#martin.... bastard of my heart

[unsolvedjarin]

omg after reading part two of the mentor!seb x ferrari driver!reader fic i NEED something where he actually tries to play matchmaker for reader and mick😭 Like him giving so many hints but reader is just oblivious and Seb decides to take matter into his own hands yk?

Only if you’re open to it ofc! 🥰🥰

BEES, AMONG OTHER THINGS.

pairing: (mick schumacher x driver! reader) (mentor! sebastian vettel x reader)

note: HEY. i havent written anything in weeks and its been KILLING me. ive been so burnt out lately its crazy, but seeing seb in suzuka did give me a bit of motivation (although this is more of a mick-centric fic, my boy deserves it.) anyways sorry for letting this stew for so long anon, hopefully i can write more soon ive missed it tbh

summary: suzuka finds itself not only an interesting spot for bee hotels, but for reunions and confrontations as well.

content warning: none, except its a little all over the place and once again i havent grammar checked this im so sorry it’s three in the morning

previous part, but can be read without <3

When Sebastian invited the grid to his bee hotel opening, he expected maybe five or six people to come, but not this.

Everyone was coming.

And by everyone, I mean everyone. The drivers, the reserves, even the team principals, had all confirmed their appearance for the event. Sebastian knew he was loved by the grid, but the thought of all of them coming together for him still made his heart swell.

It was one in the afternoon, just thirty minutes before they were about to actually start the event. While the participation of the drivers were confirmed, they were still coming in one by one, some later than the others. Sebastian was in a particularly interesting conversation with Fernando about flowers when a poke to his shoulder captured his attention.

He turned around to find you, standing there behind him, waiting for him to finish his conversation with excitement you couldn’t contain. It was the first time you’ve seen each other since Silverstone, and even then you barely had time to talk to each other.

Before he could say anything, you jumped into his arms and hugged him so tight that Sebastian thought he would lose oxygen— but he still hugged you back with equal enthusiasm.

“Sebastian!” you screamed, being spun around once by the man. He missed you so much. Sebastian wasn’t particularly the greatest texter, and calling wasn’t something you were fond of, so besides the occasional visit you barely talked.

“Y/N, I thought you’d never come,” he says with a grin. He knew you were coming, of course. You would never miss out on this. You give him a playful shove, before giving Fernando a quick hug as well. In the year Seb has been gone, you had gotten closer with the Aston Martin driver who replaced him.

Fernando excuses himself quickly after, knowing you and Sebastian had some catching up to do. “Don’t tell me you’ve replaced me with him,” Sebastian jokes the second the Spaniard was out of earshot.

“Why, are you jealous?” you teased. He scoffs in reply, but you could hear the hint of jealousy in his tone. “Don’t worry Seb, while I love his talk about flowers, you talking my ear off about bees still appeals to me more.”

That makes him smile.

“I’m glad you prefer my infodumping, then.”

The fact that you taught him that term makes your grin even wider. “Anytime.”

You wanted to talk with him more, to tell him how you’ve been doing the past few months, but before you could, some PR person swooped in to film some videos with him.

“Ah, sorry liebling,” Sebastian sighs. He leans in and whispers in your ear, “One thing I haven’t missed are these media hungry people.”

You stifle a giggle, before nudging him away from you. “Go on, it’s your event, this is your own doing.”

He rolls his eyes but walks away nonetheless, following the person from the media. Before he moves out of earshot, however, he shouts, “Oh by the way, Mick is here! Don’t be shy, go talk to him.”

Oh the bastard.

Half the grid must have heard that. You look at him with shock and a light blush on your cheeks but are met only with a cheeky grin from the man before he turns around to fully walk away.

Admittedly though, he was right. You hadn’t been talking to Mick much. You had a few lunches with him after Seb retired but without his third wheeling company, it just felt awkward to go out with the reserve driver one on one. You started thinking he just ate with you because he felt bad for you or something of the sort.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice snaps you out of your thinking.

“Jesus! Lewis, don’t give me a heart attack like that.”

The Mercedes driver laughs before replying, “Sorry, you just looked tense. Thinking about the race?”

“Not really, just some other stuff.”

“Like what? Like Mick?”

You almost choked on your own saliva right there and then. “Wh- what? What would— haha— make you think that? No that’s crazy, I’m just thinking about the bees! Yeah, because like the bee hotel and stuff I love b—”

“Sebastian wasn’t really quiet talking to you just then, you know.” He comments, cutting you off.

“Oh I’ll kill him.”

“Doubt it, you’ve missed him too much these past months to kill him immediately.”

“Touché, maybe I’ll wait a few more then.”

“Stop avoiding the question, why’re you thinking about Mick?” Lewis asks, not giving the topic up. Oh what the hell, Sebastian trusts him right? So you could trust him.

Thinking of how you could word your thoughts properly, you start, “I kinda— I dunno— I mean he’s a nice guy, he’s pretty sweet, and we’re friends obviously so it’d be—”

“You like him don’t you.” Lewis cuts you off for the second time in a row.

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he sighs, letting it linger for a moment. “That’s crazy.”

A beat of silence passes. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

“Say anything else about what?” Sebastian butts in your conversation, clearly just having finished his short interview. He takes his place beside you, scooching in between you and Lewis instead of taking up the free space on the other side.

“Oh, Y/N was just talking about how she likes Mick.”

“Was not!” You exclaim.

“Was too,” Lewis retorts. His teasing never ceased to amuse and annoy you at the same time.

“I think I’m going to believe Lewis on this one. After all, you did tell me, and I quote, you ‘sorta have a little maybe crush’ on Mick.”

You hang your mouth agape incredulously before slapping Seb on the arm, “I told you that in confidence!”

Seb laughs before defending himself, “Well Lewis knows now! Besides, it’s not like you’ve been that discrete about it.”

You look at Lewis who shrugs in reply, “It’s true. Pretty obvious when a Ferrari driver keeps hanging around the Mercedes garage, mate.”

Oh well, cat’s out of the bag. There’s no point in keeping it secret from Lewis now, you think. Putting your head in your hands, you groan, “That’s the problem! I’m always at the Mercedes garage talking to you or Toto or even George but never him!”

“Well why don’t you…talk to him?”

“Great advice Sherlock, gee, got any more good ones for me?” You ask Sebastian sarcastically. While you and Seb banter though, Lewis recalls a conversation he had with Mick one late night back in Singapore.

“Hey Lew, was Y/N here earlier?”

Lewis, who was packing up to go home, redirects his focus to the only remaining guy in the garage save for a few engineers. “Yeah, she visited right after the race to congratulate me. Why’re you looking for her?”

“Oh nothing, just asking.” Mick replies, fiddling with his hands. Even in his tired state, Lewis could tell that there was more the young driver wasn’t saying.

“C’mon, spit it out.” Lewis says, taking a seat on a random chair and patting the one beside him for Mick to take a seat. The younger driver hesitates for a moment before sighing and sitting down. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than anyone. Do you know what happened when Alonso crashed his McLaren back in 2015?”

“No, what?”

“Exactly,” Lewis replies with a grin. “So what is it?”

“I…” Mick sighs, unable to find the right words for what he was trying to say. “I think I like Y/N.”

There, it’s out in the open, he thinks. Mick waits for a reply from Lewis, but gets none. “Hello?”

Another beat of silence.

“Okay, this is starting to scare me.”

Lewis finally snaps out of his trance-like state, before getting up and continuing to pack up his things. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“Well I thought it’d be something more secretive,” he says, putting up bunny ears.

“It is secretive,” Mick replies, mocking Lewis’ bunny ears. “No one knows.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that mate. I mean if you exclude Sebastian, Fernando, Toto, and myself, then sure, no one knows.”

Oh shit. Was he that obvious? “How- how did you all figure it out?”

“Well for one, if constantly tailing Sebastian and Y/N last year was your attempt at being discreet, then it was a horrible attempt. Second, you need to stop turning red and running away whenever she’s at the garage giving out food and what not. I can’t keep asking her for extra donuts for you forever, you know?”

Mick blushed slightly at the comment, not realizing how every time you came around to the garage he’d been unwillingly avoiding you out of fear you wouldn’t want to talk to him.

Lewis pats Mick on the back, getting ready to leave. “Listen man, if I were you, I’d make a move. That opportunity won’t last forever, plus, it seems like they like you back. Didn’t you guys go out together just the two of you a couple of times?”

Mick shrugged, “I don’t know, I mean I think she did that just because she felt bad for me being alone in the grid and because she missed Sebastian.”

Lewis internally rolled his eyes. He’s seen the way you look at Mick, there’s no way you didn’t like him too. “You have to stop doubting yourself. I mean the worst she can do is say no, right?”

“The worst she can do is avoid me for the rest of my life because I misread all the signs and she actually hates me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lewis replied sarcastically, before murmuring a goodbye and leaving the garage.

That was weeks ago now, but the conversation was still stuck in Lewis’ head. He’d been right all along, you did like Mick back.

“Hey Seb, can I talk to you in private really quickly?” He speaks up, making you and the retired driver stop your bantering for a moment.

“You can say it in front of Y/N, it’s fine.” Seb replied. He trusted you completely with anything and everything.

“Well not if it’s about her.”

“Hey!” you complain. “Are you openly gossiping about me?”

“Listen, if you want our help, then let us huddle for a minute.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and nod at them. You really really liked Mick, but you were too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So if these two old twats could help you, then so be it.

Lewis pulls Seb to the side for a moment, inhaling deeply before talking softly so you couldn’t hear. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Mick told me he likes Y/N.”

Sebastian whips his head to face Lewis, “Holy shit, I knew it. I knew he wasn’t going out with us all the time last year for no reason.”

“Yeah, he’s not so discreet. Here’s the problem though, he firmly believes Y/N may hate him, and you know that Y/N believes Mick only likes her as a friend.”

“So what you’re saying is they’re both hopeless?”

“Without our help, basically yes.”

“God I can’t believe they haven’t caught a clue,” Sebastian sighs. “I even excused myself from multiple meals so I could leave the two of them alone even for a few minutes.”

“You’re telling me mate, I basically had to shove Mick towards her whenever she was at the garage or in hospitality.”

Meanwhile, while the two men were devising on their own, you were getting antsy. What could they possibly be coming up with? You didn’t really want to think about it too much, so you decided to take a walk around the track. After all, the event was about to start, so you might as well familiarize yourself with your surroundings.

You went through the unpainted bee hotels, admiring their woodwork and the effort it must’ve taken to make them. Sebastian had sent you a text at three in the morning yesterday saying “Finished! :-)” with a picture of the bee hotels attached, so you knew he put hard work into this project. You were happy that he was doing something he loved while retired, but at the same time you missed him terribly on the grid. It was lonely, you will admit, without him by your side. Sure you had your teammate Charles and the support of your fellow drivers, but it never felt like anyone truly knew you on the track besides Seb.

Stuck in your thoughts, you failed to notice the man who was walking up behind you mustering the courage to strike a conversation. You turn around to check out another bee hotel when you bump straight into Mick walking up to you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Ow—” you hold your head in pain, which you bumped into the bee hotel roof when you recoiled backwards from the hit. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Great, Mick thought. Now what?

You’ve made a fool of yourself, congratulations, you thought.

Sebastian was about to walk over to see what all the commotion was about, when Lewis put a hand out and stopped him. “Look who bumped into her.”

Sebastian squinted a little— his eyesight had gotten worse but he refused to get glasses— and grins when he realizes who it is. “Best leave them to it then, I have an event to organize anyways.”

Meanwhile, Mick had no clue what to do. You were holding your head in pain, with your eyes closed trying to regain stability from the dizziness, and he was just standing there awkwardly trying to figure out what the right move was. Should he ask you again if you were alright? Should he hold you to stabilize you?

Well, why not both. Without thinking, he holds your shoulders, crouching down a little to look you in your eye, and asking a simple “You okay?”

You open your eyes, squinting because of the sun, and are met with a set of beautiful blue ones staring at you. Holy fucking shit. Now you don't know what to do.

“Uh— yeah, just hit my head. No biggie honestly, all good here,” you reply awkwardly. God, was it this hard to talk to him when Sebastian was around?

