaped at him in outrage, though even as she did so she was heartened to hear the murmur of her lords at such a comment. "That is precisely what is done, and has been for every winter since before Bran the Builder set stones to build Winterfell!" She glared at him. "This is a refuge, Your Grace."

"This is a siege, my lady," he retorted, looming over her. She thought longingly of the beautiful heeled shoes Margaery wore; she needed only a few inches to match Stannis's height, and see what good his looming did him then. "The smallfolk congregate here at their own risk!"

"My people congregate here because they believe I will keep them safe, and I will do so. With or without Your Grace's help!"

"Without, if it pleases my lady!"

Half-ready to club him over the head with the nearest chair, Sansa grabbed the flaming heart out of his hands and waved it in his face. "What are these men supposed to do, if Bolton and his soldiers escape out this way?"

Stannis looked too near a fit of apoplexy to reply, so it was Lord Cerwyn who cleared his throat and answered, "They are charged to report back, my lady, with some following at a safe distance to see where they go."

"It's perfectly obvious where they'll go," Sansa snapped. "Lord Bolton will make for the Dreadfort."

"Of course he will," said Stannis, finding his voice at last, though he did not try for the wolf's-head piece again. "That doesn't mean—"

"I know three dozen local boys who could hide along the route from the huntsman's gate to the eastern road and bring back reports, without clomping about the forests in full armor," Sansa said, slamming the piece down at the winter town. "And they might be able to bring back some food, while they're at it. Unlike your soldiers, they know how to hunt in the Wolfswood without frightening off half the game."

A few days later, she had her men.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Rhaegar Targaryen is easily one of GRRM’s best deconstructions of the genre and we don’t talk about it enough. He’s prince living in a world full of magic and wonder that has dwindled over time. His own family had a great monopoly on one of the most magical phenomena (dragons) to ever exist, but they lost this control over time and it was due to their own faults. But there’s an all encompassing hope that this magic, these dragons, will come back. They all live within the promise that it will all be back and with a huge bang. It’s all so romantic. Magical forces of ice and fire battling it out in a song.

Then there’s Rhaegar, a prince born for the sole purpose of being this song’s romantic hero. He already has his destiny mapped out and it will be a great one, greater than any other man who ever lived. It’s a song of ice and fire, and Rhaegar is its bard. You’d expect this to give him joy. Yet by all accounts, he was depressed as fuck. I think he’s unfairly earned the reputation of having an ego so big to think that he will be the hero….but that’s quite literally the point of his existence. He was born to be the hero. He paid the price at birth to be the hero. How can he revel and glory in this destiny when he has no say in it?

So it’s genuinely funny that when given the chance, Rhaegar immediately pivots to someone else taking on this burden. But how tragic for him that he cannot escape it too far. Because it will be none other than his own son who, under a “bleeding star”, is marked at conception for this great destiny without a say. More than his ego, Rhaegar is marked by the inability to escape this duty. His whole life is dedicated to fulfilling a duty he can never escape. He isn’t just a future king, prophecy dictates that the world’s survival is placed squarely on his shoulders. Even when he isn’t the hero, he’s now responsible for raising him…

…but then he makes one decision and it all comes crumbling like a pack of biscuits. He escapes this burden…but dies. And his successor dies too. And now the ones who will inherit his legacy are two people who never knew him. They never knew of his burdens, of this prophecy. But they too cannot escape its jaws. I think this does bring up some interesting questions about the nature of fate and destiny in the world of ice and fire. Can you really escape it? Rhaegar tried to, and paid the price for his defiance, but he never truly made it out because the burden instead jumped to the son (and sister) he never knew. Funny thing is that in a bizarre (and tragic, in its own way) twist of fate, this son was brought up entirely without the trappings of power that depressed Rhaegar. Rhaegar was a dazzling prince, Jon is a bastard. Rhaegar was marked by his great inheritance, Jon is marked by the lack thereof. Does fate say “well the first one got too depressed by having too much so let’s give the next one nothing?” Even Dany, who grows up a princess does not have the privileges that Rhaegar did. So how does upbringing craft a hero and the choices they make? Welll, GRRM had given us two versions of Rhaegar’s tragedy in Jon and Dany for us to see.

Rhaegar’s impact on the meta-narrative is honestly so massive. Like I’d put him right up there with Quentyn, Sansa, and Bran as one of the best genre deconstructions in the series and no one can tell me otherwise.

[queers-gambit]

Confection Invention

prompt: what is a legacy other than what we're remembered for after we die? names are lost, stories altered, family names obsolete, but recipes are forever because cuisine transcends time.

or how Sansa Stark's favorite dessert, lemon cakes, came to be after discovering your husband's never had a nameday cake.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: none? none. seems suspicious.

Sansa Stark, newly crowned Queen in the North, was once a child too small, too scared, too sheltered from the harsh brutality of life's reality. Before she left Winterfell that fateful day, it was well known in the castle that the young girl adored the tasty sweet treat, lemon cakes. A confection of dense cake with lemon shreds mixed in the batter, a lemon glaze poured over, and garnished with a bright and tart lemon slice.

King's Landing was equipped to make the dessert and the young redhead still found pleasure in them, sure, but then shit got real when the Lannisters, you know, murdered her father. Sansa "grew up" and didn't bother with sweet treats after that. They just never tasted the same, and she began to admonish herself whenever she had a hankering; figuring with so much bad in the Realm, her want for cake was inappropriate and misplaced.

After years of turmoil, of losing any and everyone she ever cared for, the night the North declared her Queen of their newly-independent realm, Sansa Stark indulged herself and asked the kitchen staff to send lemon cakes to her room with supper. When her private meal was served, so was her dessert, and Sansa had to ask the servant serving her before they could disappear, "Excuse me?"

"Yes, Your Grace?" The serving maid bowed her head, facing Sansa with clasped hands locked stoically in front of her. Sansa almost cringed when she heard her new title, but refrained from reacting - it would simply just take getting used to.

"Might I ask, how are these made?"

"How what are made, Your Grace?"

"These lemon cakes."

"Oh, uh, I do not know the recipe, but I can ask the kitchens - "

"Well, it's odd, isn't it?"

"What is, Your Grace?"

"I've been all over the Realm," she spoke with an even tone, ever the emotionally-stunted diplomat, "and I've sampled many of these cakes in my lifetime, yet fail to find any real distinction. It's almost as if everyone is following the same recipe."

"Oh, well, I do know that they are, Your Grace."

"They are? All of the kingdoms?"

"Yes, Your Grace, i-it's a rare thing, but yes, the Seven Kingdoms use the same recipe."

"How can that be possible? How do they all get the same recipe?"

The maid glanced at the door nervously, "Uh, I-I do not know, Your Grace."

"You may speak freely, you are in no danger here," Sansa encouraged, gesturing to the only other empty chair at her table. "Please, come sit, indulge me in this tale. I am only curious."

"Well," she turned to shut the chamber door, speaking quietly as if what she was about to say was a secret, "it would depend if you know anything about the Targaryen dynasty, Your Grace."

"Only what was generically taught."

She nodded, taking the seat Sansa offered. "Some 2 centuries ago, there was a great scandal and a great war - one you may know as the Dance of Dragons." Sansa nodded and the maid explained anyway, "You see, it started because King Jaehaerys lost his heirs and was forced to choose between eligible familial candidates. Viserys Targaryen, the King's grandson, and his granddaughter, Viserys' cousin, Rhaenys Targaryen."

"Right, I remember the names somewhat."

"The King chose Viserys because, well, he was a man and Rhaenys was only a woman - though, married to a Velaryon, another ancient House hailing from Valyria." Sansa nodded along. "Anyways, uh, King Viserys' first wife was a Targaryen woman who gave him a daughter and then died birthing a son. He remarried a Hightower girl after that and had four other white-haired children; three sons and a daughter."

Sansa nodded slowly as she ate. Nothing like dinner and an entertaining story.

"The second son was Prince Aemond Targaryen, and he had this wife, you see, who was something akin to a saint on soil."

"Nobody's that nice," Sansa snarled in refusal, eyes almost rolling.

"You forget, Your Grace, some 200 years ago, the people never considered rebelling against the Targaryens. Only an arrogant fool would charge a horse at a dragon and think they'd win, so, at the time of this tale, there was no thought to protest the monarchy. Anyways, it wasn't just her kindness that made Aemond Targaryen's wife saint-like. It was all she was, and her most notable work was helping establish, build, organize, and operate orphanages in King's Landing, and then, around the Realm."

"Hmm."

"Well, she worked with those kids and apparently, had an affinity for baking. And because she worked with orphans, when she would take them around to other regions for adoption or placement, she'd leave each kid their own copy of the recipe."

Sansa considered the tale for a moment, then asked, "So, why lemon cakes? Where did they come from?"

The maid smiled.

Aemond Targaryen flinched when he heard something shatter, walking up the hallway alone and only a few strides from his bedchamber. When he opened his door, the One Eyed Prince actually laughed at the sight, "Oh, Gods, are you all right, my love?"

You pouted up at Aemond from the floor, "It was an accident."

"I can tell."

"I really didn't mean to."

He leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest, "No, no, I can tell by the way only the vase my mother gifted us for our wedding is broken. Never mind you telling me over the weeks how you despise it."

"It was an accident! I really didn't mean to," you sighed, glancing at the shattered vase around you.

"How'd it happen?" Aemond asked softly, moving forward after pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door. "Hmm? C'mere, little love," he bent at the waist to pick you up from the floor, hoist you in his arms, then carry you to the bed. "You all right? You hurt?"

"No...?"

"Show me."

You frowned and showed the shallow cut on the underside of your forearm, informing, "It was an accident, I swear t'the Seven, Aemond. I just tripped on the chair," you pointed to where the sitting furniture was overturned, "and fell into the table. I was replacing the flowers in the vase."

He nodded, "Your cut isn't bad, here, just hold this to it." Your husband pressed a spare cloth to your wound before straightening his spine. "Sit here a moment, I'll clean."

"No, let me - "

"No, no, love, just wait," he chuckled. In the time it took a maid to bring in a broom and dustpan, Aemond had successfully distracted you enough with casual conversation. It was there you discovered a secret you deemed unacceptable. "No, I am not lying, sweet girl," Aemond chuckled, "I've truly never had a cake for my nameday. The idea just seems silly, doesn't it? To celebrate such a common event?"

