#he's already a wronged saint basically brienne will be there to tell him that being mean is wrong 🥰

[piduai]

like they always make brienne about that garbage... homegirl is out there on a knight's journey battling feudal values with her entire pussy, learns to trust people and trust herself, grows as a person and a warrior, grows out of her insecurities, throws herself at danger with fatalistic abandon, is being a lawful good HERO, but no obviously her only value is being poor jaime's (who did nothing wrong ever and is a victim) moral compass, save him from that evil conniving BITCH cersei, and have his blond babies 🥺 like a normal obedient woman. barf!

[janiedean]

PLEASE tell me about sam >> the world and the rock band au.

OKAY SO:

 sam >>> the world was... originally a thing I wrote for an exchange which then I scrapped bc it got too long and I never finished it, but basically the concept was jon gets robb’s will before he’s elected LC and he accepts being kitn except he goes to sam like PLEASE SAM BE MY HAND OR I CAN’T DO THIS, and then sam was going to proceed on solving Each Single Problem Jon Could Have starting from being friends with theon to finding sansa in the vale to finding arya and sandor to basically really solving everything and it was gonna be jon/sam but eeeeh I quit when sandor showed up bc I lost track of the plot T_T HOWEVER, I WOULD LIKE TO FIND AND QUOTE YOU A BIT WHERE BASICALLY SAM DRAGGED THEON WITH HIM TO THE VALE BC HE WAS SURE THEY’D KILL HIM OTHERWISE WHERE THEON RECOGNIZED SANSA AND TOLD SAM IT WAS HER WHICH IS2G WHEN DND HAD THE SAME THING HAPPEN WITH POD AND BRIENNE IN S5 I SCREAMED BECAUSE I WROTE THIS SHIT IN 2013 OR 2014 AND I SAID WHAT I SAID

“Go, go,” Baelish says, and he looks pale as a sheet as well. At least he didn’t have anything witty to say, Sam thinks before grabbing Theon’s arm and leading him outside the room.

“Stop,” Theon tells him a moment later. “I don’t – I just need some air. I don’t think – I won’t.”

“All right,” Sam agrees before leading him towards a half-open window in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” he says as Theon takes deep, heavy breaths.

“For what?”

“I didn’t even – how did you know?”

“Don’t you think that Ramsay Bolton would have spared me the details?” Theon whispers. “I threw up. Then. And he – he also threw at me handfuls of red hair covered in blood. I told you I could play along.”

Sam thinks that he’s going to be sick.

“But – I need you to listen to me,” Theon whispers then, his voice still shaking, as if he’s forcing himself to say what he’s about to say.

“What?”

“The Lord Protector’s daughter.”

“Yes, what about her?”

“That’s no bastard. She’s Sansa Stark.”

For a moment, Sam is sure he’s heard wrong.

“She’s who?”

“Sansa. She dyed her hair and she’s older than – well, the last time I saw her, but I lived at Winterfell for nine years. Do you think I wouldn’t recognize her?”

And it does make sense. Sansa disappeared from King’s Landing when Baelish went to the Vale, didn’t she? Sam is pretty sure of that.

“And – you saw her when I was telling that story. She looked sick. As much as I felt.”

Oh gods be good. He’s right. Sam wonders how a simple mission suddenly turned out complicated – and if Theon hadn’t been there he wouldn’t have even known, would he?

He thinks about his options.

And then he hopes that he still has some courage left and that he hadn’t exhausted it when he killed an Other.

“All right,” he whispers. “I have no idea of why she’s here, but if she wants to come with… do you think you have it in yourself to go down the mountain twice in one day?”

Theon goes pale all over again. Sam had noticed that he could barely keep his eyes open the first time.

“What’s the plan?” he asks.

“I’m asking her. If it’s true, and if she’s here against her will… well, I already know I’m not getting Baelish’s men. And I’m sure that if I came back with his sister Jon – I mean –”

“You don’t need to call him His Grace,” Theon says, and he sounds almost amused. Barely. As much as someone like him can sound amused. “I couldn’t call Robb like that either.”

“Fine. Jon would like that better than an army, I think. So, do you think you can do it?”

Theon shakes his head again and then looks up at him. “I don’t think that I’d ever want to do it again, but just the fact that you asked first makes me think that I can try it.”

Well then, Sam thinks, that’s settled.

like excuse me but what the fuck

rock band au: okay so I had written this rock band au for jonc/brynden for that last prompt meme I took which I should finish one of these days but like then I was doing this chalenge and I ended up writing a sequel for it where they’re touring with theon who’s like the opening solo act for their band and him and jaime argue in the changing room also theon is with robb who’s the long suffering agent and theon wants jaime to hit on brienne who’s like going to all the concerts and it’s actually finished but I really need to revise it and see if I can put it together with the other one, at the end of it theon and robb had a moment™ backstage while jaime and brienne got together post-concert but here have a snipped or more:

“You know that girl that always is in first row, Lannister?”