Mick lets go of your shoulders— you miss his touch already— and straightens up, nodding. “Good. Sorry for hitting you, I thought you heard me walking up.”

“No, it’s my fault honestly. Was stuck in my own thoughts. Nice that you pulled me out,” you joked, praying to whatever higher power was listening that it stuck.

Thankfully it did, and Mick let out a small giggle at your quip. It was enough for your stomach to do flips. And even though you had no clue, you joking around with him made his stomach do the same thing too. The simple interaction was enough to make him think that maybe you weren’t just hanging around with him before because you pitied him.

“You know,” Mick starts, before he loses confidence to breach the topic. He was here anyway, so might as well. “You’re always at the Mercedes garage but I never see you. I am sorry about that.”

You raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. Why was he sorry? You were the one who avoided him out of nervousness whenever you were there.

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, honestly, that’s my fault anyway. Same with our lunches before, I’m sorry we did those less and less. I guess I got too caught up in the races. We should have another one here in Japan!” You add the last part haphazardly, not really thinking about what you’re saying because if you do you’ll lose confidence.

It was too late when you realized what you said, and terrified to see Mick’s reaction to the invitation, you stare at anything but him. Wow, the sky was blue today. How interesting.

Mick, on the other hand, was frozen on the spot. Did he hear that correctly? Were you inviting him to lunch for the first time in months?

Before the reserve driver could get his hopes up, however, he realized what was different this time. Sebastian was around.

Oh. Maybe that was the only reason you invited him this time around. Because, again, like before, you felt sorry for him being alone and you had the confidence to ask him because Sebastian was here.

“Would…Sebastian be coming?” He asked. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he begged God at that moment you would say no. He had nothing against the retired driver of course, he was like an uncle to him, but it would determine— for him at least— if you were going out with him out of pity or because you actually wanted to.

You, on the other hand, had a completely different interpretation of that question.

Did Mick not want to have lunch with you without Sebastian because he didn’t want to spend time with you? Did he feel like you were too awkward? Too weird? You stopped yourself before you could spiral even more.

“I mean, do you want him to?”

“Honestly? No.” Mick hears himself say without thinking. His eyes widened a bit at the fact that he said that aloud, making you giggle. It lifts the tension a bit and the air feels freer talking to him.

“Tsk tsk, I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Please don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it. I just meant—” Mick pauses for a second, finding it difficult to word his thoughts.

Oh fuck it. Fuck it all. “I want it to be you, just you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh.” Before Mick can regret saying anything and repeatedly apologize for the implications of what he said, you tug on his shirt a little to get him to look at you. “Me too.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, laughing a bit at himself. “Thank god, I thought I made the wrong move there.”

“God no,” you laugh out. “I’m glad you said that honestly, I thought you just hung out with me before for Sebastian.”

Mick raised his eyebrows in confusion. Was that what you’d been thinking this whole time? “I thought you were just hanging out with me because you felt bad I was alone without Seb.”

This time you both look at each other, confused. You had both gotten it completely wrong.

The absurdity of it all makes you burst out laughing, and you try to cover it up with your hand but to no avail. “I’m sorry I just— ha!— I can’t believe I’ve been reading it wrong this whole time! I even avoided you in the garages because I thought you felt awkward around me.”

“I hid whenever you were at the garage because I thought you didn’t wanna talk to me,” Mick replied bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “In hindsight, that was pretty stupid, I suppose I wouldn’t ever know if you liked talking to me or not if I kept avoiding you.”

“Hold on, is that why Lewis always asked for extra food when I came around?”

“Yeah,” he answered, feeling embarrassed. It all felt so foolish now.

“That was stupid,” you tease. “So…what now?”

“I suppose we can just,” Mick gestures aimlessly with his hands. “Restart.”

You smile at him, liking the simplicity of the idea. After dancing around each other for a year, this is exactly what you wanted. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“What you were saying earlier, lunch? I know a good place. It’s pretty far from the track, but they have the best ramen and— hello Seb…?”

Unbeknownst to you, Sebastian had slowly inched himself closer to where you two were standing, trying to overhear your conversation. He was now stood a few meters away from you, pretending to be taking care of his bee hotel.

“You sneaky bastard!” you exclaim, slapping him on his shoulder for the second time that day. “How long have you been eavesdropping on our conversation?”

“I just got here!” Sebastian replied, trying to defend himself. He’d actually been standing there for a couple minutes, but if none of you had noticed, then it was better for him to not bring it up. “Anyway, I came to say we’re starting the event. Charles is looking for you at the Ferrari station, Y/N.”

Sebastian moves to leave, but turns back around, standing beside you. “And Mick, if it’s no bother, you could come with me and Y/N to Disneyland on Tuesday. Only if you’d like, of course.”

“We’re going to Disneyland?” You ask, but a quick glance at Sebastian's expression and you realize what he was trying to do. “Oh! Yeah, we totally planned on going to Disneyland. You should come with us.”

“Yeah! Sure, I have nothing to do anyways. And lunch on Monday, Y/N?” Mick replies. You give him a soft smile and nod in response.

Seb looks at you in confusion, “Am I part of these lunch plans?”

“No.”

“Great to know. Anyways, to the Ferrari station liebe, chop chop,” Seb retorts, putting his arm around you to pull you towards the station. As much as he wanted you and Mick to talk more, he also wanted his event to get going.

“Talk later!” you shout, being practically dragged by Sebastian. Mick laughs at the sight, waving a goodbye to you and the retired driver. He felt like he won the lottery. You might not like him the way he liked you, but this was a start. This meant that you hung around him for him.

“Was the plan you and Lewis came up with simply inviting Mick to go to Disneyland?” You ask, the second you were far away enough from Mick.

Sebastian shrugs, “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh you pricks. Thank God I didn’t rely on you two then.”

“Hey! We tried,” Seb remarked. “But we saw you two getting along without our help so we decided to leave you two to it. What did you even talk about?”

“Our shared hatred for you,” you replied with no hesitation. You look over at Sebastian with a grin, watching him roll his eyes, smiling.

“Well if that’s what it took for you two to talk, then I’d happily be the butt of your conversations.”

God. Why did he have to be so nice about it? “I’m just kidding Seb, we just cleared up some misunderstandings. Honestly we should’ve talked sooner, it was such a relief to find out I’d just been overthinking our interactions.”

“Like you do with half of all things, schatz,” Sebastian says softly, smiling at you. He was right, you did overthink too much.

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m trying to change.”

“That’s great, but you know what you should try first before that?” Seb asks with a playful look on his face. He comes to a stop in front of a bee hotel and grabs a paintbrush from beside it, putting it in your hands. “You should try participating in the event.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you mutter, grinning. You didn’t even notice you had walked all the way to the Ferrari station until then. You greet Charles, who was already there, before facing Sebastian again. “Still can’t believe you and Lewis’ plan was just Disneyland. Remind me to never trust you ever again.”

“Love you too,” Seb retorts sarcastically, grinning as he walks away to assist the other drivers. You shake your head with a smile, before facing the bee hotel again. Cheeky bastard.

Sebastian and Lewis had planned more than just Disneyland of course, they weren’t stupid. But the first phase of their plan was complete. Sebastian smiled to himself as he watched Mick talking to Lewis at the Mercedes station, ready to operate the second part of their ‘genius’ plan.

It was going to be a long, interesting week for all of them.

[howtofightwrite]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this, I’m having trouble finding different posts in your blog.

I know a lot of your asks are more practical-related, but how do you suggest fully encapsulating the horror and tragedy of war in a (fantasy) battle scene? I really need that emotional and gory impact but it also to seem reasonably realistic.

My favourite references are Battle of the Bastards in GoT and scenes from Lord of the Rings.

Thanks!!

Martin and Tolkien are not two authors I’d ever expect to find together when discussing thematic and abstract concepts like the horrors of war in their writing. One of them is extremely deep, and the other is a puddle. Neither of them are particularly “realistic” but only one of them claims that pretense while drawing from real history. If you’re wanting horrors of war, you’re much better off moving away from Martin and taking a gander at the actual War of the Roses.

Let me explain.

Tolkien served as an officer during World War I. By sheer body count, The Great War was one of the most bloody and brutal wars in human history. As a point of reference, over a million soldiers died during the Battle of Somme. Perhaps as importantly, World War I killed the cultural concept of the Summer War. Before World War I, the British upper class viewed war as a game. War was an adventure, something young men did between reaching manhood and getting married. Watson from Sherlock Holmes is an excellent example of the end result for this particular outlook. They figured they’d go off, have some jolly good fun, get a few scars, and be back in a few weeks in time for tea. What they got was a meat grinder. Two of Tolkien’s close friends died during the war. He also lived through the bombings during World War II while working as a professor at Oxford, he experienced the devastating effects that war had on the civilian population first hand, and, likely, saw a few of his students die. Despite his hatred of allegory, the man was working through some shit in The Lord of the Rings.

If you’re interested in learning more about World War I or even about effectively demonstrating the horrors of war, I do recommend reading All Quiet on the Western Front. I read it once in high school (more years ago than I’d like to admit here) and, much like Elie Wiesel, it has stuck with me. It was also such an effective anti-war novel the Nazis banned it and it was one of the first books they publicly burnt, so you know it’s good.

Back to Tolkien.

What they don’t tell you about fantasy is that it’s real life, just with elves and dwarves and magic. The real world forms the foundation of fantasy and it’s the humanity of the emotional experience in war, the good and the bad, with both ends cranked all the way to eleven that really makes Tolkien’s work so impactful. LOTR is operatic by design, but what keeps the narrative from falling into melodrama is the core thematic message underneath the pageantry. One of the major themes is hope, which gets symbolized in light, and hope’s interplay with despair, symbolized in darkness. Not just a rosy view of it either, but the genuine struggle to keep the light burning against all the overwhelming reasons to give up or give in. Tolkien allows his characters to be corrupted and redeemed, their struggle with temptation before ultimately choosing the better path or failing and falling into darkness. He commits to the idea that hope can be restored in the unlikeliest of places.

Boromir’s death is, perhaps, one of the best examples of Tolkien’s philosophy in action. Boromir is a character we’re not sure of, he wants the one ring from the outset, he’s the only one advocating that it shouldn’t be destroyed. The hearts of men are easily corrupted. When he tries to take the ring from Frodo, he falls into his worst instincts and breaks the Fellowship. But then, against the overwhelming flood of Uruk-hai, Boromir tries to save Merry and Pippin. He fights wounded, shot again, and again, until he’s felled by twenty arrows and he fails. Yet, in his failure he restores Aragorn’s hope in his people, gives him a reason to fight for Gondor, and inspires the audience to believe in Man’s potential for greatness.

Tolkien could have left Boromir in the dark, but he didn’t. He could’ve given into cynicism, but he didn’t. In every adaptation, Boromir’s death never fails to get me bawling. Boromir is both good and bad, both dark and light, his best and worst instincts are driven by the same underlying, sympathetic reason—his desire to save his people and fulfill his duty to his father.

On the whole, I find Tolkien’s presentation of the human condition and war to be more compelling and realistic than Martin’s. Tolkien’s underlying themes have more in common with All Quiet on the Western Front, Saving Private Ryan, and HBO’s Band of Brothers. For all that his characters often feel larger than life (by design, he’s telling an epic) there’s always a grounding quality that allows the audience to connect with them. Whether we agree with Tolkien’s core thematic message or not, Tolkien genuinely has something to say about warfare and its effect, both on personal and world changing levels, and he communicates that message very well.

The irony about the “horrors of war” isn’t about the horrors of war. Thematically, the “horrors of war” is about who we choose to become in the face of them when trapped in the crucible. Do we rise to our best selves? Do we fall to our worst? When every illusion about who we believe we are is stripped away, what’s left? It’s an existential question, not a “realistic” one.

You can’t write about the horrors of war in fiction if you have nothing to say about war, humanity, and its effects. All you’ll end up with is gore for shock value. The world becomes hopelessly depressing, and, in the end, all the blood turns brown before it’s finally shat out.

Hi, Martin.

Don’t get me wrong, Martin is a very skilled writer. His prose is genuinely beautiful and his first book in ASOF, A Game of Thrones is actually a pretty decent deconstruction in the traditional fantasy narrative and a fairly realistic treatment of how events would go for the standard well-meaning fantasy protagonist. And that’s… the deepest we get.