You scoffed, "We'll come back to your cynicism later. Surely, in your youth, your mother made you cake?"

"Being the second son, you often got overlooked," Aemond shrugged as if it didn't bother him. "I am not missing much, it's just cake."

"'Just cake'!? You say that because you do not know," you pouted. "What kind of a wife am I that I did not know this?"

Aemond laughed, "We've been married all of 3 months."

"It should've come up," your eyes rolled, "or at least in the lifetime of friendship before our betrothal."

"Consider this a learning opportunity between spouses. It isn't a bad thing," Aemond defended, the shattered and scattered ceramic being swept away. "So what, I've not had cake? I am missing nothing."

"It makes me sad."

Aemond laughed as he eyed you for a moment, nodding like he understood something. "You mean to remedy this, don't you?" He asked, showing the maid out of your chambers.

"Of course I do!"

He chuckled, "You know I am not fond of sweets."

"Doesn't matter, I'll find something you like. We can start with the basics, uh... Um... Well, I guess, do you like dense cakes? Fluffier, lighter ones?"

He paused to think, offering, "I like the gooseberry pies served at banquets?"

"Those are dense."

"Hmm, then dense is fine. They're in smaller quantities because they're so heavy."

You nodded, "Any flavors?"

"I am unsure on that front."

"Fruits? C'mon, fruits are usually really good with pastries and cakes."

"You know what I like," Aemond sighed, uncomfortable with the idea of attention for his nameday. "Trust me, love, I cannot make this decision - I just don't know. I am terribly green when it comes to sweets. Even when offered at formal events, you know I'm not interested."

"Well, how about a sampling? I can make you different treats and you tell me which you like."

Aemond chuckled, knowing you wouldn't let this go and agreed, "All right, sure."

And boy, did you keep to your word. The kitchen staff was already used to seeing you on a decently regular basis, but suddenly, you were spending all day in the kitchen, trying out different recipes. You made cakes, cookies, brownies, pastries, all kinds of desserts! You even went a step further, trying out newly invented ideas until narrowing down several options. You were determined to give Aemond something, wanting him to feel your love and effort in the confections because his nameday was the one day you had to pamper and spoil him without complaint.

(Though, trust me, he still complained and deflected attention.)

You loved Aemond's nameday because he had no choice but to be at the forefront of your attention and affection; something his family found amusing after their years of neglect towards him. Every other day of the year, he was stubborn and impossible and made everything about you; but not his nameday!

Even though he truly wasn't a fan of desserts, Aemond still met you on a balcony at the end of the week because not only did he adore making you happy, but he hardly ever said no to you. You had an array of treats made and displayed, and slowly, he sampled what you presented; speaking simply for your mental notes. However, he came upon something new - something he's not seen before.

"What's this?"

"Um, well... See, my younger siblings sometimes like citrus in their desserts, so, I thought this might be good? Or it could be tart - one or the other."

"This is lemon?"

"Yes, and that is made with limes from Volantis," you pointed to another platter, "that one's orange, that one's cherry, and that one has coconut."

"Where did you get coconuts and cherries?"

"That's not important. Which one is your favorite? It's what you're getting for your nameday, so do not lie."

"Pardon my pun, but the lemon cake takes the cake, sweet girl."

Aemond's heart soared in his chest when your grin of pride was hardly contained; looking pleased that you had invented something to his liking - making it all the more special, being something Aemond never has to share with others.

Sansa thought it was a lovely tale, clarifying, "So, when you say she established King's Landing's orphanages, did she use the Crown's money or the tax payer's?"

The maid smiled, "No, Your Grace, she used royal funds. King Viserys commissioned her bakery, and after a bit, the people actually started donating to her cause because the King offered tax exemption for those who donated."

"And she would take the kids around the Seven Kingdoms for placement? By herself? Why? Why not bake full time? She was obviously good at it."

"She was passionate, and the kids couldn't all fit in King's Landing anymore, so, she had to help relocate them for a better quality of life. She also gave each child the recipe so they could have a little taste of 'home' when they wanted."

Sansa nodded slowly. "How did word spread if she only made it for her husband on his nameday?"

"A moment, please," you interrupted your in-laws departure from the dinner table. When Alicent looked you in the eye, you smiled, "I've something for you all to try in honor of Prince Aemond's nameday."

"Oh, love, no," Aemond whispered in embarrassment, "not tonight."

"Would you mind, Mykal?" You asked the kind servant, who nodded once and exited the dining room.

"What's this about?" Otto questioned.

"Well, I thought we just might celebrate for just a moment together," you eased. "What with tensions so high lately, I just figured we deserved something... Sweet."

Alicent's lips twitched, always knowing in her heart that you were too good for Aemond - too good for this wreck of a family. When Mykal returned, he carried a decorated platter of lemon cakes and set it in the middle of the cleared-away table. You stood.

"What are they?" Aegon asked with an unsure curled lip.

"Lemon cakes," you smiled, "a confection of my own invention made especially for my husband, hmm?" You served a small, personal cake to each family member using saucer platters. "Please, just try it - tell me what you think."

You placed the final cake in front of your husband, grinning and taking your seat again. You knew he hated the spotlight, it gave him anxiety; so, you tried to do your best by acknowledging his nameday without needing to fuss over him. He always liked that you two celebrated privately, but being a "special event", the family had dinner together that night and you thought it a great time for the tart dessert to debut. You dwelled in anticipation as your in-laws all tried their cakes, Aemond feeding you every other bite from his fork as there came a chorus of satisfying hums and groans of approval.

"Holy Mother," Otto chuckled, instantly forking another bite in his mouth. "Mh, mh, mh, wow," he smacked his lips, nodding in impression. "You invented this?" He asked, watching you nod. "You invented a new cake..."

"For Aemond's nameday, yes," you confirmed, tone a little sharper than usual in an effort to make your point.

"I gotta admit, Y/N," Aegon spoke with a full mouth, a few crumbs flying, "this is bloody delicious."

"It really is," Alicent agreed, offering her husband a bite. "Viserys? Love? It's a lemon cake, here, try a bite."

"A what?" Viserys wheezed in confusion. "N-Never heard of l-lemon cake."

"They're new," she explained, "Y/N made them for Aemond's nameday. Isn't that special? Try a bite, love, there you go."

Viserys accepted the bit of cake on Alicent's fork, wincing gently at the tart taste before, too, humming. "'S good," he whispered, looking drained of energy.

"Gotta make these more often," Aegon pointed his fork at the cake crumbles left. He continued, "Like, bring these to every banquet we host and this will be the star." You chuckled and put another cake on his plate, it being instantly torn into.

You smiled at Aemond, "Guess they're a hit."

He leaned down to affectionately press his lips to your forehead for a long moment, mumbling, "Knew they would be."

"So, does this mean I can bake you cakes now? Every nameday? You won't complain?" You asked, tangling his hand with yours and relishing in the way he squeezed.

"Oh, he'll still complain," Helaena giggled, licking icing from her finger, "no matter what."

Aemond smirked at his sister, offering a subtly jab at his family, "I would never complain about being loved. Besides," he offered you a fond, softening look, "she does it so well, wouldn't you say?"

The family hummed in agreement, not truly paying attention to his words - all enraptured with scraping their saucer platters clean. You smiled up at him, letting his lips find yours in a brief show of emotion.

Otto mused, "You know, I've heard it said, 'the love of a good woman will echo through lifetimes'. I think food is a surefire way to ensure that legacy of love, respect, consideration..."

For the next few weeks, you spent more and more time in the kitchens; whipping out batches of lemon cakes to offer the Keep's staff after rumors spread of your cakey goodness. You gifted guards, trainers, tutors, members of court, maids, the castle's servants the newly invented confection. It quickly became the most talked about topic in King's Landing; the citizens being obsessed with your cake and demanding a taste of their own.

In fact, Viserys was so pleased by the turn of events that on one of his rare good days, he consulted Otto. "A bakery for Y/N - would it be worth the purchase? Do you think the Crown should fund the purchase?"

Otto considered, "Well, since her cakes are the hottest commodity currently, I'd say, yes, Your Grace, it'd be worth exploring as a new revenue for the Crown."

"No, no, not for the Crown t'collect from - leave it for Aemond and Y/N to share. This is not to be a business we collect the profits from - but rather, something they might enjoy." Viserys tried to smile, deciding, "Make it happen, Otto, my friend."

"Your Grace?"

"I want - I want her to have a bakery. Where she might sell her baked goods as she sees fit, not as an extension of the Crown, she deserves it. All her hard work," the King wheezed, coughing violently.

"Of course, Your Grace."

Yet when you were informed about your new business venture and shown the building that was to be your bakery, you told Otto that you didn't bake for money and having your own business would be terribly redundant. Yet Otto insisted that you made your own rules and if you wanted to charge, you could, but Viserys wanted you to have a designated safe space to create in.

Upon the grand opening, you were a SMASH hit. The line in your bakery was nonstop and extended out the door; the Gold Dragons overflowing enough for you to restock your ingredients tenfold AND have leftovers to funnel back into the orphanages. People talked, they spread word and rumor, and most patrons had heard through the "grape vine" that your bakery was well worth any wait. Being so popular, you required extra hours baking and only opened about three days a week because you still had your other job.

Speaking of, you obviously still worked with the orphans; in fact, some of them even came to hang out in the bakery! No, they didn't help bake unless they asked to specifically mix the icing or something, because you didn't believe in exploiting child labor. Anyways, on certain days, you closed the bakery and brought all the cakes to the orphanage to distribute, always having a warm heart when the kids giggled while eating the little sweet treat. It inspired you to write down the recipe you invented and every trip you took to help kids find their placement, you brought them recipe cards.

"Here," you handed the card over to the guardian agreeing to care for the kids, "this is just a recipe for a cake and I promise it's really simple to follow. It'll be a familiar taste to them when living here, somewhere unfamiliar for now." You sniffled, offering a watery smile, "Just wanted them to have a piece of home."

The volunteer guardians were usually grateful, knowing baking these cakes could be a form of bonding between them and the kids. It was difficult trying to get these types of kids to open up after all they endured on the streets before your orphanage took them in. Maybe a little cake would help mend those wounds and assure them, while here, they were safe.