“I do, Greyjoy. I very well damn do, and is there a reason you’re gloating at me now?”

“Just saying,” Theon says, and Jaime thinks, don’t finish that sentence, don’t finish that sentence, don't finish that sentence, “that while the time for groupies is over, I mean, supposedly so, considering that you invite her backstage every other moment and that she’s been at each single show of this tour, maybe you could invite her.”

“Can it,” Jaime groans, “no way. I’m not —”

“And why not? Come on, I’ve opened for your band for the entire last month, we drove through half of this bloody fucking country and I know for sure that you’re the only person in it that’s not getting any, and seeing your pretty face, it’s honestly baffling.”

“And since when do you care about how much I’m getting? Are you volunteering?”

Theon laughs, dark hair falling all over his shoulders as he fixes his leather trousers in front of their shared changing room — yes, this venue is so shitty that they have to share rooms in between bands, and fine, Theon’s technically a solo act but he does have a band, and he hopes the others are not being too cramped because their room is so small they can’t even change at the same time. He nods, pleased with his hair, definitely, and then goes to grab a black shirt from his bag and puts it on without closing it. Guess this is the night where he plays with his shirt open making sure his poor manager dies of frustration.

Robb Stark is a saint, Jaime thinks sometimes, because to manage this guy, you really need to have an insane amount of patience.

Good thing that they never needed one and Jon always took care of it, but still.

“I mean,” Theon says, “in the ideal world, I would, but alas, I know that it’s not meant to be. For one, I’m not your Kinsey scale one —”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“What, that you’re a one or that I’m not it?”

“Both, for —”

“I mean,” Theon goes on, “you obviously aren’t a zero or you wouldn’t stare at your bassist’s ass, and honestly also at your guitarist’s, and I wouldn’t exclude, you know, that you three might have had a go at it at some point —”

“That never happened!” Jaime protests, not that he hasn’t entertained that thought once or twice, but still, he doesn’t bat for that team, as a general rule. He just hates that Theon has apparently figured him out that easily.

“Regardless,” Theon goes on, “you’re a one, but if those two are your type, considering they’re both older than you and ginger and blue eyed and I’m not either of that, I think I’m not it. Also, no way you like pitching.”

+ throbb snippet

“So,” Theon says, as he drags Robb towards the back exit, “I might have told Lannister that I’d leave him the changing room for the night.”

“… What,” Robb says, following even if he’s trying to slow him down, “he finally decided to fess up to that poor girl?”

“Oh, that’s to be seen, I just gave him the chance to,” Theon shrugs, “which is why we’re taking a cab and going to the hotel at once.”

“Wait,” Robb says, “we should —”

He never finishes the sentence because Theon presses him against the wall and kisses him and fucking hell, Robb would like to just give in and let him and actually he would like to grab Theon’s shoulders and press him against the fucking wall, except —

“We should wait until the Kingsguard is done,” he breathes, “you agreed to sign those records, but it has to be with them. And people paid for it.”

“Oh, of course, ever the correct person —”

“Theon, I’m your fucking manager, you picked me, it’s not like you can exactly skirt around — obligations,” he groans when Theon sucks a bruise into his neck.

“Right, right, so you’d rather stay here and wait two hours instead of running to the hotel with me? We could make it, you know, if Jimmy Page and Robert Plant could —”

“It’s not the fucking seventies,” Robb groans, wishing Theon would just not press, even if fuck but now he really feels like he’s going to come in his trousers like a fifteen year-old and the fact that he’s definitely been wanting to kiss Theon at least since then is not helping, and yet —

“Really? I missed that memo.”

+ jb snippet

“Sure,” she says, reaching out to grab it, and then she swallows — “You know,” she said, “you sounded… more intense today.”

“Did I,” he says. “How?”

She shrugs, her large shoulders barely slimmed by the black band shirt sporting his face that she’s wearing, and fuck if it was weird being the face of the merchandise, except that it had to happen.

Fucking Targaryen.

“I’m not quite sure,” she says, “just… there was a difference? In the good sense, though. You felt… more immersed, not to say that you’re not usually, it’s just… I don’t know, I felt like crying more than once.”

Oh.

Well.

“Maybe,” he sighs, “I had a conversation with Greyjoy before that made me realize a few things,” he goes on. “I suppose. I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “I just… you’ve been listening to us since before Rhaegar fucked off, and I just — I guess it just sank in that I’m not going back to my former job anytime soon.”

“Can — can I say I’m not sad that you aren’t?”

“You can,” Jaime shrugs, “it’s just, it felt a bit too much. I never signed up for that.”

“But you sing those songs a lot better than he did.”

“Not the first person that told me that, today.”

“But it’s true. He just — he was good. But you just have a whole other delivery.” She blushes, guileless blue eyes staring into his, and he thinks of how she told him that his songs made her survive high school and some kind of ridiculous bet her supposed friends made about her fucking v-card and he just — fuck. She’s so nice. She’s the kind of nice person you wouldn’t presume listens to his fucked up lyrics, and yet.

And yet she does.