Martin comes out of the 24/Joss Whedon death for shock value school of writing and the land of Iron Age comics that doesn’t have anything to really say beyond, “people suck.” Underneath it all is a level of cynicism in the human condition that would make Garth Ennis blush. The deaths are just shock value. There’s nothing more to it than that. Once you’ve acclimated to the gore, there’s nowhere else to go and nothing else to think about. Ironically, out of his contemporaries, Robert Jordan is better at giving both war and death in his narrative lasting effect, driving character growth, and real meaning.

Martin and Tolkien are opposite ends of the spectrum in their approach to war and their outlooks are utterly incompatible. One of them is a complete cynic and the other is facing himself honestly, openly, fearlessly, and without a smidgen of irony. (The true irony here is that the latter is the Englishman.) Following Martin’s blueprint won’t bring you to a Tolkien outcome. Tolkien’s genuine emotion is the subject of mockery in Martin’s world. Season 8 may’ve been clumsy and infuriating, but it was the natural end of Comic Book Iron Age cynicism. There are no good people, people with power can never be trusted, and all heroes, no matter how noble, reveal their true colors as villains in the end. As Christopher Nolan said, “You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.” This philosophical outlook may be sold as realistic but it’s really just Political Both Sidesism, Fantasy Edition.

The irony is that the real history Martin draws from, The War of the Roses, is simultaneously crueler, kinder, more noble, more horrific, more impactful, and ultimately more hopeful than Martin’s own work. And this was post the Hundred Years War and all the wars that preceded it.

I bring you, the Duality of Man.

If you want to write a realistic battle scene, start with real war. If you want to write about the horrors of war, start with real war. Pick a war, any war, and dig in. Reading the experiences of others is a way to gain insight into experiences you yourself don’t share and start to process the different philosophies born out of those experiences. The horror of war is a human one.

The most important lesson is that you won’t get there by focusing on the battle itself. To truly feel the impact, every character needs to be carefully built from the very beginning with a through line to every horrific event that happens to them. If you want to learn how to do that, then you need to go study every single war movie from good to bad (including the jingoistic rah-rah ones) like Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Battle for Iwo Jima, etc, to really start internalizing the underlying storytelling structure and character design formula that makes those films tick. There’s no one better at portraying the horror and humanity of war than the war film industry. Part of what makes the best of these films really good is their willingness to allow their characters to be emotional and vulnerable. Which you won’t find in a lot of fantasy novels that run on machismo, but is the secret sauce that gives Tolkien his impact.

Having the confidence to allow your characters to struggle, be vulnerable, experience humiliating circumstances, and appear weak is an aspect of writing that a lot of men and women struggle with. Cynicism is a form of self-protection to keep those emotions away, to keep one from being emotionally invested, and is a means by which we protect ourselves from being hurt. We may portray cynicism as the more realistic reality but it’s just a cloak we hide behind. Martin’s approach to warfare is less realistic than Tolkien’s. Tolkien’s characters approach warfare with an eye toward protecting their civilians, safeguarding their future, or, in the case of his villains, focus on genocide. War for Tolkien is the eradication of civilization and the destruction of the future. Characters from experienced combatants to innocent civilians are willing to risk their lives for a world and for the people who matter to them. Martin has the Summer War. It’s there in the title, A Game of Thrones. An entertaining charade of musical chairs. And while all of his characters are chasing power, almost none of them have any sort of vision or goal for the future beyond the accumulation of more. In Martin’s world, the only way to truly win is not to play, but in the real world playing is the only way to create the world you want. Cynicism ends with no seats at the table and no means to change or save anything.

It’s funny because England during the War of the Roses had been in a state of near constant warfare for hundreds of years with their own domestic powers and France prior to the War of the Roses kicking off. The concept of a Summer War didn’t really exist for the medieval nobility. Much as we joke today about war being a game for medieval nobles due to their ransom protections, it really wasn’t. The peasantry was also much, much more dangerous en masse than they are in ASOF. They drove traveling monarchs to hide in monasteries plenty of times and, while that’s funny, it’s not actually a joke.

Now, picture Joffrey dragged off his horse in the middle of a riot and having his skull crushed by a local fishwife right before being trampled into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp by sharp hooves.

Or enjoying the Agincourt bathing route.

You’re welcome.

-Michi

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[ronsenthal]

George Luz x Reader

Summary: It became quite clear after all the hell you went through together from Camp Toccoa to Berchtesgaden that George Luz was something else. 

A/N: Hello there! Dear @ithinkabouttzu, I am so happy I can finally say that I am your summer gift exchanger from the @hbowardaily summer exchange event!!!I was so excited when I learned this because I’ve been a fan of your works for quite some time so I tried to make something nice for you in return. I really hope you like it!

The endless days of chatting and the countless late hours in the night of comfortable silence between you two filled your heart with joy and hope.

With the whole weight of the world on your shoulders you felt like you didn’t have the strength to keep going, but that’s when he showed up to help you ease all the pain, to help you handle it. It was always him.

Of course now it was really easier to even begin to put into words, it was almost like all the pain and the fear you went through the whole damn war blocked your eyes so it took you some time away from the boys to realise how much you did miss them. Your hands were trembling when you reached this cream white envelope in the pile of mail that came in earlier, it has this fancy calligraphy on the front and a tiny little wax seal on top, it was an invitation addressed to everyone from Easy Company to come at the Nixon’s house for a reunion, the first one since “the split”. 

You counted the days and hours to see all the guys together, to hear their stories, to see their faces and hug the hell out of them. 

When the day came you woke up really excited, got into your fav dress and headed to the party, well, at least you expected it was indeed a party given it was Lewis Nixon as the host. After you reached the address you had to blink like ten times before your eyes adjusted to the scene. The bastard came up with a whole amusement park for everyone. 

As you took your steps towards the host you saw a bunch of familiar faces, some different ones. The war changed everyone but the post-war added some civilian clothes, different hairs and even beards.

“Hey kiddo I thought you were not coming? You never replied to my letter!!!” Nixon said with a smile on his face and a big bottle of whiskey in one hand.

“I wanted to surprise you, asshole” You said with a cheeky smile on your face and rushed to hug him tight. 

“It’s so good to see you too” he said, rubbing your back while you stayed there holding each other. 

“Where are the rest of the gang?” you asked looking around “Ronald came in? And what about Dick?” 

“I was looking for the headhead myself, he is probably having another ice cream or something. Ron sent his apologies and couldn’t make it, he was busy with some fancy army thing he said he couldn’t talk about or he would have to kill me” Nix said while rolling his eyes which made you laugh out loud.

You had so much to catch up, you looked around and saw Lipton quietly having a beer with Martin and Bull, Liebgott arguing with Webster just like the old times. At this point Nixon and Winters were just walking around like those couples in old romance books but your eyes were scanning all the faces, your heart ready to skip a beat at any moment. 

When you saw his face it was like the world got warmer, his smile sent you back in time and forward into the future and the sound of his laugh was like the most beautiful symphony to your ears. Your feet had their own mind and when you realised they were leading you to him. 

He suddenly saw you too and got up and left poor Buck talking to a tree as he started to walk towards you. 

“Hey you showed up! I was starting to worry because Nix said…” you cut him as you wrapped your arms around his torso to give George the biggest hug ever. 

The familiar smell and the way his chest went up and down had some weird calming power over your body, felt like home. But after some time you let him go just to get a hold on his arms as you two walked around and just chatted about life.

You laughed so hard when you saw Shifty walking with this huge teddy bear he got from the balloon shooting game stall and George watched your eyes glowing so he took you by the hand and dragged you to the stall. 

Poor boy was dejected after he failed almost all his 5 shots and got you only a small plush duck. It didn’t matter, the small duck meant so much to you because it came from him!

It was starting to get dark and everyone was quite drunk already when Dick called up for some announcements. He made a beautiful speech about how he was happy and proud to see everybody. It was getting too emotional when Lewis cut him off and invited everybody for the barbecue dinner he arranged. The scene was so familiar, everyone holding up a plate in a long line waiting to get some food. Martin called you both to share a table and chat a bit more.

“So how is everything back home? Anyone we should worry about and talk to?” Martin asked you with his protective tone and suddenly you felt like everyone was watching you? 

“No! No one and if there was someone you guys would be the first to know” you replied trying your best not to blush or look at George, but sometimes you felt like he could read your mind and see your heart like no one else, in that moment he covered your hand with his. 

The subject then naturally changed but his hand stayed in place for everyone to see, but the guys didn’t seem to notice even when he started to rub circles at the back of your hand. That was it, the final straw.

“Georgie, can I talk to you for a second? In private?” you said biting your lip, your heart beating faster and faster.

“Of course sweetheart” he said fastly taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out in the ashtray on the table. He got up and waited for you to take his hand so you could lead the way.

The eyes of all the boys followed you with confused looks as you nervously went out dragging an even more confused George behind you.

“Is everything okay?” This time there was no confusion on his face, instead it was fear.

“No it’s not okay” You said with a trembling voice “This was a big big mistake” you continued pointing at everything around. 

“I don’t understand, what is wrong?” He sounded exasperated, curious and scared. 

“Forget it please, it’s stupid let’s go back the guys are waiting for us” 

“No I’m not going anywhere else until you tell me what is wrong, because THERE IS something wrong” he said holding your hand once more. 

This sent some kind of electricity as his fingers touched you and you froze in place. He took a step forward and you closed your eyes, shaking your head rapidly. 

“You don’t understand George, do you?”

“What is wrong? Did I say something wrong? Please tell me, you’re scaring the shit out of me sweetheart. Talk to me!” tears started to roll down your cheek and you closed your eyes even harder. 

“That’s the problem, you are the problem, you are my friend George! My fucking best friend”

“And what is wrong with that? I don’t understand it please….”

“You fucking idiot” you said wiping away the tears with the tip of your fingers “I love you!”.

You finally let out the words that were stuck in your throat for so long, eight letters that were fighting so hard to be free, that were constantly tormenting you floating around your brain and growing inside your heart, fighting to survive. 

You quietly let all the tears flow when you felt his arms wrapping your body, as always it worked its magic and calmed you down. It was almost like you could finally breathe again.

“Well now we have a problem” he said with a huge smile on his lips.

“What? Of course we have a big fucking problem George! Didn’t you just hear what I said?” you looked really confused now. 

“Yes, yes we will get there sweetie” he said laughing “But first we will have to endure the endless shit show the guys are gonna pull out the moment they learn that we are a couple, because sweetheart… I don’t even know how to say it but I love you back”

He gave you a quick kiss on your lips and started to drag you back to the table with a cheeky smile and a little wink, just for you.

And of course he was right, there were applauses, screams and whistles when you two finally emerged holding hands.

Taglist: @mads-weasley, @footprintsinthesxnd, @sweetxvanixlla, @xxluckystrike, @malarkgirlypop, @lostloveletters, @next-autopsy, @ewipandora, @executethyself35, @easycompany123, @whollyjoly

[xuchiya]

this song is one of my favorites and this was played while my team and i were having fun showcasing our prototype on our university week and yeah .. it is meant for my crush so too bad he didn't hear my message bc he wasn't there .. jk

fluff (based on a real life experience)

   as i walked around, smiling and handing students flyers of our work, who were walking around looking at the computer science and engineering inventions or prototypes created by groups of amazing individuals with intellectual minds.

"hey girly!" almost dropping the flyers, carla—one of my good friends tackled me in a hug. i chuckle, wrapping my arms around her small figure, "hey how's the booth? how many signatures did you guys have?"

she puffs an air out, rolling her eyes, "gosh as much as I want to pass, this is hard. we're still at 50 signatures. what 'bout you guys?"

i look over my shoulders to see 2 of my group mates missing while the other 2 explain our work to wandering and curious students. i turn back to her, "not sure to be honest, ron and james are missing so we could still be around 30? not much."

"oh ron and james? they're holding the guest book paper before they leave." my head clicked immediately and laughed quietly, "smart bastards."