You never expected to live out through history, but while names are lost, stories altered, and family names become obsolete, cuisine is a universally shared experience that transcends time.

Sansa sat for a moment, stewing in the story. Never had she imagined such a history lesson surrounding her favorite dessert; she would've thought some old granny would've been messing around in the kitchens to invent such a treat. Not a Princess of the Realm, especially one belonging to the most fearsome and longest reigning monarchy in Westerosi history.

For a brief moment, she was jealous by the description of your relationship to Prince Aemond; hearing how loving your husband was, how supportive and kind to you. She wondered if she'd ever experience something like that - and if she'd ever meet someone who would take her nameday as seriously as you took your husband's.

"What happened after?" She asked quietly, taking a long sip of her wine. "To the Prince and Princess, I mean?"

The maid shrugged meekly, "Not too long after, the Dance of Dragons started and there was no time or reason to bake anymore. They both perished in the flames of war, unfortunately, becoming victims of the Princess Rhaenyra - Aemond's older half-sister."

"Mh," Sansa nodded, "I've heard of her. Maegor with Tits, they called her."

The maid nodded, finishing, "But, you see, Your Grace, the recipe was already spread around the Realm and to this day, is still being used."

The room was silent for a long moment.

"All that," she stabbed her lemon cake with her fork and lifted the bite to her eye for examination, "just because she loved a man and wanted to give him what he's never had before."

"Perhaps, Your Grace, that is why nameday cakes are now tradition. They say the love of a good woman will echo through lifetimes, Your Grace."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[a-thousand-eyes-and-one]

asoiaf characters who could hack it as a starbucks barista:

— jon. runs that shit like the navy. schedules five minute scream-cry sessions for himself in the supply closet but everyone pretends not to notice bc it kinda seems like its working for him. keeps accidentally charming the regulars

— arya. only ever works closing shift bc if you put her on morning/lunch rush she yells at customers. cleans like a crazy person and leaves the place spotless. WILL put a nick in your car’s tire valve with a box opener if you make her count the till

— loras. makes GREAT coffee and can smooth things over with irate middle aged women very easily. however if ur gay avoid his location bc he cannot stop himself from being catty its in his BLOOD. also:

— dany. hits her (painstakingly decorated) dab pen in her car before work so she’s very zen. however she Is the coworker you sic on asshole customers bc she’s very good at making them feel stupid and also never caves and gives out free drinks

asoiaf characters who could NOT hack it as a starbucks barista:

— sansa. is the aforementioned caver. always turning up the heat because she’s cold even though literally everyone else is sweating like pigs. stayed on a couple months because it turns out mean customers calm down when she starts to cry #prettygirlhack but eventually quits because she hates cleaning the bathroom

— theon. uniquely bad at his job. writes his number on every other cup he hands out even to people wearing wedding bands or ACTIVELY WITH THEIR PARTNER IN THE STORE (has been beaten up like four times doing this). never ties off the garbage correctly. uses too much water when he mops and has slipped in it and twisted his ankle multiple times. is a soundcloud rapper and is always trying to get the manager to play his music in the store

— robb. nobody wants to fire him because hes genuinely a great guy but he takes eighty million years to make one drink and he’s always comping shit for his girlfriend who comes in all the time

— jojen reed. okay at the job but is always saying ominous shit to customers and is passive aggressive to whoever closed the previous night no matter how good of a job they did. quit because someone else got fired for showing up to work high and he didnt want to be next

[plus-size-reader]

Gentle

Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2737 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Ned Stark’s eldest daughter finding herself interested by the King’s loyal protector, and even more disenchanted by how he’s treated

—————————————————————————————————

The King’s arrival in Winterfell wasn’t of much interest to you, if you were being honest.

Of course you understood that it was a great honor and that his Grace was very important to your father, but outside of that, you had no real reason to pay the caravan much mind as it moved through the streets of Winterfell.

Had it not been for the pretense of duty and honor, and more severely, the pressure of your mother’s wrath, you truly believed you would have skipped the entire affair.

You weren’t the object of their visit, after all.

As the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you were much too old to be of much interest to the young Prince compared to your sisters, and the King only came to Winterfell with your Aunt Lyanna on the mind.

Really, you weren’t sure why you needed to attend.

Until, you found yourself staring down the traveling party of the King’s guard, and the striking presence of the man they called “the Hound”

You had heard stories of the man over the years, and you knew where the title had come from, but never could you have imagined the man before you now and that man were one in the same. He hardly struck you as some ravenous monster, even then.

…and as the days went by, you found your opinion unchanged.

You existed in Winterfell simply, a privilege afforded you by your father’s title and the love the families of the North had for the Starks.

For the most part, you did what you wanted and didn’t call too much attention to yourself, content to read on the sidelines and follow after your siblings as they grew into their own. That meant that you escaped a lot of the formalities of nobility, as no one really needed too much of your attention.

If they were looking for a Stark to talk to, you were always fairly low on the list and you liked it that way, especially given all the excitement in Winterfall over the past few days.

With Sansa entertaining the Prince, your father entertaining the King and Queen, and the charms of the North keeping the guard away, you finally had a moment to yourself which only meant one thing. You could finally finish your book.

It was all set, just as you wanted it.

The weather had yet to get so bitter cold that you couldn’t stand to be out, so you grabbed a blanket and set it in the clearing near the market, under a big tree. The septa’s rarely bothered you these days, so you should be able to get some peace and quiet.

Not that you got too far before something else caught your eye.

You had only been reading your book for a short time when you heard the familiar sing-songy tone of your sister’s voice, followed unsurprisingly by the nasally pitch of Prince Joffrey.

They were to be married following this trip, and you knew she was excited. You could tell by the way she skipped lightly as she walked, and how she hung on his every word.

You had never been in love yourself, but you had to imagine that was what it looked like. Perhaps that was why you found yourself watching them as they walked, or maybe it had more to do with the Hound, loyal as always, who was trailing behind them steadily.

He was an interesting man, you’d decided.

Even as he walked, he studied the world around him as if he wasn’t a part of it, rather that he was peering in at it from the outside. You felt that you could relate, in some way, as you had always been that way.

They’d chastised you for being a dreamer as a girl. The Septa would take your books and keep them from you, your mother would beg you to engage in your duties as a lady and even Robb and Theon teased you.

Your head was always far away and even now, you had managed to keep it that way. While other women your age married and had heirs for unimpressive Lords, you remained in your father’s homeland.

A place where you could keep your books and your dreams, without having to endure the ugliness.

Not that ugliness was really the problem in the first place.

You were certain that some found the Hound ugly in all his violence and impropriety, but you couldn’t dare count yourself among them. Even now, as you stared at him over your bound paper novel, you saw nothing short of a dream like all the others.

It wasn’t even something you could truly understand, if you had any desire to try. There was just a softness to him, a quiet contemplation that made you feel as if no harm would ever come to you.

That wasn’t a feeling you’d known before now, as that was one of the things the North had never really had. Your father and brothers would rather die than let something or someone hurt you, you knew that, but it wasn’t so simple.

The comfort his presence held went beyond any physical threat or danger, it was almost warm.

Not that you would have ever ventured to admit it.

After all, you had never even spoken to the man and if you tried to explain the way you were feeling to anyone, they would surely have you committed. The hound was a lot of things, but none would have called him warm.

None outside of you that was.

You continued your staring for quite some time, only occasionally looking away from the sight before you to mindlessly turn the page in your book. You imagined you may have sat there all evening if you remained uninterrupted.

However, when your attention returned to the imposing form of the King’s dog across the way to find him already looking at you, the illusion fell away entirely.

Surely he thought you were demented.

In the entire time he and the King’s guard had been in Winterfell, you had yet to speak a word to a one of them but that didn’t mean he was unfamiliar with you. Every time he turned around, he found you sitting somewhere over his shoulder, that same book perched in your lap.

Anyone else may have just brushed you off, assuming you were a bit out there as your family always had, but Sandor couldn’t quite do that.

After all, he had grown used to the weary glances and fearful whispers between people as he passed, but no one had ever paid him so much mind as you seemed to be.

Naturally he was curious.

No one had voluntarily spent that much time looking at him in all his life, and he needed to know what it was about you that was different.

You tensed the moment you noticed his attention, not daring to look away from the weathered pages beneath your fingers, not when you heard him nearing where you sat and certainly not when he stopped at your side.

Neither of you spoke, and you weren’t even sure if you drew a single breath, but he certainly did as he waited. Waited for what he wasn’t sure, but it just seemed to be the thing to do.

As if you would somehow explain yourself if he stood in your presence long enough.

Though, after a long moment passed between you without so much as a glance from you, he decided to just end the torment for you both.

There would be no sense in just standing here all evening.

“Why do you stare so much?” he wondered aloud, his voice just as gruff as it always was, though you caught something else hidden there too. Just beneath the surface, hiding beneath the walls he’d built hugh within himself.

It almost sounded like a sort of nervousness, though you would have imagined him incapable of something so common.

You didn’t answer at first.

Whether it was due to the humiliation of being caught that held your tongue or the nerves of facing down such an imposing man on your own, he wasn’t sure. All Sandor knew for sure was that this was one of the strangest interactions he’d ever had.

If only he knew.

The real reason for your silence wasn’t some twisted interest or shame but because there was no real answer at all. At least not one you’d confidently admit while those brown eyes had you locked in a stare.

You hadn’t meant it to be disrespectful, of course, because the nature of your admiration couldn’t be farther from distaste. However, to a man like Sandor, that was exactly what it looked like.

…What it felt like.

Naturally, after a life of rejection, Sandor assumed that your staring was like that of every else when they looked at him. He assumed you were disgusted by him, and his grotesque face, or perhaps that you were afraid.

He hoped you weren’t afraid.

In any case, he never could have imagined that you would answer him in the way you did, even if it took you a moment to summon the courage to string any words together at all.

“I suppose I’m interested in you” you decided finally, twisting your face up slightly at the way that must have sounded.

It wasn’t quite right, of course, though it wasn’t entirely wrong either.

You were interested in him, but that seemed too simply a phrasing, like all the gravity and sentiment was missing even still.

Sandor only grunted in reply after a brief pause, his gaze drifting across the market, watching as the surrounding northerners studied your interaction, only to drop their eyes when they met his.