"martin saw what they did and is going around the campus too. anyways ..." her voice trailed off. i look at her confused, leaning on to my other hip, holding the flyer close to my chest "what?"

her lips curled up, bumping her hips to mine with a teasing manner, "wooyoung is walking around ... he's checking out all of our prototype." my eyes suddenly widen at the mention of wooyoung.

wooyoung is 4 years ahead of all of us hence the level year he is, which he is now graduating soon. because of the pandemic and short incomes, wooyoung stopped his studies until both of his parents got back up and let him continue his studies, even though he is already a few years behind though his other friends have work or have their own business, they didn't let wooyoung felt that he is out of place just because he is still studying. they knew his story and they understood him well. good friends indeed.

"oi! you're smiling like crazy, you're in love again ah!" she teases, slapping my bicep playfully. i scoff, turning around to walk back to my booth, "stop and I am not—it's just a happy crush."

as soon as i place the flyers down and face her, my two members plus her look at me with 'oh really?'. i pick up some discarded candy wrappers and threw it at them. they laughed at my reddened face, "geez girly if it wasn't for the heat index here in Manila, we would assume it's for wooyoung."

 i turn away from them, grabbing my aqua flask and drinking the ice cold water defending the scorching heat of Manila’s summer. turning the mini fan brought by james, using the back of my hand– i wipe off the sweat trickling down the underside of my chin and jaw. as the days go on, so does the excessive heat, working outside is difficult to do without breaking TOO MUCH sweat.

  “here.” a voice called out, i look up and to my surprise, wooyoung crouched on the same level as i was. i stared at him then to his extended hand where a handkerchief was reaching for me, my brows furrowed, “huh? no no i don’t want to. i mean thank you but it’s like .. i mean personal hygiene?” 

 i rambled without realising it until he chuckled softly, he moved forward– patting the sweat gently. the small distance we had, had my heart flying off the cage of my chest and the heat that was burning people’s skin was now all over my cheeks as wooyoung’s hand, surprisingly soft and gentle, held my sweaty face. his touch sent a jolt through me, and i could’ve sworn his thumb brushed against my cheekbone. a blush crept up my neck, and i stammered, unsure of what to say with our faces so close.

  his touched lingered as he pulled away, his eyes searching mine with intensity that made my breath catch, “do you have an extra hanky?” i cleared my throat, pointing at the handkerchief wrapped around my hair, “no, i was in a hurry because i had to set up our prototype that i forgot to bring my clamp or my hair tie.”

he hums, “have you eaten lunch?” once again i spoke, “no …” he clicks his tongue, standing back up, i followed his figure to which i saw him approach my group mates and spoke to them. my head was all over the place, his touch, his voice and the way he cares for someone. so much luck for that person he will be with, breaking my heart in the process that this is all just a stupid “happy” crush, nothing more and nothing less—nothing to take serious. i sigh, shaking my head and scolding my hopeful heart.

“you’re so blind girly…” my head snapped towards carla, she smacked my head gently–playful way. i pout, “what? I’m not trying to hurt myself by giving myself false hope that he feels the same way.” carla sighs, “he wouldn’t go beyond those boundaries if he doesn’t feel the same way or he wouldn’t do those if “friends” act so much beyond that.”

“carla is right.” carla and i turned to wooyoung with a smile, perfect timing, my stomach growled loudly, shattering the silence. my cheeks burned with shame as carla claps as she cackles beside me. wooyoung raised his eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes, “look’s like it is telling me you did not eat breakfast to.”

i scoff, looking away,”told you i’m in a hurry…” i heard him chuckle before i saw his hand reaching out for my wrist, pulling me up, “huh?”

“i ask for your groups permission to let you eat first then after that they can eat.” i turn to my group mates to see them giving me a thumbs up, then looking back at wooyoung, “are you not busy?” he shakes his head, “i can make space for our first date.”

   And that my folks, is how he had taken me breathless by being effortlessly romantic and being a sweet gentleman.

[folkloresthings]

Okay, I know I said the last one was the last one, but I just keep having ideas and you write so much better than I do, I’m sorry (😭).

That said, can I pretty please ask for a NORTHANGER ABBEY with Fernando Alonso and the sunshine x sunshine protector trope? Like his S/O is super sweet and cheery and he wants to keep them from getting hurt? I just feel like that would be so cute!

Thanks in advance, my love, and I hope you’re doing well!! ✨🧚‍♂️💗

thank you darling dolly 💌

WHATEVER IT TAKES. ❨ fernando alonso x reader ❩

✩⡱ warnings: implied age gap bc duh it’s a nando fic

after twenty—two years in formula one, a driver learns how dangerous it can be. not the cars, not the crashes or the risking your life every time you break a little too late. no, it was much more dangerous off of the track, in front of the prying eyes and camera lenses: the lion’s den.

fernando knew well how he was to blame for this cloud of prejudice that followed him around. he’d quickly made a name for himself as a womaniser in the sport, a different girl at every race and a new one at night. that kind of reputation stuck, even at forty—two years old.

you were different. fernando knew, from the very moment he laid eyes on you, he wouldn’t be capable of treating you like a temporary plaything. you were a breath of fresh air, younger than him and oh so optimistic. he was getting old, losing out hope on ever having more than his racing career, and you had come along, bringing a whole new life with you.

hell, you’d even made his time at alpine fun.

he knew everyone on the grid would love you before they even met you, and his suspicions were correct. you were sweet, tooth—rottingly so, and every single person you came across couldn’t help but love you. nearly as much as he did.

the media, however, was not every person. no matter your heavenly goodness, the press would find any reason to belittle you. fernando alonso’s next playgirl, this month’s challenge, formula one gold digger. from the second things got serious, fernando swore on everything that he was to protect you from all of that mess.

it worked, for a while, dodging cameras and hiding nasty articles from you. the little bubble he’d created around your relationship was perfect. he could love you with his whole heart and not worry about anything ruining it. because, god, he couldn’t let anything ruin this — not the one good thing he had.

it was a few days after you’d arrived in barcelona for the race weekend. in fernando’s favourite little summer dress of yours, you skipped along to the track for the first free practice of the week. standing off to the sidelines, sharing a coffee with alexandra, everything was perfect. the sun, the cars, the feeling that everything was falling into place.

“y/n! y/n, can we get a picture!”

“y/n, any comment on fernando’s romantic past?!”

“what do you think about being labelled as the grid slut, y/n!”

the reporters had swarmed you in seconds, coming out of nowhere. tabloids, you presumed, god knows how they got press passes. alex reached for your arm, pulling you back from the mic shoved in your face. she’d gone through the exact same thing mere months ago.

“get away from them, right now!”

that familiar voice, though hollering, relaxed you immediately. fernando had shoved his way through the mob, standing guard in front of you. his hand reached back to grasp at your arm, securing you close to his side, his shoulders heaving with anger.

“any of you bastards speak to her like that again, and i’ll make sure you don’t have a career left in the morning,” he seethes, sending the reporters backing off in seconds. he takes your hand, charles taking alex’s, pulling you both to the safety of the garages. fernando doesn’t slow down until he reaches the aston martin motorhome, face red with anger.

“are you okay?” he asks, taking your cheeks in his palms, eyes desperately raking across your features for any sign that you might be hurt or upset. in truth, you were just shocked. the whole interaction had sprung up out of nowhere, and it had happened in a flash before your eyes, back in the garage before you knew it.

“i don’t— what they were saying…” you mutter, brows furrowed. the words play over and over again like a broken record. slut. the tears that stung at your eyes were hot, willed away with everything that you had.

“don’t listen to them, please,” fernando softens, chest aching at the sight of you welling up. “i… i tried so hard to protect you from this, mi amor. i should have been there.”

you shake your head, nestling your face in the material of his race suit. fernando’s arms wind around your shoulders, squeezing you as close as he can without fear of breaking you. he’d curse himself forever for not being there to stop the reporters, but he would hold you while he could.

“i’m sorry, corazón. you deserve better than all of this,” your doting boyfriend murmurs against the crown of your head, lips moving on soft hair. you shift to look up at him, that familiar light that dances behind pupils making him keel with adoration.

“all that talk is only temporary,” you mutter, stretching up on the tips of your toes to reach his lips. soft and lingering kisses, his hands holding your hips close by. “this, us, is what matters.”

fernando smiles, so deeply you can feel it in your stomach. “i love you, so very much. i’m not going to let anything ruin this.”

he tangles you up in another kiss, pouring every ounce of love he has for you into one searing show of affection. a clear promise: to protect you every day of his life, no matter what it took.

[cripple-punk-dad]

Once again feeling emotions about God, Forgive These Bastards: Songs From The Forgotten Life Of Henry Turner by The Taxpayers. I listened to the whole album not really knowing the background or the story behind the title. I just loved the music and the artist's voices. But then I found the explanation by the main vocalist on the album, Rob Taxpayer, and:

"The first time I met Henry Turner I feared for my life. I remember the exact date – February 18th, 2007 – because the day before, a close friend of mine had unsuccessfully attempted to commit suicide in his studio apartment and I’d spent the entire night at the hospital. It was one of those terrible and typical Pacific Northwest winter nights where the rain seemed relentless and the gloom was contagious, and as I waited at a sheltered bus stop on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard for the # 6 to arrive, a man approached me for a cigarette.

I shook my head and gave him a half-smile.

“Sorry. I quit a few years back.”

I stuck my head back into the newspaper I was reading, and he took a few steps closer.

“How about a buck and a quarter then? All I need is a dollar and a quarter and I’ll have enough for bus fair.”

I shrugged and fumbled around in my pocket.

“I’m using an expired bus transfer myself, but I might have a few extra dimes. It ain’t much, but if it helps, it’s yours.”

I passed him the change, and when he grabbed it, he ducked down to my level and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Look at me. Does it look like a few extra dimes would help? You think a few extra dimes would do any good to anybody? Take a look at me. I got a rotten heart and a bad shoulder and I ain’t slept a good night’s sleep in the past ten years, and you wanna know the kicker? I get fuckers like you tossing me their condescending extra dimes.”

He was tall and intimidating, with wild gray hair and deep wrinkle lines all across his face, and his eyes would occasionally roll up into his head, quiver, and then refocus. His thick, wet coat and his tangled beard had bits of crumpled leaves stuck to them, and he carried himself with the strange confidence of an angry and confused lion.

“And the best part about all of this is that I know you’re cheating me. And you know what I did to the last bastard that cheated me? “

He paused for a few silent, terrifying seconds.

“I bit his ear off.”

I almost pissed my pants. My brain was telling me, “get up and run”, but my body was frozen in fear, and I sat there shaking in excruciating silence. Sure, maybe he was harmless, but something about the look in his eyes terrified me. I could see the bus approaching from about a quarter of a mile away. I did the math. From that distance, it would be another minute or so before the bus arrived, saving me from certain death. I could try to fight back. But while he was an old man, he was an enormous old man, and anyways, you just can’t fight a crazy person. I could run. That was it. I was going to have to get up and run before he sunk his teeth into me, or pulled out a knife, or worse.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter. Not a maniacal laughter, but a booming, good-natured laughter, and his angry eyes became kind and warm. His snarl turned into a crooked smile, and he slapped me on the back like an old friend.

“Aw, I’m just fucking with you, kid. Ain’t much for laughs around here. You’ll have to forgive me.”

He held out his massive hand for me to shake.

“Henry Turner. Friends call me Hank. How ya doin'?”

I was still petrified. Was this some sort of a trick? Was he going to grab my hand and then snap it off like a tree branch? He looked me over and laughed again, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a bus pass.

“Here. This one ain’t expired. Go on, take it, I got a whole stack of ‘em.”

And with that, the bus pulled up to our stop in the rain, the doors opened with a loud mechanical sigh, and Henry held out both his arms, outstretched, in the direction of the doors.

“After you, kid.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was a semi-celebrity around town, although most people wrote him off as just another one of the crazy folks that told rambling, drunken tales – amusing for a few minutes, but best largely avoided. It was true, he had his demons, but he also had a magical brilliant quality to him, and whenever I ran into him around town, I’d end up spending a few hours with him, if for no other reason than to listen to his unbelievable stories. It didn’t really matter whether they were true or not, it was the way he told them, with absolute clarity and confidence, no matter how crazy they sounded. Some of it even checked out. He’d often talk about his years playing baseball with Georgia Tech, and the famous play-off game where he pitched a two-hitter in 1979. When I got home, I went on the internet and looked up the Georgia Tech roster from 1979, and there he was. Henry Turner. I’ll be damned.