They all feared him, and they were right too, because they understood what he was and what he was capable of. Though, maybe that was another thing that you had done since he arrived that was unique to you.

Never once had you looked away from him.

You had never shrunk away or grimaced as they did, even at a time like this when anyone else would have run for the hills. It was certainly new, even he couldn’t be so stubborn as to ignore that.

“What’s so interesting about me?” he wondered, not daring to move closer or join you as you sat, but not moving further away either. Even though it felt wrong to speak freely with an unmarried noble woman like you, it really wasn’t.

You certainly didn’t think so, and you believed that anyone else would agree.

If anything, you were simply making conversation while he did his duty, watching over the Prince and his future bride.

Now, it was your turn to pause, regarding the words on the page only a moment more before you closed it, and discarded it in the snowy grass.

“We don’t have men like you here,” you allowed, considering his imposing frame as he stood above you.

Though you had only seen him from afar until now, at his impressive height and with your current low position, Sandor seemed even larger than he had before. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be frightened by him, which had to have been because he wasn’t frightening in the first place.

The rest of the realm may have treated him like a monster but you hardly believed that made him one.

You could tell in the way he glanced down at you, surprise painting his features, that he wanted to argue with you but he faltered, because he didn’t understand. He wanted to tell you that there were violent men everywhere, and that most were just better at hiding it, but somehow, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

No matter how diluted that may have made you seem in the moment.

“Gentle,” you clarified, watching as his mind tried to pin down exactly what you were trying to say, because the most obvious answer just wasn’t possible. “Men here are all the same. They’re either ruthless fighters or cowards and fools. On rare occasions, they may be both but neither are gentle as you are”

That was it.

There were the words you had been trying to find before, but it still didn’t feel as if he understood, or perhaps he just didn’t feel as if you had any right to be the one saying them.

After all, you had only ever been in the North and you hardly knew anything about him, or many other men for that matter. What real ground did you have to stand on when it came to this?

“Trust me little girl, there’s nothing gentle about a man like me” he scoffed, washing away any tenderness you’d been feeling in a moment.

Perhaps he was right, but you didn’t think so.

While it was true that there were no other men like him in the North, you had seen your fair share of guarded men hiding from the truth about themselves. Normally they were trying to convince themself that they were braver than they were, or stronger, but it looked the same.

It made them look small.

“It’s in your eyes. You think I can’t see it because you don’t, but it’s there. It’s the same reason you’re still having this conversation with me, even though the Prince snuck off with Sansa” you countered, gesturing to the missing space they’d previously occupied through the pass.

If he’d truly been keeping an eye on them, and nothing more, he wouldn’t have let them out of his sight.

“Maybe I just want to know what’s wrong with you? After all, I thought the future Lady of Winterfell would be a bit more sociable” he argued, almost poking fun at you in a way you hadn’t seen coming.

Which was a welcome break in that untouchable armor of his.

“I am hardly the future Lady of Winterfell. That title will belong to the wife of my brother Robb,” you informed, gathering your skirts to rise to your feet, only to find his hand outstretched to you, a further invitation behind the curtain.

You took it as gracefully as you could and rose to your full height, though you remained entirely dwarfed by the large man at your side.

“And I have never really taken to being sociable, that’s true. It’s my mother’s greatest upset” you teased, straightening out your gown and taking in the full sight of the Hound in all his glory.

He looked small, if that was even physically possible, as you admired him with those eyes of yours. If you thought his gaze was pointed, you had no idea how he felt beneath the heavy weight of your own.

“You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you?” he grumbled, his question hanging in the air untouched for a moment as you studied him, no longer caring how strange it may have looked to anyone else.

You had been right.

He was anything but ugly up close, and it was a tragedy that so few got to gaze upon him in this manner.

“I suppose. Perhaps that’s why I remain unmarried” you suggested, subconsciously hinting at what you knew to be your own greatest flaw, at least in the eyes of your people and your house.

At the very least, the Hound had been able to make something of himself outside of being a husband or son. He could be a warrior, and he was, one of the most fearsome warriors you’d ever seen.

As a woman, you had never been afforded that kind of privilege and you never would. As far as your mother was concerned, you would live and die a spinster, and there was little you could do to change that.

“Perhaps. Or maybe this place really is full of cowards and fools, as you said” he muttered, sparing you one more heady glance before turning his back to you, his attention fully on the clearing ahead.

That was it.

In all the days you’d been admiring him and making a desperate attempt to understand exactly what lay beneath that shell of his, that was all he had for you.

…and you couldn’t have been happier, because for the first time in a long time, you found yourself looking forward to what the days ahead would hold.

[writingsofwesteros]

Imagine an au where Cregan Stark is in got era, another one of Ned x Catelyns brood. He's either born between Robb and Sansa or is Sansas twin 🤔

Imagine him getting his hands on Tywins' younger, most beloved daughter during the war of the 5 kings... him surviving the red wedding.. with Robb dead, he is now considered King in the North among many northerners, riverman, and valemen alike... he takes the great lions daughter to wife.. and breeds her again and again until she gives him plenty of wolf pups as payment for her fathers crimes and his lost family... the little lioness doesn't complain... he's a very giving.. very greedy husband.. she finds that being Queen Consort in the North isn't all that bad... his direwolf is oh so protective of her and her pups too... she doesn't want her father to come get her.. Casterly Rock isn't her home anymore..

THE HOTTEST!

Oh he would be so delicious as the Dark!King of the North

She will always have a pup inside her; there is too much Cregan is owed for him to stop.

She pouts when she wakes up and he is not there

[missisjoker]

I wonder if the universal love for the House Stark is rooted in the authentic, non-toxic masculinity that this house represents.

In the brutally realistic, gory world of the Song of Ice and Fire, House Stark occupies the golden mean between vices and comes as close to the Aragorn-esque style masculinity as we can get.

Lord Stark is, first and foremost, a protector, the one who cares for and defends the lives entrusted to him. Unlike any other house, a Stark doesn't do it for the status or comfort that comes with a royal office. While other houses seek pleasures, riches, and status, Stark seeks duty.

In a world filled with conquest, violence and immorality, Starks take it upon themselves to protect the rest against the dark powers that dwell beyond the wall.

They are fiercely protective, brave, strong, and very competent in battle (remember, a house wouldn't hold their realm for 8 thousand years if they weren't). They are hardworking, they have grit and survival skills, they have discipline.

They don't abuse their status of lordship, but instead, they forge a bond of brotherhood with all the people of the north, a type of bond that grows when death stares you in the face.

Lords of Winterfell are caretakers and providers too- they make sure their people are fed and warm when the long winters overtake their kingdom. It takes -and builds- a special form of trust - to open your hearth for those in need and shelter and care for them in the most dangerous situation.

This unshakeable trust is the source of their honor- this is why they always keep their word; their survival depends on it.

Last but not least, their treatment of women. While the house itself is very masculine-coded (unlike, say, Tyrells with their matriarchal structure or Martells with their egalitarianism), women share as much respect as men. You can see that in many examples: Ned is horrified Robert beats Cercei and sees it as dishonorable; no Stark men got a reputation for frequenting brothels, they are portrayed as restrained and faithful; neither Ned nor Jon ever try to stop Arya from pursuing boy activities, on the contrary- both encourage and support it (it is women who belittle her for that- Sansa and Septa); Cregan Stark stills his hand from rightfully executing traitors during the Hour of the World because ladies of the great houses convince him to.

There is also ... mystery, wildness, and almost feral danger that lurks deep beneath the dutiful and well-controlled exterior - like wolves under the starlight in the dark forests. They are the children of the first men, they worship old, wild gods and wield old magic - don't try to convince me it isn't even a little ...alluring.

[cdragons]

@dipperscavern & i were gushing over our child aka second in command!reader, akaa doe, and as a parent, I felt the need to contribute

second in command!reader who is Jory Cassel's baby sister and whose mother died giving birth to her the same year as Robb Stark in 281 AC

second in command!reader who became Jory Cassel's whole world when he was only 8 years old - even more so when he learned from his Uncle Rodrik that his father died at the end of Robert's Rebellion at the Tower of Joy

second in command!reader who grew up completely and wholly loved and protected because she had her big brother Jory to look after and protect her

her first word was a swear word because her Uncle Rodrik stubbed his toe that one time when she was only a few months old and her first word was the 'f-bomb'

mother, father, brother - whatever his little doe of a sister needed him to be, he did that for her because she was his baby sister, and he loved her more than he loved anything ever

she got picked on for not having a mother or father, and sometimes there would be mean people who said she killed their mother and Jory actually hated her and only pretended to love her

when she cried to Jory about this, she asked him if he ever hated her because she killed their mother

she is crying so much at how her beloved brother's face drops and she starts to believe that those mean people were right - until Jory takes her little hands in his and tells her with such a serious expression that he’s never loved anyone so much after meeting them for the first time

second in command!reader who Robb Stark had been in love with since he first laid eyes on her even though he never realized it and since they were babies, he would cry so loudly if she wasn't in his line of sight

second in command!reader who grew up with Robb and Jon at winterfell, and who was a spitfire with more audacity than a wildling from the moment she took her first steps

second in command!reader who was the little darling doe at winterfell with Sansa because she's the oldest girl and Ned Stark's boys would follow her until they reached the ends of the earth

second in command!reader who had Ned Stark's boys totally wrapped around her finger, and these three got into the most insane situations because little doe was an unhinged child

the trio became a squad when her brother came back after fighting in the Greyjoy Rebellion and Theon Greyjoy was taken as a hostage to winterfell

the squad became even more unhinged and insane because baby doe doesn't believe in subtlety and was the one who needed to be held back when a fight was about to begin

her nickname became baby doe because once she started walking, she very quickly took to running, and like a baby doe, there needed to be an entire searching party to look for her if it took too long for her to get back

ever since they were kids, Robb Stark would want two people to sit next to him during meals at the Great Hall: Jon and his Doe

so when Theon Greyjoy came to winterfell, he was nice to the boy because he was glad to have another friend, but he was NOT a fan at how his Doe kept sitting next to the boy now

but he supposed it would be okay because then doe came running toward him all excited and happy and adorable when she started spouting how she got her brother to agree to be a brother to Theon

if Jory became Theon's brother, then Theon would be doe's brother

brothers and sisters can't marry or fall in love, at least not in the way of the old gods, meaning that Theon and doe would never marry

Robb's mood was much better since then, much to the confusion from his mother and amusement from his father

Jory thought he was hallucinating.

she walking toward him with her big, doe eyes. her hand was clutching Theon Greyjoy's.

it was a funny sight to see how his baby sister, who was still so small, dragging a boy taller than her until she stood before him with that little twinkle in her eyes.

"Uncle Rodrik was being mean to Theon," she said. "I told him he was being mean and a hippogriff because he told me i have to be nice, but then he wasn't nice!"

Jory held back a snicker and just nodded.

"Yes, that was mean, but why did you bring him here, baby Doe?"

she pulled out her pout and quivering lip and Jory knew whatever she was going to ask from him, he'd say yes.

"Well, after Uncle Rodrik was mean, I asked Theon to show me how to shoot an arrow. And then Theon told me he doesn't have any brothers because they all died! And that made me so sad because if you died, I'd never be happy again!"

Theon groaned and softly elbowed her ribs as his face became red.

he groaned. "Doe, I told you not to tell anyone about that."

she turned to her new friend with an angry look and angrily stomped the dirt with her little foot.

"Of course I'm telling about it! You're my friend, and I don't like people being mean to my friends!"

Jory leans forward and picks her up until she looked like she was flying and her little legs were kicking in the air and she couldn't stop her giggles until he put her back on the ground again.

"Very good, baby Doe. But why did you bring him here?"

"I want you to be his brother like with me! Can you do that Jory? Pleaseeeeeeeeee? No one should be alone!"

...and of course, Jory said yes.

the huge smile on her face and she cheered and tackled him to the ground to thank him told him that he made the right decision.

since then, whenever Jory and Doe would go to the godswoods, ride through the wolf woods, or go fishing at acorn waters - Theon would be there with them.

for the first time since he was taken from home, Theon Greyjoy felt like he wasn't an outsider.

he felt like he wasn't a hostage held captive by his father's enemy who aided a king who slaughtered thousands of his father's men.

he felt like a boy who had a younger sister who was his best friend, and he was her's, and it felt like he never knew what it felt like being alone in the first place at all.

Robb Stark was not happy.

he was very not happy.

his mother had just given birth to his new baby sister, Arya Stark, and since then, he hasn't had a moment alone with Doe.

normally she would always be the first one in the courtyard, ready to train with him, Jon, and Theon under her Uncle Rodrik and brother, Jory.

but lately, all she's been doing is helping out his mother with his new sister - she's even been playing with Sansa!

Doe didn't hate his little sister - in fact, she liked Sansa very much, but Sansa liked boring stuff like playing princesses or dressing up or stitching.

and Doe wasn't boring...she was different from other girls at winterfell.

she loved to run in the woods and train with swords.

she hated wearing dresses and never bothered to learn how to braid her hair because she would just use the little leather string to hold it.

she loved playing snow wars during the summer snows and neer minded getting mud on her breeches.

but now...now she wasn't playing with him anymore and spending time with Sansa instead of him...it was very annoying.

and what's worse - Jon didn't get it, and neither did Theon.

Jon just shrugged when he complained. "Lady Stark needs help because she just gave birth to a baby."

Robb rolled his eyes. "I know that - but why is she spending all her time with Sansa? She doesn't even like playing princesses or stitching!"

Theon scoffed. "Your mum's spending all her time now with the new baby instead of Sansa, duh. If your sister's not kept busy or played with, then Lady Stark'll have two screaming babies."

Theon wasn't happy that Doe was spending time with the prissy little lady who was too much like her mother - always looking at him with an upturned nose and uppity attitude.

but he knew if he wasn't having a good time, his doe was having an even worse time.

Robb still pouted - he hated feeling like this, he didn't like it.

it was like that time when he caught doe being nice and playing the blacksmith's son and not him and he marched over to grab her wrist and dragged her away from him

Theon snickered. "Don't worry - Sansa'll get over it and you'll get your little lady back before you know it."

Robb's face turned bright red as Jon and Theon laughed at his expression.

"SHE IS NOT MY-"

"What're you lot screamin' for?"

Robb turned around and there she was, staring at her friends with a confused expression at the screaming she heard from her lord's son.

she burst out laughing at how he was gaping at her like a fish out of water.

She shoved his arm and walked ahead. "Come on! Septa Mor-dumb finally let me out! Let's get outta here before she changes her mind!"

she took off running with laughs echoing through the woods and all the boys followed after her.

it was the best day Robb had in so long: he spent the entire day running, fishing, playing, and climbing.

the four finally calmed down and stopped to rest underneath the red leaves of the weirwood tree.

Theon and Jon were fast asleep while Robb and Doe were still awake and talking.

"...Hey Doe?"

She turned to him. "Yeah?"

"Who do you like more: me or Sansa?"

She blinked before answering with a big smile. "You, of course, dummy! Sansa's not nearly as fun! And I knew you way longer - of course I like you more!"

the next time Doe played with Sansa, Robb didn't complain.

because he knew that no matter how many siblings he had, he'd always be her favorite Stark.

...Theon and Jon still keep teasing him about it though...whatever, they were just jealous.

these two are so in love and are so obvious and everyone knows it but them smh

@dipperscavern is literally my wife - we're married, we eloped, and second in command!reader is our baby

@ghostinvenus i hope you don't mind me tagging you, but there's gonna be a lot more brainrot for our doe 🤣

[shirotaangel]

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔ Babies

- KOZUME KENMA × READER

- SYNOPSIS: you just want to have your Kozume's babies but you're too fucked up.

tw : attempted murder (?), sexual tension, mentions of sex, angry sex at the bottom.

╰┈➤ YOU WERE WITH HIM in the empty classroom when you thought of the question. The rest of your class went down to the canteen but Kenma insisted on the both of you staying here, mumbling something along the lines of people become savages at lunchtime in the canteen.

He said you wouldn't like the lunch being served today.

"And that is-?" You smiled, raising your fine brow.

"You don't like anything," he leaned backward by the elbows in the window, sunlight striping his forehead, "Don't matter what the canteens are selling."

You were writing on the blackboards, scribbles both of your names and faces of cartoons. You drew a pink cat since there's no red chalk. Kuroo would normally be here, slacking off, but midterms got him by the leash.

Now it's you and Kenma.

And your great question.

"Kozume," you turned to him. His body was halfway through the window, balancing, closing his eyes. His bleached hair fell behind, shifting in the light breeze.

Summer looked pretty on him, you thought.

He asked, "what."

You thought about it at first, if you should ask him since it's not really what he would hear from you everyday, or generally from someone with a decent mind. But you're curious of his answer.

"Would you fuck me, Kozume?" She asked, almost bored, "get me pregnant."

His head lolled to your side of the classroom, his slanted eyes opened, "what kind of question is that?"

"Nothing much," you shrugged, "would you?"

"Huh," he says, unbothered, proceeding to think. He never answers a question of yours without giving it good pondering, "do I fuck you just to get you pregnant?"

"Yes . . . Just for that sole benefit," you inspected your acrylic nails, "squirting inside to get the baby in me. What do you think?"

He frowned a bit, his head lowering down the window, "if you'd ask for it, then sure."

You were surprised. Hardly anything surprised you nowadays, especially if it's Kenma. Actually it's him who hated the surprises - saying he didn't like the way it it made him contemplate.

You remember arguing that some questions didn't need to be deep. He answered that you were a trickster - and he needed to dissect everything that comes from you to the very bone of it.

"You would?" she says, turning back to the board. You picked the blue chalk, starting to draw small penguins, whales, dolphins, "even now?"

He doesn't budge from his careless position, "if you ask."

"Let's say we did," you wondered, squinting as you added some scales to a chubby fish, "right here, right now. You fucked me hard. You cummed."

"Go on," he muttered, barely there.

"Suddenly, I'm carrying your baby, a boy maybe," you trailed off, thinking pink waves would look pretty, so you took the pink chalk and drew, "what do you think he'll look like?"

"You decide," he said, glancing at you momentarily, the blowing curtains brushing his shoulders softly, "you already know what I'll say."

"You'd have our baby boy look like Baldur, or maybe even Sean Bean," you turned to him, glaring a bit, "You're a horrible father."

"Why, I thought you'd want it to look like Sean," a small, amused grin tilts his thin lips, "we can cast him in some new medieval franchise somewhere in the future."

"I don't like those films," you sighed, disturbed, "I already rejected HBO - I didn't want to play Sansa."

He hummed.

You paused, imagining your baby boy, your little prince with Kenma. You're the more beautiful one between you two, but you'd actually like the kid to have his father's face - golden eyes, sharp features. You want all that is Kenma in your boy. You'd love him more than anything in the world.

"He can have your face," you put the chalk down, padding slowly towards Kenma. He's your best friend, your quiet baby boy. You stood between his legs, leaning down the window until your chests were pressed together, "our precious baby."

The third year classroom was in the third floor, reaching the top branches of the tallest tree on campus. Leaves were nearby so you plucked a few, tucking them in Kenma's blazer pockets.

"Why not yours?" he raised his head slightly, but not much, just to look at you face, brushing his finger on your jaw.

"Because I want our baby boy to look like you," you rubbed the tip of her nose lightly against his, smiling, "is that too much to ask?"

A small chuckle rumbled from his throat, his brows raised, "poor kid."

"What do you mean?" You asked softly, lacing your fingers through his and placing a small, quick kiss on his lips, "that's why I wanted you to make me pregnant, no one else."

"Yeah?" He slung an arm over his forehead.

The sky was a sweet blue above you, with barely any clouds. A little bird flew past, darting into the branches and leaves near.

"I want you to be mine forever," you breathed.

You two dangled a part of yourselves across the window, between what you could compare to life and death.

You could rise and nudge him back to the classroom, or in a little tilt you could send you both to Hell.

We deserve it so damn bad, you thought, playing with a stray streak of his hair.

"I want him to be fat, chubby, small, has your eyes," you took the hand of his you held, kissing those tan knuckles tenderly, "I want you to fuck me, Kenma, give me your babies."

He chuckled, his brows creasing together, "pump you full with my kids, huh?"

You laughed, kissing his lips once more. A small, precious kiss, "My Kozume."