The years went by. I’d leave town for months at a time, but when I came home I could always expect to run into Henry for the latest news and a ridiculous tale. Businesses closed and new ones opened, houses changed ownership, new faces arrived and old ones disappeared, but he was like an ancient marble pillar – unaffected by the changes around him. Or so it seemed. In the winter of 2010, three years after we first met, I ran into Henry on one of the downtown park blocks. He was disheveled and had these crazy eyes, and when he recognized me, he touched me on the shoulder and said something to the effect of, “Gonna go away for a while. You’ll hold onto something for me, yeah?”. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a huge stack of unused bus passes, thrust them into my hands, and walked away. It was the last time I would see him.

Henry Turner died on March 25th, 2010, a product of years of substance abuse and tough living. If a funeral was held I wasn’t aware of it. The news of his death hit me harder than expected, and it sparked an obsession: I began compulsively writing down every outlandish and unbelievable story he’d ever told me, as a sort of tribute. My band started working on an album of songs pertaining to Henry’s life. My nights were spent researching everything I could find about the Turner family. I would rant on and on to complete strangers about the whole ordeal. Then slowly, it began to subside. Life went back to normal. Though I never quite forgot about it, my utter entrancement with the Turners faded.

What follows is an amalgamation of the stories Henry told me, as best as I can remember them. I hope I did him justice. There are some embellishments and I took quite a few liberties, but like all good narrators, Henry knew that any story worth telling should be grand, significant, and a little bit false. It’s important to note that Henry was no hero, and I’m not trying to romanticize or defend him – as you’ll find out, he was a murderer, an abusive husband, an unapologetic addict, and a crook who was haunted by his most awful moments. But he was also at times a tender, loving father, a brave adventurer, and an amazing pitcher, who was surprisingly candid and an absolute charm to listen to. No person can be summed up by their worst actions. And despite his insistence that “forgiveness ain’t an inherent human quality”, that’s what this whole thing’s been about for me: the capacity to forgive someone’s most wretched moments.

Ultimately, I think that when Henry was at his best, he was something simple: a kind, strange friend" -Rob Taxpayer, from The Taxpayer's Bandcamp page

Look at me look me in the eyes: "No person can be summed up by their worst actions" I'm broken I'm dead I'm deceased. The last track on the album is an interview with somebody who knew Henry as a child. It's about remembering someone that nobody else thinks about it's about preserving the memory of the jerks and the assholes and the addicts because everyone deserves to be remembered and to have songs sung about them and have their stories told in whatever way they can be told.

[whoregaylorenzo]

TOP THREE: (more like thirteen) PEDRENZO.

(including credits and 'captions from motorsport images' + my little comments)

JEREZ 2008 // 'Valentino Rossi and Jorge Lorenzo give Dani Pedrosa a soaking.' Martin Heath.

BARCELONA 2009 // 'Bitter Spanish rivals Jorge Lorenzo and Dani Pedrosa' Martin Heath.

INDIANAPOLIS 2009 // 'Bitter Spanish rivals Jorge Lorenzo Fiat Yamaha and Dani Pedrosa Repsol Honda Team ignore eachother.' Martin Heath.

JEREZ 2010 // 'Second placed Dani Pedrosa celebrates with race winner Jorge Lorenzo.' Sutton Images. eyes closed by halsey anyone?

JEREZ 2010 // 'Jorge Lorenzo fiat Yamaha Team offers bitter rival Dani Pedrosa an olive branch.' [no photo credit listened but based on similar wording I am assuming] Martin Heath.

BARCELONA 2010 // 'Jorge Lorenzo and Dani Pedrosa'. no credits.

SACHSENRING 2010 // 'Dani Pedrosa leads from Jorge Lorenzo.' no credits. jorge took "get his ass" in a different way

SILVERSTONE 2013 // 'Jorge Lorenzo, Yamaha, and Dani Pedrosa, Honda, on the podium.' Kevin Wood. live baby marc reaction

SILVERSTONE 2013 // 'Jorge Lorenzo, Yamaha, Marc Marquez and Dani Pedrosa, Honda, celebrate on the podim.' Kevin Wood. this time it was Dani doing the soaking

JEREZ 2017 // 'race winner Dani Pedrosa, second place Marc Marquez, third place Jorge Lorenzo' Gold and Goose. possessive bastard.

LE MANS 2017 // 'Dani Pedrosa, Jorge Lorenzo' Gold and Goose. I meannnnn come on heart eyes

LE MANS 2017 // 'Dani Pedrosa, Jorge Lorenzo' Gold and Goose. boys are you aware you are in public

BARCELONA 2017 // 'Polesitter Dani Pedrosa, second place Jorge Lorenzo' Gold and Goose. no words just love.

thank you for taking this journey with me.

[lavalais76]

I found this on Reddit, and thought it to be an excellent read. I’m quiet sure most of you won’t believe some of the things said here, but it really has one thinking….

WoW RyanBarns13,

I think it's been a really thorough discussion. I just wondered where do you get your ideas from?

RyanBarnes13

OP•2yrs ago

Rhaegar and Lyanna never fit Jon’s story of Winterfell and being a Stark. And Ned and Ashara never fit cause he could just tell everyone. Honestly it’s from the The welcoming feast. When Jon said Sansa was “radiant”. Who says that about his sister? And they never had a parting scene from winterfell, but the more you dig into the more you realize they are the story of the North. And the 1993 letter or whenever it was had Arya Jon Tyrion love triangle. But every link and foreshadowing points to Sansa. Then Martin hides clues behind words. But the only combo that would work for that is Rhaegar or another Stark. Ned can’t be the father. Here’s two, Tyrion described Septa Lemore as handsome.... sounds like she is ok looking. We use it to describe men only nowadays. But look for synonyms for handsome describing a woman and it’s the opposite of what we think. Here’s some,

Handsome synonyms for women aesthetic (also esthetic), attractive, beauteous, beautiful, bonny (also bonnie) [chiefly British], comely, cute, drop-dead, fair, fetching, good, good-looking, goodly, gorgeous, knockout, likely, lovely, lovesome, pretty, ravishing, seemly, sightly, stunning, taking, well-favored.

The two main women described as like that is Ashara and Cercei from the Roberts rebellion. So why hide the eye color from us? Who else has purple eyes? Not much of anyone. But he gives us every clue but the eyes.

The other one is honey colored hair. That is one of the biggest tricks in the books. It’s whenever you see those words you should think like admiral ackbar. “It’s a trap”, basically honey ranges from blonde color to reddish brown. The bear and the maiden fair? You would think dany and Jorah. He is a Mormont bear, she is the maiden fair with honey in her hair. But it’s actually Jon with the bear symbols.

He is adopted by Mormont through the giving of Longclaw, basically replacing Jorah as his son, he is being trained as the old bears heir as lord commander, the white bear skins in numerous chapters of Jon’s. Who is his maiden fair with honey in her hair? The one maiden with reddish-brown hair who keeps calling for a knight to save her, but she gets a bear. It’s played over and over in her scenes. Sansa. Many people hate realizing hearing it, but Jon’s story is built around Sansa and her his.

The proof where Jon flat out says he loves her. Most people have missed it, but Arya is little sister since the very first of the book. Sister always means Sansa. Martin never deviates from that. And he hides the truth many a time by getting people to read about Jon’s sister and thinking Arya instead of Sansa. But go reread the first few chapters, it’s always sister, little sister. Now the proof,

Do not despair Lord Snow […] Your sister is not lost to you.”

“I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?”

“Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly…”

“… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.” -Jon, A Dance with Dragons

She is talking about Arya, he is thinking Sansa and his heart, his SISTER. Then she is amused as she realizes, what’s the LITTLE SISTERS name? Oh shit Jon thinks silently, Arya. Oops of course Jon.

What I am getting to with all this is Jon’s story is the north. Winterfell is his end game. It’s what he dreams about. You can only make the story work if you accept the character arcs as written. He is not the PTWP, or all that. He is Lord of Winterfell, King of Winter. Everyone wants him to be king of 7 kingdoms, ride dragons, that’s Aegons, Danys, stories. His queen is set up to Sansa. Most people reject that, but go back and read just their chapters, they parallel in trials, dreams, everything. End game is winterfell and kids named Robb, Bran, Arya, Rickon. Dany is the Rhaenys character, Aegon is Aegon character, Val is the Visenya character, but with a spear instead of a sword.

Martin used fairy tails in the story, Beauty and the Beast, the pig boy. Sandor, Tyrion false Beasts. Jon is the beast. If you notice his wounds correlate to Sansa’s suitors. Sandor is burned, Jon is burned. Willas Tyrell (think I remember his name right) is lame in one leg, Jon gets shot by arrows and limps, tyrion and Sandor get scarred faces, Jon’s whole side of his face is scarred by the eagle.

The pig boy gets the princess stories, Jon is the pig keeper. Sam is the piggy, Ser Piggy even, Dolorious Edd tells Sam he’s thinking of roasting Sam. The prologue of one of the books has a Nights Watch character trying to escape but is thwarted by snow and Jon and his pig taking his spot with maester Aemon.

As for putting it all together, look at the Middle Ages. It’s all there. But everyone forgets it’s written from a certain point of view. Obiwan kenobi, talking to Luke about Vader killing his dad, everything I told you was true. From a certain point of view. All the stories of Jon’s mother are true, when you look at it from the characters points of view, Wylla, Ashara, fisherman’s daughter, you just have to fit them into the slots.

Sorry I’m rambling

[tumb1rprincess]

Oh boy, episode 159. This was another one I had heard snippets of while first checking out the fandom, so I was excited for this one. And boy, did it deliver.

Jon’s voice in this episode, dear God. There are just so many lines where he’s practically snarling the words like a predator. I remember commenting a while back that he’s a minnow among sharks, but that’s certainly not the case anymore. He’s one of the sharks now. But then his voice gets so soft when he’s talking to Martin. That little “I thought you might be lost” just melted my heart. He’s been hardened from everything he’s been through, but with Martin, he’s so soft and gentle, agh, it just kills me. Also, that line about being lost reminded me of episode 13, when Naomi’s pastor expressed the same thing about her. Being lonely, being depressed, it is like being lost. You’re trapped in this mental fog or a horrible pain that feels like it’s going to last forever.

And Martin, Martin, baby, god, I saw so much of myself in what he was saying. The Lonely being a metaphor for depression is in full force this episode. Like, him just believing that being alone is really what’s best for him and everyone else, how many of us have thought that? And the Lonely this time around isn’t this crushing weight that makes you so sad that your chest aches, although it certainly has been in the past. Here, it just makes you numb, and depression has made me feel that way a lot.

Jon just listing off his friends who have died or left him, ugh, that was a punch to the gut. It just reminds you of how much he’s gone through and you can feel the Lonely drawing him in for a moment. And Lukas, the bastard, his voice is surprisingly soft and quiet during this bit, like he’s luring you in.

So I guess there is a bit of tragedy with Lukas. Like, he was pretty much raised from the get-go to be part of the Lonely, he didn’t have much of a choice. But hearing him describe that apartment complex and how every little detail and every vulnerable person chosen was to make it as lonely as possible, that had me seething. It all just felt horribly cruel.

Literally went “GET FUCKED PETER LUKAS!” when he…exploded I guess? Is that what happens to people now if they resist answering Jon’s questions for too long? They just explode? I don’t know, it’s what it sounded like. And we still don’t know what Elias won with this wager. That worries me a little.