He sighed, amused, "you'll be the death of me."

"And you're the death of me," you whispered, twirling of strand of his hair. It's almost dried from the bleach down deep to his roots.

You pressed yourself further against his chest, getting heavier and heavier, slowly tilting you two lower . . . lower.

Kenma grimaced, sternly saying your name. You don't listen.

"What the fuck are you doing," Kenma's narrow eyes were wide, breathless. He gripped your arm, pushing you back. He kept saying your name, each one more agitated than the last.

You kept silent.

You and him were slipping over the window sill - you deepened your body on his when you pressed your mouth on his jaw, pressuring his head downwards and downwards.

Kenma tried to grab on the rails but, he gasped against your lips when you threatened to push yourself lower down -

You curled your arms around his neck, abruptly pulled him back into the classroom. You landed on your back, Kenma on top.

Breathless as he is, Kenma pulled his head from you, his eyes wild. You knew he was cursing you, wanted to kill you in the most brutal ways. Maybe like stoning you to death naked in the middle of Shibuya. You'd like that death.

He did something much worse though. He gripped your wrists and fucked you. He fucked you hard, fucked you well.

The grudge in that? He didn't give you babies.

copyright belongs to @shirotaangel

[atopvisenyashill]

Worst things GOT did casting wise:

- making Dany too beautiful (+ styling her in a way that she never has a hair out of place, always wears BLUE - which makes her look peaceful and soft and angelic, not making her burn her hair off etc). I just think of that one official art piece that's in the illustrated AGOT book where dany is bald, with the dragons and sparks and frames around her and its so striking instead of the "beautiful angelic blonde women stand empowered with her tits out" scene we got

- casting Iain Glen as Jorah and not like. a random Lannister (like. Come on. He is a burly and ugly man... why are you casting one of the most beautiful men to play him.... this is how we ended up with dany/jorah shippers)

-making Joffrey too unattractive (this is not meant to disparage JG who is a great actor and seems like a really cool dude and i'm not saying he's ugly but I think from his very first scene Joffrey looks very punchable and it would have been so much smarter to make the audience .. relate to Sansa's infatuation with his golden looks. In my head (and in all the official art) Joffrey looks like a male version of cersei/a younger version of Jaime.)

- making Dany, Jon, Robb, Marg, Brienne etc 10+ years older than Sansa and the younger starklings .... It's not "the main characters and arya (who is so cool and can kill people) + the little children" it's ONE AGE group of equally important characters

Like I know people are upset at Ned/Jon etc being too attractive, WHICH I GET, but I feel like those were very vibe based casting decisions and i'm ultimately fine with that (I also think it's easier for the audience to root for someone if they're attractive so like. I guess they had to do it) but these other things resulated in people's perception of the characters being so wildly different from what they're supposed to be. The real reason people get so angry whenever someone says they wish tamzin had stayed is because they don't like the idea of daenerys not being this ethereal beauty (TM is beautiful but not in a conventional way) that they can fully root for without issue.

1. NO YOU ARE SOOOOOO RIGHT ABOUT THEM REFUSING TO LET DANY LOOK UGLY. it’s not to say tamzin isn’t clearly beautiful, but i think she’s beautiful in the same way gwendoline christie is, which is that she’s very striking and she has a strong presence but she’s not exactly what people picture when they say “typical hot lady” (which is Crazy these are all able bodied white women, like the definition of “beauty” is soooooo fuckijg narrow that tamzin merchant is ~atypically beautiful) vs emilia definitely is, and YES like everything from not burning her hair off to emilia being,,,,,fuller in figure than dany as a fourteen year old would be is just very clear that they saw dany different than the way she is On The Page. i mean i know people whack george for saying that she’s like a sexy funny lady or whatever but george never lets go of the fact that she’s incredibly young whereas d&d completely miss that part of her character.

i will say i Get the criticism of tamzin perhaps not picking up on the conlangs easily because one thing you can say for emilia is that she had a decent head for the conlangs, she’s even still partially fluent in dothraki lmaooo. but all the other stuff they said about why they recast dany it’s like. hmmmmmmmmmm.

2. absolutely right about iain especially because he’s similar to idk paddy in that he’s got CHARISMA but unlike viserys, they didn’t intent to portray him as a deeply flawed, antagonistic character they went in portraying him as like an objectively Good Guy dedicated to dany. he’s just so much less creepy and pushy in the show and has several scenes where he shows some moral backbone - that “yet here you stand” “yet here i stand” scene is sooooooo good for example, the fact that he actually apologizes for spying on dany, giving him the greyscale story & not having him fuck a valyrian looking woman in a brothel 💀, etc etc - and you also just lose some of the creepiness here because emilia is clearly a grown if young woman and ian is handsome, so it’s like. welll of Course you want to root for them to be together! and never mind that this is a Massive departure from their book characterizations!! again, they have this idea of jorah in their head that doesn’t match up with what’s on the page even a little.

3. i do get your point re: joffrey and i think this is my problem with aidan as littlefucker too - they’re too obviously villains and it makes ned and sansa look stupid. like, in the books we have that moment where robb almost decks joffrey which does seem to signal something bad but the crown prince being full of himself doesn’t mean he’s going to threaten his betrothed’s sister with a sword then get his ass handed to him by a toddler. in the show we get QUITE a number of scenes where joffrey is shown to be a brat AND as you say, just like aidan, jack has a Certain Look, he looks like a shitty jock who has allegations against him ajsjdj like irl when jack smiles he’s so adorable!! but in the show they REALLY play up his ability to channel a greasy aura ya know aksjd. when the point of asoiaf is often that villains don’t LOOK like villains, but some of our Main Villains clearly resemble typical villains in the show.

4. “it’s ONE age group of characters” NO YOU ARE SO RIGHT. like, there’s several years difference from robert to ned to cat to the twins to tyrion but they’re all the same generation of characters. there’s that exact same age difference from brienne to robb, dany, jon to sansa, arya, bran, with theon kind of similar to characters like jorah, who are old enough to remember The Before Times but aren’t quite in either generation. but because they wanted dany, brienne, jon, robb, and margaery to be more of a Typical archetype rather than an exploration of that archetype, they aged everyone up and essentially invented another generation between the “adult” characters and the “kid” characters. not to be super nerdy here but one of my favorite worked shoots in wrestling is one cody rhodes did where he was ranting about the way young wrestlers get put through the grinder and he has this amazing line where he sums it up as “old men talking, young men dying” and it’s not to say there aren’t a lot of old dudes Also dying lmao but you really see this where young leaders are often unprepared for their responsibilities and used as puppets by older men and you just MISS THAT when that whole generation is so grown!

it’s like they looked at those themes of war being terrible and all consuming and brutal no matter how justified you feel you are and went “wow war is brutal 😍” LIKE PLEASE????

[15-lizards]

ASOIAF ATLA Au bc I saw a JJK one and was mesmerized

Dany is the avatar this is not up for debate. Born into the disgraced former imperial family of the fire nation, she shows signs of being able to bend other elements but never acts on them because her opinion of herself is too low and she doesn't believe she could be the protector of the world. After Drogo dies she fully unlocks her earth bending during his funeral ceremony while creating the pyre and everyone's like omg Miss Avatar. Then continues on with her heroes journey/bad roadtrip to take back her throne. The zuko parallels are everything to me. Yes she still brings back the dragons cause they were (thought to be) extinct in ATLA too

Jon who thinks he's a non bender (and Ned prays he is) until him and Robb are play fighting in the yard one day as kids and he accidentally burns his brother's eyebrows off. Still goes to the Wall bc could the fire and ice symbolism even be more in ur face. Most of the wildlings distrust him for his destructive abilities but he learns to control himself and becomes a symbol of light and life instead of destruction when he becomes a leader (Zuko parallels AGAIN babey).

Arya is a water bender who completely rejects learning about healing because she thinks it's so fucking boring. Syrio starts to train her and she starts to develop her shifty and quick fighting style that most trained benders find confusing. Learns ab blood bending while on the run and is Understandably Horrified. The faceless men force her to learn how to heal. They also force her to use her blood bending more so she's not having a great time rn.

Sansa is an incredibly talented healer for her age, but has no idea how to fight because "ladies aren't supposed to do that sort of thing." Forced to heal Lannister soldiers while stuck in the capital, though she just wishes she could let them die. ALSO unlocks blood bending due to this and is also quite unnerved. Forced to pose as a non bender in the Vale.

Bran the water bender who is devastated when it can't be used to heal him after his fall. Starts getting really into the spirit world, increasingly noticing raven spirits that no one else can see. Meera and Jojen (she's the swamp bender kind of water bender and he's a highly spiritual non-bender) take him north of the wall where the harmonic convergence takes place

Robb is an earth bender like his dad (Starks were originally a purely water bending family but started to marry a lot of earth benders) and he's well trained and good for his age, but that doesn't save him from being 15 and making poor decisions. Really heartbreaking as this desperate teenager tries to keep up with more experienced enemies as they attack him from all angles at the Red Wedding

Tyrion is now both a non-bender and a dwarf, which makes him doubly disgraced in Tywins eyes. Has to prove himself through his intelligence, being useful on the battlefield by creating the plans for benders and soldiers. Always has a lot of snarky comments about benders but always dreamed of being an air bender

Jamie and Cersei are both fire benders. Cersei used to spar with Jamie as children but Tywin quickly put an end to that and she was essentially forbidden from using her bending. Jamie is one of the best benders of his generation, and even years after the fact, Cersei still deeply resents him for being the prodigy she never had the chance to become

Cat is a water bender who was a pretty decent healer who patched men up after the war, but didn't really use her powers too much once she got married, because she didn't have much reason too. This bites her in the ass during the Red Wedding when she can't properly defend herself, and once Lady Stoneheart rises, she becomes a blood bender who is going to use her powers to their full extent this time around.