The last part, oh the last part. Jon admitting that being alone is probably safer, but he still tells Martin he needs him anyway, cause he still loves and cares for him so much. And just how quick Martin was to reply “No you don’t.” Like, OUCH. Martin has probably never had anyone tell him that in his life. And how many of us have thought that during our low moments? Or how many times have we had people tell us that, but we can’t bring ourselves to believe them? And then Jon saying “I don’t just want to survive!” made me think of that infamous line from Wall-E “I don’t want to survive. I want to live.” Like, Jon is pretty much saying “I want to live my life and I want to live it with you.” And then we get the most tender lines ever with “Look at me and tell me what you see” and “I see you, John.” I was like

It’s not even an “I love you” it’s an “I see you” but it still holds so much weight. Jon is feeling like a monster, Martin is alone in the world, but they still see each other and love each other and that’s what brings Martin back. Because when we’re feeling depressed and alone, isn’t that what we want the most? Just for someone to say “I see you, I know you exist, you haven’t been forgotten.” I remember seeing fanart and animations of this moment everywhere when I was poking around the fandom and I can see why. Top tier JonMartin moment.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 5: The Withering of Hearts (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 5: The Withering of Hearts

The Seven Kingdoms is plagued with a succession crisis, and drunken impulse never leads to a good end.

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Extreme slow burn, angst, Daemon being an ass, excessive costume detailing 

Word Count: 3.4k words 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: thank you guys for the comments you left on the last chapter! it was really nice to see you guys theorising about what would happen next haha 👀 most unfortunately, the slowburn must keep slow-burning, and Daemon isn’t done stirring up shit yet lol. happy reading! PS, please see the end of the chapter for an extended A/N to get a rough grasp of how the next two chapters will be like! 

wonderful dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​  !  

Scarce had a week passed since the funeral of Queen Aemma, and the Red Keep was once again abuzz with a new scandal. 

Prince Daemon had been caught at a brothel, raising a drunken toast to the late Queen and her ill-fated babe. 

He had toasted Baelon as the Heir for a Day. 

That fucking bastard. 

Fuming, you lurked in the shadows of the secret passages by the throne room, listening as Viserys denounced his brother in an angry tirade. ‘How dare he?’ your eyes were shining with ferocity as you paced the halls, eyes fixed on the proceedings in the throne room. You had guessed the truth after all: Daemon only wanted to use the power vacuum left by the death of Aemma and Baelon to instil himself as the heir to the Iron Throne. You couldn’t believe you actually thought the advice he offered on the cliffs was an act of goodwill. That maybe, Daemon was not the vicious, annoying little bastard you once knew. 

Alas, you were wrong. And what a fool you felt. 

Your lips were pressed in a thin line as you watched Viserys disinherit Daemon permanently from the line of succession, and watched with your very eyes as the relationship between the two brothers deteriorated into ruin. 

What you didn’t know however, that you had also just witnessed a part of Daemon’s heart wither away into nothing but coldness, as he heard his brother’s proclamation. ‘Was this what grief felt like?’ Daemon bitterly pondered. ‘At long last, I understand how she felt that day.’ 

You moved to navigate out of the secret passageways as soon as Daemon turned his heel to leave the throne room, intent on cornering him for an explanation, or to scream at him. Perhaps both. 

Daemon was lost in a flurry of furious thoughts as he saw a familiar figure step into his way, obstructing his path. Her chin was jutted out defiantly, and the expression of anger on her face was visible. For a moment, Daemon thought she looked like a true Targaryen, with fire and blood running through her veins. He held up a hand to stop whatever reprimand she had for him, eyes dark, “You saw everything that happened in the throne room. I have no need for you to parrot whatever words my dear brother has already bestowed upon me.” 

You have never wanted to slap a man so badly. “Have you no shame?” you demanded, temper flaring. “How could you have been so cruel?” “it was a drunken jape, made of impulse. Why does no one understand that?” Daemon seethed. Your jaw dropped at his audacity, and you stepped forward to jab a finger into his chest, “You, Daemon Targaryen, are truly the scum of the earth. Your nephew has just died. Your sister-in-law has just died! And here you are, making drunken japes with poor taste. Are you so utterly boorish that you would stoop so low to mock the dead?” 

Daemon listened to her, an impatient look upon his face. “Are you quite finished, my lady?” Your eyes widened in outrage, and suddenly, it was like you lost control. You lifted your hand to slap him, but he caught it with a vice grip, eyes narrowed. “Let me go!” you struggled to twist out of his grip, but it was futile. Daemon took the chance to drag you to a more secluded corner of the castle, eyes blazing as he braced himself to confess the truth. 

“If you would just shut up, and listen to me, you daft woman, then I would’ve told you that I didn’t do it!” Daemon snapped. Your jaw sagged, “And now you’re lying to evade your responsibility? Seven Hells, Daemon, you never cease to surprise me.” 

“I didn’t!” Daemon nearly yelled out. His brother would not listen to the truth, but he had a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, Y/N would be the exception. That she would be the only person who didn’t constantly see the worst in him. 

“Aemma was my sister-in-law, and while I did not cross paths oft enough with her that we would consider each other close, she was still dear to me. She was kind to me. Why would I dishonour her memory so? And my nephew. I harbour no grudge against his memory. He was a babe who perished tragically. Do you think I would’ve stooped so low to the point where I would mock my family? Think rationally, byka zaldrizes.” Daemon stared deep into your eyes, an almost pleading look in his eyes. Please, Daemon thought, please believe me. Don’t see as the monster everyone sees me as. Please. 

You bit your lip, looking into Daemon’s violet eyes, glinting orange in the firelight, and pondered on his words. It was true, Daemon had never shown any ill will towards Aemma, and they had always treated each other respectfully. How could you have never considered this possibility? You felt a little ashamed that you had assumed the worst of Daemon, although it had felt like habit by now, but you had grown up with him. You’d like to believe, that under all his brashness and arrogance, that he was still that same boy who snuck out with you nearly every night when you were both children to the kitchens, giggling as you munched on lemon cakes and strawberry tarts. That underneath all his brutality and his lusts, he was still a good person. Your eyes softened as you saw the look in Daemon’s eyes, beseeching you, to believe him. 

Daemon felt his hope dwindle away as he watched you hesitate for a long time, and his eyes began to darken again. So she is the same as everyone else, he thought with much gloom. But your next words took him by surprise. “I...believe you,” you said quietly. 

Daemon stared at Y/N after the words left her lips, lilac eyes filled with disbelief. Then he threw back his head as a hoarse laugh burst from his lips, and he let go of your wrist. You watched uneasily as he continued laughing like a crazed madman, but you said you believed he didn’t do it, and it was always difficult to sway you from your convictions. 

Daemon finally stopped laughing, though a twisted smirk still painted his lips, but it looked more pained than amused. “How is it that you always seem to have faith in me, while even my own brother cannot seem to conjure up the slightest hint of trust for me?” “I know the calibre of your character, Daemon,” you said quietly. “You may be many things, but even you would not be predisposed to such innate cruelness.” 

There was a pause as the both of them eyed each other, Daemon with some disbelief, and you with faith glittering in your eyes. Daemon sometimes had a hard time reconciling how you could both be so naive and wise. “If only,” Daemon muttered bitterly, breaking the silence, “Someone like you was the Hand of the King, instead of that power-hungry leech of a Cunttower.” “The Hand was the one who slandered you?” you blinked in surprise. Daemon let out a snort at your reaction. “You do know that that cunt would never stop until he turns my brother against me, do you not?” 

“But-” you inhaled sharply, “The Hand serves the realm. Otto Hightower might hold a strong dislike for you, but he is not one to let his pettiness blind his judgement-” 

“And what do you know of that cunt’s nature? Do not act as though you know him well,” Daemon spat out, hand running through his hair in frustration. “Would you be so dumb as to believe it is not in his nature to concoct such a scandal to sow discord between me and my brother? He has done so many times, and he will not cease until he has what he wants: which is uncontrolled access to my brother so that he may sway him with the venom he spouts from his lips.” His purple eyes were dark with rage, and his fists were clenched as he gritted his teeth. 

Suddenly, without warning, he swung and struck his fist on the wall. You covered your mouth to stifle your gasp, wide eyes watching as he breathed heavily and withdrew his fist from the wall. A sheen of scarlet covered his knuckles. For a long moment, the air was filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing. 

“House Targaryen cannot stand like this,” his voice was more tempered now, yet more steely. “We were raised with the belief to stay together. That no matter the circumstances, the house of the dragon cannot divide.” His voice grew more agitated as he began pacing around in circles, while you observed him warily and listened, knowing that no good would come out of interrupting him. “What happened to preservation? What happened to ensuring our dynasty lasts for eternity?” he snapped, banging his fists on the walls once again in frustration. “My dearest brother always stressed the importance of family. Yet he continuously allows those scum on the Small Council to rule his kingdom, and worse still, he allows that Hightower cunt to guide him.” 

In a heartbeat, he was in front of you once more, seizing your shoulders in a vice grip. You stiffened at the sudden gesture, but there was no stopping him now. “He should’ve made me Hand. I am his kin, I am of his blood,” he nearly shouted out those last two words. “I would never steer my brother in the wrong direction. If he would have more faith in me instead of those lickspittle lords, House Targaryen could surpass even the noble dragonlords of Old Valyria at the height of their power. Yet he is blind to all that, preferring to stew idly.” You were unsure of what to say, however Daemon paid no heed to your speechlessness, turning away from you and muttering, “He will see that without me, he would not be able to run this city, much less the realm.” 

It was then you finally found your voice once more. “What are you planning to do?” He turned to you, with a baleful gleam in his eyes. In that moment, he looked like Balerion’s fury reborn once more. Your heart filled with dread at his next words. 

“Wait.” 

You watched pensively as he stalked down the halls, his demeanour much like a predator stalking its prey. Just as he was about to turn the corner, he stilled, and said coldly, “You should wisen up, you know.” 

You furrowed your brows. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” 

He didn’t turn around, yet you could picture the menace on his face as he spoke his next words. “Just think, if court gossip was enough to get me, a Targaryen prince, to be disinherited and banished, what exactly do you think it can do to you, a mere lady of no status and influence at court?” 

“I’m not like you-” Daemon didn’t let you finish. He knew his words were cruel, but with the fire pumping through his veins and the roaring in his ears, seven hells be damned if he was still going to be polite. You needed to know, you needed to understand, that survival was a treacherous thing here in the Red Keep, how relying on the power of people above you for protection was foolish. People with power are oft mercurial, and once the tide of their favour turned against you, like it had with Daemon…

He needed you to see just how much danger you were in staying in this court of vipers. 

“Who knows, maybe you would end up ordered home by your lord father and forced to marry by the morrow. Seven Hells,” he chuckled darkly, recalling your conversation at the cliffs, “Maybe you might even be ordered out of court by the King. He can barely stomach the sight of my niece after Aemma’s death. What will he do to you, who was so close to my dear late sister-in-law?” He heard a shocked gasp behind him, but he didn’t pause in his tirade, though a twinge of something like guilt filled his chest. But he wanted you to know, to see, how this court was filled with nothing but vicious schemers who would not care a fig about her. And so, with malice in his voice, he forced out the final crushing blow. “Mayhaps you will end up like my dear sister-in-law even, her belly cut open as if she were nothing but an animal. Even if she had been Queen, that did not save her regardless.” 

You stared at Daemon’s back with wide eyes, a mix of rage and horror seeping through your bones. Somehow his words brought about such a chill in you that even the coldest winter nights were incapable of. “Have a good night, Lady Y/N. Think about what I said. I trust that you are clever enough to come to your senses.” ‘You have to tread carefully now, Y/N,’ was Daemon’s final thought as he stalked away from your still frame. 

You waited until his heavy footsteps faded away, before slowly sinking down onto the floor, mind in a daze. 

You stayed there for a long time, unable to move a muscle. Daemon’s cruel last words had conjured up a sleight of images in your head, each more horrific than the last, and all of Aemma, of being forced to wed, your freedom snatched from your very eyes. Eventually, the sound of footsteps approaching made you aware of your whereabouts once more, and you quickly stood up before a servant wandered across your despairing frame and asked you some awkward questions. Numbly, you made your way through the halls, back to Aemma’s apartments. You paused in front of a familiar door. Aemma’s bedchambers had been left untouched since her death, save for the removal of her blood soaked sheets. You thought you could not bear to even be in the place where your dear friend had breathed her last, painful moments in this world, but you needed the company tonight, even if it was the company of a woman long dead. You inhaled shakily before opening the doors. 

The room was quiet, the stench of blood having not quite dissipated yet, which sent a wave of nausea rolling through your gut. You ventured towards the lounge where Aemma used to sit, where you had fed her grapes and laughed with her no less than a week ago. You took a seat gingerly. Your gaze wandered across the room, before it fixed grimly on Aemma’s deathbed. 

Moonlight streamed through the windows, and you wrapped your shawl tighter around you as a cold gust of wind enveloped the room. You had been winded and horrified, and even angry at Daemon’s words when they were first spoken. You wanted to ignore his words as that of someone who was bitter and raging, but your thoughts kept spiralling into terrifying scenarios of your freedom being snatched right in front of your eyes, and being utterly powerless to do anything to stop it. You had spent so long, relishing in the freedom of being home at the Red Keep, and now, you realised darkly, that you had taken it for granted. 

Tracing your fingers along the soft material of the lounge, you bit your lip as you imagined the wide smile Aemma always reserved for you and her soft voice, like she was still here, sitting right next to you. “Aemma…” you thought mournfully, tears clouding your vision, “You always knew the right thing to say, and the right thing to do. What course of action would you have advised me to do?’ You tilted your head back, resting your head on the lounge backing, letting your tears fall freely. ‘I wish you were here,’ you sniffled, ‘I wish I had saved you.’ Mayhaps the thought was utterly ludicrous, but you felt guilty and pained that you had allowed yourself to get distracted by the tourney. ‘I should have insisted on staying by your side,’ your thoughts tumbled out bitterly, like a violently raging storm. As wishful as it was, but you thought, maybe you could’ve prevented it all. Maybe you could have pleaded with Viserys that the effort was useless or fiercely declared that you would snatch the Maester’s own blade and slaughter whomever dared harm Aemma. However, even you could not change the gods’ plan: the babe had been in breech, and Aemma’s time in this world was fated to be cut short no matter what. But you didn’t even care to think of that fact, too lost in your self-loathing and blame. 

Just then, you felt a soft hand on your shoulder, jolting you out of your reverie. Startled, you looked around the room. There was no one there. But you could’ve sworn that for one moment…there had been a presence here. Could…could it have been Aemma’s ghost? 

Heart thumping, you stood up with shaky legs and began to tidy up the various misplaced items in Aemma’s room, like you had done so many times before. The familiar ritual calmed you down, and allowed for you to gather your thoughts and circumstances coherently again. Perhaps it was coupled with the strange phantom presence you swore you sensed in the room somehow, but you pulled yourself out of your grief long enough to settle on a resolute thought. 

‘Daemon was right. I do need to wake up. It’s time I stop relying on the grace of those more powerful than me and start fighting to protect myself.’

In that moment, even the Seven would be taken aback by the fierce fire that shone in Lady Y/N Tyrell’s eyes. The naive girl of 23 was gone, and someone more hardened had replaced her. 

‘No matter the cost, I must stay at the Red Keep. I will not end up shoved into a fate I do not desire. I refuse.’ 

‘I have a plan.’ 

The bells tolled in celebration as all the lords and ladies of the realm were gathered before the Iron Throne, save for one. The Rogue Prince soothed his mount, the Blood Wyrm, Caraxes, as the figure of Lady Mysaria approached. 

Meanwhile, a lady with a mind of steel and heart of determination stood with her hands clasped, next to the Lady Alicent and Lord Hand, where the King had insisted for her to be. The lords who were acquainted with her whispered to themselves, having known of her hot-tempered past and rivalry with none other than the Rogue Prince himself. “The Rose with Thorns of Fire,” some whispered. “The third head of the dragon,” some chuckled, referring to the affectionate nickname the late Prince Baelon had given to your rather unusual trio: you, Daemon and Viserys. 

The lady heard them all, but she was silent as she watched each of the great lords of the realm swear their fealty to the new heir, the first Princess of Dragonstone. Clad in a dark blue gown of silk and brocade with a square neckline, the dress drew whispers for its visible opulence, even compared to the other ladies who were decked out in their finest. The bodice consisted of intricate diamond patterning with beading, and the gown had puffed sleeves that were banded with a few stripes of rocaille brocade, and the ruffles of her chemise were visible at her neckline and at the end of her puffed sleeves. Underneath the ruffles, however, were long fitted sleeves that were strangely reminiscent of…dragon scales? It was a look that undoubtedly signified the allegiances of Lady Y/N to House Targaryen, as well as her close bond to their reigning monarch. It was a look that exuded power. 

Far away in the Dragonpit, Daemon took one last look at the Red Keep, lips pursed as his mind lingered on that one person. But then he shook his head, and bade Caraxes to soar through the skies. 

As the lords and ladies in the throne room burst into applause and bowed for their new heir: The Realm’s Delight, no one but you could hear the distinct screech of the Blood Wyrm as it lifted into the skies. 

You lifted your head, and smiled encouragingly at Rhaenyra, who, while visibly looked startled, returned a genuine, warm smile. 

The game of thrones had gained a new player, forged by Daemon Targaryen’s hand, and time would only strengthen her mettle.

Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98​ @travelingmypassion​ @zae5​

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy​ 

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist for this fic or for my other hotd characters in the comments or through this form! thank you for your support 💗

translation: byka zaldrizes - little dragon 

also, a sketch i did of y/n’s gown at rhaenyra’s investiture :)) uncolourised because I’m lazy 😭 hopefully it’ll give you a better visualization though (also a/n below! pls scroll to read :))

y/n about to become the fashion icon of westeros 💪🏻

A/N (pls read!) : and that makes chapter 5! chapter 6 will unfortunately, we will not be focusing a lot on daemon for the next 2 chapters as we will be delving more into how Y/N attempts to navigate court politics and keep herself at the red keep. in other words, character development for y/n and more moments with alicent and rhaenyra, as well as viserys (ugh). this fic is titled se zaldrizoti’ prumia for a reason, after all, it’s the dragons’ heart, not the dragon’s heart, so Y/N needs her other relationships with the other characters. i hope you guys will be as excited for the other chapters as i am though, because i love writing about politics and character dynamics outside of romantic relations. thank you for your support! 💗

[esther-dot]

I was reading your comments about Jon's chivalry and protecting the vulnerable. This all brought to mind Jon's TV ending of stabbing Dany in the heart while kissing her. While we don't know whether or not this version of Dany's end is close to what will be the written version, it seems as though it's possible in part because of the Nissa Nissa legend. Jon doing that in the books (or something like it) would align with the Azor Ahai story, but in a warped sort of way, leaving events open to interpretation (as is usual with the prophecies and legends). But in any case, Jon killing a woman will be an act that is antithetical to so many of his values that it seems like it would come close to destroying him even if justified within Jon's universe. I wonder if Martin really plans to bring Jon this low, but also how it will be received. The optics of portraying such an ending for Dany given today's sensibilities could be viewed even more dimly than it would have been when Martin started writing the series?

(about this ask)

I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to respond! I have finally reread some pertinent chapters to situate my thoughts.

First, I just want to acknowledge how upsetting this spec is to some, and remind everyone, no one wants this ending. We all think it's gross, we're just discussing the possibility, not merely because of the show, because it's an old theory. I looked around and saw posts about this starting in 2013 by Dany fans. So, the presence of this myth is substantial enough, even BNFs/Jonerys shippers felt like it had a strong chance of manifesting (although they believe Dany would willingly sacrifice herself) well before D&D committed their fuckery. I suppose all that answers your question. Man killing his lover is a gross trope, being forced to kill a loved one to save the world is overused, so now, I can't imagine anyone reading it and being happy about it.

In trying to look at the context in-canon Martin has created, he's taken it out of the strict man kills lover idea of the AA/NN myth, and is discussing the idea of sacrificing an innocent child to a god which fans have already compared to myth, Stannis & Shireen = Agamemnon & Iphigeneia. This sacrifice hasn't happened yet, but it's been confirmed as a Martin plot point. Stannis is already burning people alive, justifying kid killing, and Davos has already planted the Stannis=AA, kid=NN idea:

Davos was remembering a tale Salladhor Saan had told him, of how Azor Ahai tempered Lightbringer by thrusting it through the heart of the wife he loved. He slew his wife to fight the dark. If Stannis is Azor Ahai come again, does that mean Edric Storm must play the part of Nissa Nissa? (ASOS, Davos V)

Although, rather than this being a justified death, the fans will be horrified as we're meant to be. Davos' thoughts call into question the idea of killing another for your "magic sword":

A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. Yet at such a cost . . . When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay. (ACOK, Davos I)

and Martin impresses upon us the value of each life:

"Your Grace," said Davos, "the cost . . ." "I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning . . . burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?" The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King's Landing. "If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" "Everything," said Davos, softly. (ASOS, Davos V)

The talk of greater good/killing kids reminds me of AGOT in which Ned's story is inundated with the topic of child murder/protecting kids. We have Mycah, his memories of Aegon and Rhaenys, his promise to protect Jon, his guilt over his lies and treason bubbling up repeatedly, his fight against the assassination of Dany, his attempt to save Cersei's children from Robert...we all know, kid killing is wrong according to Martin, so we've already been told that this wannabe AA's actions are contemptible. The myth in which the sacrifice is happy to die, that sacrificing someone is heroic, it's being contradicted by what we're being shown in the Stannis storyline.

Now, while Stannis is being declared Azor Ahai, we're constantly being told he isn't. Jon calls the act a mummer's farce and comments on his cold sword and that is right before a Dany chapter, so the idea is, Dany is actually AA. @trinuviel is the first person I saw lay out the argument for that and contend that being AA is a bad thing (meta parts 1, 2, 3). People have said that Drogo kinda becomes her Nissa Nissa in that scenario. She burns him to get the dragons, and what are the dragons called?

"When I went to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones to beg the Pureborn for your life, I said that you were no more than a child," Xaro went on, "but Egon Emeros the Exquisite rose and said, 'She is a foolish child, mad and heedless and too dangerous to live.' When your dragons were small they were a wonder. Grown, they are death and devastation, a flaming sword above the world." He wiped away the tears. "I should have slain you in Qarth." (ADWD, Daenerys III)

That kinda makes us think, oh, the myth already has a canon counterpart, don't need to worry about it anymore. Only, we've also said Rhaegar impregnating a young Lyanna could be read as a play on Nissa Nissa, with him risking her life to get the prophecy baby, otherwise known as the third head of the dragon. And Jon is not only a kind of dragon, he repeatedly intones that fun little phrase about being a sword, and sometimes, that happens within an interesting context (for speculation purposes):

"I will." Do not fail me, he thought, or Stannis will have my head. "Do I have your word that you will keep our princess closely?" the king had said, and Jon had promised that he would. Val is no princess, though. I told him that half a hundred times. It was a feeble sort of evasion, a sad rag wrapped around his wounded word. His father would never have approved. I am the sword that guards the realm of men, Jon reminded himself, and in the end, that must be worth more than one man's honor. (ADWD, Jon VIII)

So, although there is one character that seems to be Azor Ahai (Dany), I am definitely open to the myth manifesting, or rather, being examined from multiple angles. IMO, that's what Martin is doing and we can use each variation to reassess what he's saying with it. We have Dany and Drogo (the official one/successful one), Rhaegar and Lyanna (not AA, but Jon is born), Stannis and Edric (denied), Stannis and Shireen (he will kill Shireen, but we don't know if he'll get what he wants and we do know he isn't AA)... lots of pics of a similar idea. To emphasize Stannis not being the dude and Dany being the "real" AA, we have that Jon passage and chapter transition:

Even though we have lots of contenders and commentary about this myth with the canon characters, none of it romanticizes human sacrifice, and all works towards the twist that what is said to be a hero/the weapon that will save people brings destruction. If we look back at it critically, Dany has a habit of accepting, or even causing, the suffering of others for her greater good, including sacrificing Mirri to get her dragons. We might even argue that Mirri is a Nissa Nissa for her, as Dany had taken Mirri under her protection before killing her to get dragons.