[raventreehall]

no one wants to talk about the theon and littlefinger parallels fine I'LL TALK ABOUT THEM. they're both social inferiors in a foster family that they desperately wanted to join but are prevented from doing so which leads to all sorts of complexes!!!

littlefinger didn't really do anything wrong in seeking out catelyn's hand and dueling brandon, he only misread his importance to the tullys and tried to functionally be part of the family that he had been raised in. but that was not allowed to him because of his low birth, just as theon was always relegated to an outsider role within the stark household because he was a hostage. (also note theon's boyhood dream of marrying sansa and ned accepting him as his son; littlefinger's obsession with catelyn seems to actually have catelyn at its core rather than just being a projection of a desire to be accepted within house tully, but who knows, his obsession with cat could actually be the product of an obsession with house tully and his general ambitions to increase his social status). they both had such intense 'i hate you'/'i want to be you' emotions knocking around in their heads as a result of this that they ended up killing—or trying to convince people that they killed—their foster siblings! (i know there's a lot more complexity with the littlefinger and lysa situation, but i think this parallel is really interesting)

littlefinger also had to work for years in gulltown/king's landing to rise through the ranks, to in a way 'regain his standing' to what it was when he was a ward of hoster tully's. throughout his childhood he was constantly around lysa, catelyn, and edmure—all of whom were destined to become lords and ladies of great houses—and was raised like their brother, but after he is banished he struggles to hold even half the status that his foster siblings enjoy naturally. theon goes through a little bit of a similar rude awakening when he arrives back at pyke expecting his father to hail him as his heir returned only to find out balon could not care less about him and likes asha way more, and he takes winterfell to try to prove to balon and the rest of the ironborn that he should be respected. interestingly, we have seen both theon and littlefinger's homecomings on page and they both come across as complete outsiders in the places were they were born, acting above their station because of the circumstances they got used to during their fostering—while this leads to theon trying to reject the starks and gain acceptance from his birth family in acok, in asos when littlefinger goes home to the fingers he wants to get to the eyrie (and to one of the tullys) as quickly as possible

they share some behaviors/character traits, too. littlefinger is noted to dress well, he pays a lot for clothes made of fine fabrics, while we know that theon likes to do the same. littlefinger certainly does this to prove that he is rich and powerful and has made it, showing that he can pay for the same things that any great lord can, which is probably born from more than a little resentment towards hoster for taking him out of the luxury of riverrun and sending him back home to the fingers. similarly, theon dresses elaborately to set himself apart in winterfell, to impress people, and to make himself known, and again this is born from resentment and insecurity (seen best when he goes back to pyke and stresses about what to wear in front of balon). they're also both arrogant and flippant, with a tendency to smile/make jokes too much, perhaps to try to further resist and disparage the social order they feel restricted by

finally there's catelyn: theon looks to her as a quasi-mother figure while he's in winterfell and littlefinger looks to catelyn as a lover, but both of these are impossible and end up being rejected. there's no evidence that catelyn was, like, especially mean to theon, they seem to get on fine in agot, but he was her husband's hostage and we know that she does mistrust him. this attitude is obviously a result of her not trusting the greyjoys because they're reavers/rose against the crown in open rebellion, but it is also no doubt informed by her previous experiences with petyr! it would make sense for her to be wary of a foster son getting close to her children after what happened to her as a kid

[leupagus]

Really enjoying writing Book 2/Season 6 of this monstrosity, where instead of having Sansa and Jon fighting to regain Winterfell and all that nonsense with the "Battle of the Bastards," it's gonna be like 10K of Sansa being the Warden of the North equivalent of that mom who just needs FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE AND QUIET YOU GODDAMN KIDS

To the Lord Robin Arryn, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East, and my Dear Cousin,

I write to you from Wint

"Sansa — sorry, Lady Sansa, you'll never believe—"

"Jeyne, you don't have to call me 'Lady Sansa,'" Sansa said as she looked up from her parchment. "You're the steward of Winterfell now."

Jeyne Poole, hanging onto the handle of the door and swinging it absently back and forth like she'd done back when they were ten years old, frowned. "My da always said the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were worthy of respect."

Sansa leaned back in her chair. Father had dealt with the business of the holdfast in the Library Tower, so he could wrestle with the accounts without being interrupted every twenty minutes. Sansa had always thought that a bit unfair, since it meant you had to climb all those stairs just to find him, but now she was wondering if she could perhaps build the tower twenty or thirty feet higher. The exercise would probably do her good. "Your father always called mine 'oi, you,' if I recall correctly."

The look Jeyne gave her was deeply unimpressed. "Aye, and you always complained about it. Do you want to hear about the cow loose in the guest house or not?"

erfell at last, which was the dearest wish of your beloved goodfather Petyr. His dying words were to express the hope that both his goodson and his niece be safe and secure in their homes, and I am glad to say tha

"Lady Sansa, Master Mikken has refused another dozen apprentices. He said they're all 'knuckleheaded clods who wouldn't know a round ball fuller from a chisel punch." This time it was her master-at-arms, who'd been Rodrick Cassel's round-faced child named Beth when Sansa had left. Now he went by Cass and looked like he could wrestle a (very short) bear if needs be.

"I don't know a round ball fuller from a chisel punch," Sansa replied, frowning.

Cass shrugged. "Well, and nor do I. But that's near fifty lads he's turned away. We need someone helping with the forges. We've been making do with the army smiths that Prince Stannis let us—"

"Prince Stannis?" He was going to hate that.

Another shrug. "We've got to call him something, milady. You won't call him 'king,' nor will any of your bannermen, but his soldiers give us no end of trouble when we call him 'lord.' So 'prince' it is. And he is one, too, ain't he? King Robert's brother. That'd make him a prince, right?"

Sansa answered with a shrug of her own. By the time Stannis and his companies returned from the Dreadfort, everyone in the North would likely have settled on Prince Stannis, which would lead to a great deal of shouting and probably threats of lighting people on fire, but she had at least a fortnight to think of something.

"As I was saying, we can't use the Baratheon smiths forever, and the ones from our bannermen have all gone home with their bannermen. Mikken needs apprentices, and we need our forge at full strength."

"All right, let's go speak with him," Sansa sighed.

t through the goodness of Stannis, of House Baratheon, and his masterful command of the armies of the North and the Stormlands, I am now secure as Warden of the North.

Not only that, but your dear cousin, my brother Rickon has somehow survived all the danger that the North has presented, while it was under the thrall of the Ironborn and House Bolton. He is now safe and I will reu

"My lady?" Maester Wolkan peered his head into the room.

[darklinaforever]

"If you love the character for their personality their assigned sex or gender doesn't matter."

Except that a character's personality and story can be tied to their gender. Let's take an example of GOT. With some modifications, you could have a story where Bran was a girl, because his path doesn't tie in with his gender much (except at the very beginning). However, you can't have Dany or Sansa or Cersei being men since their arcs and personalities are very much dependent on them being women. This goes the other way round too, it wouldn't make sense for Robb Stark to be a woman (since his role is the Heir of Winterfell).

People like to behave as if gender/sex of a character doesn't matter, and that's true only in certain conditions- mostly modern stories (for instance if Bridgerton was a modern story), or stories set in some world where men and women have a similar upbringing and freedoms (something like the Grisha side of the Grishaverse, for instance- Alina is raised the same as Mal, and Zoya is raised similarly to the men). This idea falls apart in historical scenarios where men and women have different roles in the society and their roles affect their personality. Bridgerton is no exception, since we have already seen how different the expectations were from Anthony and Daphne in S1.

Plus, as I said before, part of me is happy to have a central romance coming between two women.

Like I already said, representation is always nice when you're part of the LGBTQ+ community.

But I'm still mainly disappointed not to have Michael Stirling and Franchael as I had more or less imagined.

If there is one book from which I expected the adaptation with the most fidelity / nod to the original book, it was for When he was Wicked.

And I don't think Bridgerton is the show made for central lgbtq+ romances since there are the central couples of each book to adapt who are all, well, a man and a woman.

They can create excellent subplots for queer couples (like with Reynold & Brimsley in Queen Chaotte who were great for me, but for Bridgerton. Or they can even invent spin-offs if they absolutely want central LGBTQ+ romances for this universe.

Frankly, since the Bridgerton books aren't crazy, I agree with Netflix's free adaptation.

But the adaptation still has problems in itself with too much boring subplot sometimes instead of spending more time on the central couple and... well just the Bridgerton family dynamic ?

But there were still things that were good in the books. (for example, if we could have kept the intelligent Edwina of the books instead of going too far into the delirium of the engagement and marriage with Anthony in season 2...)

And if there is one Bridgerton book that is really objectively good it was When he was Wicked. So I still find it a shame.

And then, yes, even if the books are not crazy they have a community of fans and these books are the reason why the Netflix show exists.

So the least we could do would perhaps be not to touch the central couples ?

The heart of Bridgerton is the Bridgerton family and their romances.

So for me the show should not touch on the genders of the original couples and also have more moments within the Bridgerton family.

[greenhikingboots]

Jon’s Pre-Canon Crush

Okay, Jonsa fam. I’ve seen a lot of great posts, especially in the last few months, about Jon’s reactions to Val. Among them, there’s one particular vein I like to assume everyone loves as much as I do. That is, when Jon thinks of Val’s hair as silver vs. when he thinks of it as the color of dark honey. You’ve seen those metas, right? They explain the likelihood of Jon’s future connection to Dany being negative — The air tastes cold. / My tongue is too numb to tell. All I taste is cold. — while his future connection to Sansa will be positive — It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Well, in this post I want to expand on the angle of Val-is-sometimes-a-stand-in-for-Sansa. Only, I don’t want to speculate on what will happen between Jon and Sansa in the future, if we ever get GRRM’s last two books. Enough people have already done that, and they’ve done it so wonderfully that I have little to add. Instead, as the title of this post says, I want to focus on Jon’s pre-canon crush. More specifically: I want to focus on what Jon’s thoughts and feelings about Val say about his thoughts and feelings about Sansa.

But let me lay some groundwork first, okay? Until a few weeks ago, I went back and forth on pre-canon crush theories. I agreed they held a lot of potential and were a lot of fun to daydream about — a great premise for a one-shot, to be sure! Oh, and I’ve always loved it when people said things like, “Hey, Jon, your Targaryen is showing.” That’s classic stuff. But did I really think GRRM meant to hint at prior feelings rather than just laying a foundation for future feelings? Again, until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t totally convinced either way. But now I am fully committed to the Pre-Canon Crush Camp, assigned to cabin Jon-Had-Feelings-for-Sansa. [Did Sansa have feelings for Jon too? Ummm maybe? I think there’s some evidence to support that, but not as much. But, hey, that’s not the point of this post. Sorry. Moving on.] So what changed? Well, basically some ideas I’d previously had sunk in on a deeper level. It started with this post from @sherlokiness. It talks about GRRM commenting on a discrepancy in the books, two occasions where Jeyne Westerling’s physical descriptions do not match up. GRRM said the discrepancies were a mistake, a really unfortunate one because it distracts from the times when he intentionally included discrepancies of physical appearances. And basically us Jonsas loved it. Like, “Yep! Make sense! We assumed as much already, Mr. Martin.” And that’s because of the canon line mentioned earlier, right? You know the whole thing, don’t you? Oh, but you want me to quote it here anyway? Okay, fine, I’ll oblige.

They [Ghost and Val] look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white [bleh, bleh, bleh] …but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Direwolf. Lots of white. Suspicious ellipses. Blue eyes. Long braid the color of dark honey. Right, okay, got it.  [BTW. Did you know there’s also a point, early on, where Val’s described as having high cheekbones? You know, a feature Sansa has as well!?!?] Anyway, when I saw sherlokiness’s post about GRRM’s comments and the Jonsas relating it to that canon scene with Ghost and Val, I reblogged it. Naturally. And in the tags I said something like, “I’ll have to double check but I’m pretty sure the willowy creature line comes after this line. As in, maybe Jon knew exactly who Val reminded him in that moment and he was trying to talk himself out of his pre-canon crush coming back to the surface.” I’m paraphrasing here. My tags were probably not as clear as that. Also, I was being a bit facetious. It was a thought I’d had before, but just a passing one. Again (AGAIN! Do I say that too much?), I’d been going back and forth about pre-canon crush theories for a long time. But @agentrouka-blog saw my tags and was like, “You might be onto something there.” And then @zimshan saw my tags too and did the double check for me. Thanks! And guess what? GUESS WHAT, JONSA FAM!? I was right about the order. First, Jon sees Ghost and Val, thinks her eyes are blue and her hair is like dark honey, and it is a lovely sight. Second, this line:

Val looked the part [of a princess] and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

But guess what else? The order isn’t even the most striking thing. The most striking thing is how closely these two lines appear to one another — within just a few pages!!! That's what zimshan said. So I went back to read it myself. Not just the two lines to check the order, but a little before, and a little after, and everything in between. If you want, you can do the same. It’s ADWD Jon XI.

Want to know what stuck out to me most? The willowy creature line actually seems… so odd, and out of place, and unnecessary. I swear to you. Let me try to explain.

Basically, by that point in the chapter, Jon has already clearly established his take on Val. She’s beautiful, everyone knows it, but she’s more than that. She’s strong and capable. She found Tormund and brought him back to Castle Black when Jon’s Night’s Watch Rangers couldn’t manage it. Like, Jon’s thankful for Val, okay? 

Oh, and he also seems aware that he holds her in higher regard than the rest of the men who keep calling her a princess even though she’s not one. I think he feels smug about it, to be honest. Like, he wouldn’t use these words because it’s ASOIAF, but he knows he’s a budding feminist and he’s proud of himself for it. Like, “I’m so much better than these asshats who don’t respect women and think all Val has to offer is her pretty face.”

How great is that? I love book Jon so much.

Where was I, though? Oh! Oh, oh, oh! This next part is key. Up until the willowy creature line, Jon has not had a single disparaging thought about Val. Val being cruel about Shireen’s greyscale hasn’t happened yet. But for some reason — *Getting too executed. Brain malfunctioning!*

AH! I SWEAR JONSA FAM! If you read the willowy creature in fuller context, it comes across as if Jon’s correcting himself for having a disparaging thought about Val, like he’s reminding himself of who she truly is. She’s a warrior princess, not a willowy creature. But like, why? Why does Jon feel the need to do this? He hasn’t had a disparaging thought about Val, so why correct himself as if he has?

Just because she’s beautiful? Just because he’s tired of other men calling her a princess? I mean, I guess that could be the whole story. That’s certainly how we’re supposed to take it, if we’re taking it at face value. But I’m not convinced. Go read it again, and I think you’ll see that when the willowy creature line happens, it actually feels like a weird logic leap.

The dots aren’t connecting because one dot is missing!!!! Let me put a pin in that for a moment while I turn to other mini metas in our Jonsa fandom. Antis like to say, “Jon doesn’t like girls like Sansa. He doesn't like willowy creatures, he said so himself.” But we know that’s crap, right? The boy who liked Ygritte’s gentle side? The boy who helps Alys Karstark by marrying her to Sigorn? The boy who dreamed his mother was a highborn lady with kind eyes? The boy who wanted to show his hypothetical wife Winterfell’s glass gardens and bath with her in the hot pools?

Yeah, that boy is a budding feminist, like I said.

So again I ask (AGAIN!) why would Jon — who is not especially critical of women in general and has not been critical of Val at all up to this point — feel the need to correct himself by thinking this critical thing about willowy creatures? In other words, why does he lift up Val by putting down some vague idea of other women he’s never had a problem with before?

Well, obviously it turns out that I believe my facetious, tongue in cheek tags more than I realized when I wrote them. My position is that somewhere in the two pages between ...a long while since Jon had seen a sight so lovely… and ...not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair… Jon realized Val reminded him of Sansa, he felt guilty and ashamed about it, and then felt the need to do damage control. And because guilt and shame are icky, confusing feelings, his damage control took the form of being critical of Sansa even though he isn’t normally critical of such women. 

Am I making sense? How do I explain myself further? Like, why am I so stuck on this idea Jon’s willowy creature line being two pages after the Ghost and Val looking lovely together line must mean Jon had a pre-canon crush?

I think the crux is what I said about the willowy creature line feeling like a weird logic leap — like the dots aren’t connecting because one is missing. The missing dot is Jon being aware that he’s mentally swapped Val with Sansa. He just doesn’t acknowledge this on the page.

Let me be extra clear. I’m now differing from several others who have written about pre-canon crush theories in that I think Jon was aware of his crush. I’ve seen many say it’s all subconscious. But this stuff with Val makes me think otherwise.

I mean, I know Jon has a pattern of dissociation. For him, thinking, and speaking, and acting from his subconsciousness is a common occurrence. So, yes, he could have subconsciously thought Val looked like Sansa and subconsciously felt guilty and ashamed and therefore subconsciously decided to do damage control by subconsciously reminding himself Val is a warrior princess and therefore not a willowy creature.

But I think GRRM was hinting at an exception to Jon’s pattern with these canon lines. Because if the first part is happening subconsciously — Jon thinking Val looks like Sansa and that it’s a lovely sight — then he wouldn’t feel the need to do damage control afterwards? If he wasn’t aware of thinking of Sansa in that moment, isn’t it more likely he’d just carry on with taking Val to meet Selyse, and the odd, out of place, unnecessary line about a willowy creature wouldn’t have been included? What else, what else?

I said earlier that I think Jon’s crush is an innocent, not sexual thing. Let me expand on that. And uuuuuhhhhh... let me clarify that I think that might be changing some over time.  My guess is when Jon was younger, his thoughts were more along these lines: “Sansa is pretty, and a proper lady, and everything men are taught to want. She’ll be a good wife for someone someday. Obviously not me. That’s sinful, I don’t want it, and I’m a bastard so I can’t marry a highborn lady anyway. But objectively, Sansa’s a good catch.” Which kinda matches how Jon thinks of Val at times, right? Like, she’s a catch but he doesn’t want her. He’s not taking Winterfell and a Wife because Winterfell belongs to Sansa and he’s a man of the Night’s Watch, dammit! But hang on a second. Sometimes Jon’s thoughts about Val are more elicit, aren’t they? He thinks about the size of her breasts and she’s the hypothetical wife he pictures romancing in Winterfell. Don’t worry, I’m not saying I’m secretly a Jon/Val shipper. What I’m getting at is this other thing we’ve talked about in the Jonsa fandom. Jone projects his general desires onto Val. He’s getting older. He’s unhappy at the Wall. Winterfell isn’t Robb’s like he thought it would be, and Bran and Rickon are thought to be dead. And Stannis is offering Winterfell and Val to him. Plus he’s now been intimate with a woman, Ygritte. So he knows that sex feels nice. All in all, Jon’s becoming more in tune with wanting Winterfell, and a wife, and a family, and wanting to fu—

You get the idea. ;)

Soooooo. If you buy into the premise that A) Jon considered Sansa a good catch when they were younger B) He’s thinking more and more about romance and sex C) Val is also a good catch and easy to project feelings onto and D) Woopsies, Val just reminded me of Sansa! Well, then where does all that leave Jon? Feeling like he needs to distance himself from positive thoughts about Sansa, right? But without ever thinking her name because of his pattern of dissociation and because GRRM is tricky like that.  Am I making my point clearer, or just talking in circles?  Like, I know plenty of people have already said Val is a switch-back-and-forth-stand-in-for-other-characters. The first two short paragraphs of this post mentions those metas.  But holy smokes! If Jon is aware of A-D mentioned above, that adds a fascinating layer of subtext to his scenes with and thoughts about Val.  Let’s talk about it forever!

Just kidding. I think I’m almost done here.  Basically, I think the willowy creature line is Jon knowingly saying to himself, “Yikes, the thoughts I had about Sansa in the past didn’t bother me much because they were 99% innocent. But they are less innocent now and that’s a problem! You can’t like Sansa! Don’t confuse Sansa with Val,  dummy! Val is a warrior princess! Sansa is a willowy creature and willowy creatures are bad!”

Okay, sure, Jon.  Let me wrap up with one more canon line.

Of Sansa brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow.

We often link this line to Ygritte for obvious reasons, but I’m now in the habit of linking it more to Val and the canon lines mentioned previously. I think GRRM wrote a the three lines — a sight so lovely + willow creature + of Sansa brushing out Lady’s coat — as a subtle continuation of one another. Us Jonsas saw the potential for underlying romantic feelings in the last one, that’s nothing new. But I want to add that it’s a direct contrast to the willowy creature line. As Jon is bleeding out, he can no longer be bothered to put up a front and pretend he doesn’t have feelings for Sansa, feelings that have gotten more complicated as of late.

Oh so subtle. Really not that much different than what others have said before me. But different enough I wanted to mention it. Now someone put it in a fanfic!!