That being said, even though we're getting told this shit is bad in canon, the indictment of killing innocents and people who depend on you to protect them, it wouldn’t apply if someone were to kill Stannis or Dany. It isn’t on the same moral level as killing a child, or a spouse who loves and trusts you. It isn't the same as invading and then killing people who won't worship your god or accept you as a leader. It isn't the same as killing a slave, simply because, when their times come, Dany and Stannis will be guilty. After their actions, it would be justice for them to die. I think why other parts of the fandom entertain the idea of Dany as NN while also condemning us for entertaining it, is that Dany's vision does have her being grasped at by hands of her "children" and fans have this idea that she is sacrificing herself/her happiness for the greater good already, and in the AA/Nissa Nissa story, it does sound like she offers herself willingly for the tempering of the sword. So to them, it’s part of Dany’s heroism. Dany's death is inevitable to some, at the hands of Jon is ok, but her not dying a hero, that's unacceptable.

But thinking about how it's been discussed thus far, I can't imagine we're gonna get a romanticized version of the AA/NN myth in canon when so far, it's pretty dark/condemned. None of that precludes Jon killing Dany in what you described as a:

warped sort of way, leaving events open to interpretation (as is usual with the prophecies and legends).

which really sticks out to me as the important part of all this.

The idea that Jon might do it and characters recognize it as a tragic love story a la the myth, that fascinates me because of how Martin has written wild rumors into the story (rumors about Dany, Robb, and Sansa spring to mind), and some of us have written reality and what the public thinks into fic as two distinct things because it feels like a potential way the story might go. What is widely known to be true, like say, Jon being Ned's bastard, may not be the truth that we the readers come to know. There's no guarantee that Westeros will know what the readers know about past or future events. We may get a take on AA/NN, the characters in-world may not understand it the same way.

Jon is undeniably a hero, in a world where institutional corruption is rampant and ideals abandoned, he’s a standout in his values. We would expect, and we find, contrasts between him and these other characters (Dany, Rhaegar, Stannis), primarily, his practical actions that are about saving life/protecting life, even from Stannis, so the idea that he would abandon certain values, it's a tough one. The difference is, while Stannis, Rhaegar, and Dany were acting on these prophecies or visions or dreams, things we're repeatedly warned against trusting in the text, Jon would be taking action based on the fact that Dany is a mass-murderer, a threat to all of Westeros. It isn't a sacrifice to an unknown god for some promised mystical good, it's justice. The religious fanaticism wouldn't be a factor, the killing of an innocent wouldn't be a factor, killing a child wouldn't be a factor, killing to achieve a self-serving end wouldn't be a factor. All the things that have been criticized thus far aren't at play.

The moral quandary presented to the audience in AGOT is killing someone who might be a threat, but is a child at the moment, and Martin presents the sneaky assassination / child killing as abhorrent:

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. "My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?" He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. "Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?" "Kinder," Varys said. "Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed." Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. "When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it." "Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast. "A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

which is all interesting context for Dany later being assassinated, especially because the first lesson Martin gives us on justice is one that Jon is there for, and then is reiterated in relation to Dany:

Ned had heard enough. "You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?" He pushed back his chair and stood. "Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least." (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

The convo about killing Dany with LF is about a bedding and before that it was presented in terms of a wedding gift, which makes me squint now knowing the AA/NN stuff:

Yes, it's awful, and I do understand, almost agree with you here:

But in any case, Jon killing a woman will be an act that is antithetical to so many of his values that it seems like it would come close to destroying him even if justified within Jon's universe.

but the way it might tie together the initial discussion of killing Dany and the eventual act weighs heavily with me when determining what Martin might do and why/why not.

The other suggestion is that Arya kills Dany. If having dragons is Chechov's gun for KL burning then Arya being a trained assassin feels like a Chechov's gun for killing Dany. But in that scenario, there is no conflict. No inner struggle. We spent so much of AGOT weighing the morals of killing Dany, it's hard for me to believe when the time comes, it's presented without any moral complexity. Arya is already able and willing to take a life, even when it isn't justified. It doesn't feel right to me that killing Dany would be a presented without an inner struggle, that it would be done easily, as easily as Arya now kills. TBH, it removes the drama if someone other than Jon does it because it will be so highly necessary and just when the time comes. Jon is really the only character who can make it squeamish because of the guy killing a woman thing and because it will be kinslaying.

There is a lot of talk about poison, so I think it's totally possible Arya tries to kill Dany with poison first, but I think Jon is more likely to be the one to successfully kill her, and in a way that calls to mind Ned's opinion on it, See her tears, hear her last words. That would allow Martin to make sure we see it as just/moral, bring home the Targ v Targ issue, and it shades Ned's decisions and values in a very interesting way.

After s8 fans said Ned was wrong to fight against killing Dany in s1, but Martin thinks he was right to object to killing children, so for the two Targ children he was protecting in AGOT (Dany and Jon) to come face to face and one kill the other prevents the conclusion that Ned was wrong. It was the same mercy, the same refusal to see the child of an enemy as an enemy, that saved the boy who will in turn save Westeros. IMO, it's a way to uphold the belief in mercy. I tend to think it’s also Martin’s way of addressing one his questions about his beloved LOTR (what about orc babies etc).

If another person ends Dany, we still get dead Dany, but it doesn't say anything interesting? Killing her wouldn't be a sacrifice on anyone else's part, she won’t be loved and she has to go. But, Jon, who so desperately wants to have honor, if he kills her, it's right as well as an egregious "sin." Ned dishonors himself to protect Sansa (and obvy was committing treason to protect Jon), it feels like coming full circle for Jon, who so wants to be worthy of being a son to Ned to follow his path there too. Also, one thing I expect we’ll keep tracking is kinslaying. Kinslaying comes up with the AA/Nissa Nissa issue in the Stannis storyline, so I do expect that to be addressed in Jon chapters:

We have the whole baby switch to assure us, Jon values human life a great deal. All the same, that involves a moment of cruelty on Jon's side, so Martin isn't interested in keeping him perfectly pure. He likes those moments where doing the right thing is very difficult, even compromising in some way. It's why, while we say Ned committing treason for Jon is a no brainer, Martin writes Ned tortured by it. He likes the inner turmoil over decisions, placing a societal good (honor) against another obligation or ideal and asking what is right.

I wonder if Martin really plans to bring Jon this low, but also how it will be received. The optics of portraying such an ending for Dany given today's sensibilities could be viewed even more dimly than it would have been when Martin started writing the series?

Despite all the ways I think it makes sense, yes, I def think this is one of those areas that if he had finished the series as quickly as he'd hoped, would have gone over better. Dany has dragons, therefore, she will be an overwhelming threat to Westeros, so it isn't like Jon will just randomly kill a woman, yet it's distasteful all the same. Martin is looking at things from the context of his story and the ideas he’s already introduced/talking about though which is why I can wince but kinda understand it. There are other issues where my sensibilities diverge from his, so didn’t like it on the show, I don’t like it for the books, still think it’s probably gonna happen. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[imzsuzsis-blog]

It's okay that I won, but now a modest celebration is coming, because of the two dwarves.

"Children, let's take it back, please."

I laughed to myself and let them take some more photos.

"Of course, yesterday must have been rough."

"I don't want to talk about it, Mom and Dad. That's all they were born with."

“ I was saddened and tears appeared on my face.,I also understood how you showed the picture of them, they turned out to be very beautiful, Leah, you are pure as a little baby. We should celebrate now."

"It won't work, they're the only ones in my head and I can only hope that they survive the whole thing."

I bit my lip and almost cried, I loved them, but I was also worried about them.

"Is it a natural feeling that I loved them very much, but at the same time I'm worried about them?"

"Yes, it's because you suddenly became a mother and it will last you the rest of your life."

I sat down and buried my face in my hands and cried, then I spread them out so that the twins were there, but I was just imagining it, because it wasn't real and I couldn't hold them in my hands because they were somewhere else.

At least Lando has completely disappeared from the radar and Max is nowhere to be found. Tell them that they went with Martin and Loki, but we don't know where.

"Max, they've stepped down."

"I know, you sharp-witted bastard from Monaco."

Max slapped me from behind and I could only grimace.

"Hello..." "Hello... Loki... You?"

"Yes, I came from the hospital, Lando and I changed hands."

"Here?"

We asked Loki in chorus, who could only look in front of him.

"What the hell happened?"

"Girls came into the world just in time."

"Is this some stupid joke?"

"Unfortunately, it wasn't all that unexpected... He was complaining to me and suddenly we noticed a soft cry."

Loki sat down next to us and almost fell asleep, he was so tired.

"How long did you sleep?"

"Not too much for worry, but I don't think Lando either."

You showed us that we don't have a shot.

"We just don't know that he messed with the team and we can't find him. So that we know where it is easier, but we don't go after it."

We froze and wanted to go after it, but our legs didn't obey us and we are both in good shape.

"Daniel, Carlos?"

“Yes?"

"Lando went home?"

"He signed the paper both home and abroad that it was certain that the girls were adopted."

"My Jesus, I can't believe this, and Lando was expecting the twins, and that's the end... This is a fucking rule."

"Supposedly, it was his parents who got involved in the whole thing, so he can't raise them."

I was watching the video on my mobile where he is driving his Porsche and talking to one of his friends, probably about it.

"Did you see?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

I leaned against the wall, then I continued to turn the pages and on the third page I read that he was single.

“Fuck doesn't go with Loki!!!"

"Don't worry, we also read it, but we cut it with our gloves."

I called my girlfriend, who said that he was a scumbag in front of Loki, he couldn't have done that to him in him heart, now he was the stupid one, but he loves him very much and says this all the time. I didn't tell them, but after the race I saw Lando and Loki kissing after the race and talking about sex, to say the least, and I won't get into that, it's none of my business. I was angry that I said that and his partner still stands by him.

I went whistling, they called me on the street, I can go to the Grand Prix, it made me happy.

“Yes? Carlos? You? Fuck me and I kissed Loki, boom.”

I looked at him and wanted to pull him one right now.

"The girls? Or the rumor that you adopted them, you plain stupid Englishman.”

"What's up???? Where the hell did you get it????”

"That's what George, Danny, Max and Alex said too."

"Well, these are as stupid rumors as that I go out with girls... Charles started this during the summer vacation because I was only hanging out with one girl for the most part... I've sent him to hell ever since."

“It's good.." ,,Yes, my parents were true, my father to be exact... He said I should first become a world champion and then a parent... He was there when I was a teenager, because he didn't want to hear a baby crying in the house...If that's the case, he's a dick he can be nice to me, especially when it comes to Oliver, he's nice and cute."

I hugged Carlos sobbing, I didn't want to meet dad this weekend, with everyone in my family, but not now, I hated him permanently for what he did. I never told them this, but he insisted on my miscarriage in 2020, and then I didn't talk to him for months, I only did it because of the press, I didn't talk to dad about the matter except on camera. In fact, I dumped Connie because of her boyfriend at the time, because he gave him all the shit that wasn't true and it wasn't the first time. He did this with my first boyfriend and with all of them, but now I won't let myself go, I loved Loki and I feel he will be my husband.

"I feel that Loki will be my husband... What should I do against father now?"

I bit my lip nervously and was afraid that if I gave it to him he would invent something again that I had a girlfriend again, like Connie.

"Well, this is for me... What did he do to you as a child?"

“If you say you have Stockholm syndrome?”

"I'm trying to erase these from my mind."

My friend shook me but I just continued to sob, this is a painful memory for me.

"Tell me, please."

He shook his head and threw up in the open street. I know that Adam is a careerist, but for him to be violent was quite surprising now. But his jerkiness was also the same, I thought he was a kind and cute person, but for him to abuse his son and prey on him is too much.

"Lando, have you thought about suing him?"

"A lot, but it always comes with the fact that I don't receive from the inheritance or from the business part. But none of them excites me, especially after that, when I'm at home, he beats me when I'm at home, and if no one is watching, he beats me, like if I were a child, he rapes me."

"Regardless of your results?"

"Yes, he's been like this all my life."

I ran away sobbing, this is a fucking big secret that I told him, so far no one knows, not even Oscar.

[rookfeatherrambles]

So many ideas. Dumping them here for a pinned comment to keep track. When these have AO3 links, I'll list them here The Angel that Cries Ink (Jmart, Jonelias) Jon has been locked under the Magnus Institute for 200 years, waiting for one person. Martin Blackwood. IN PROGRESS)

Bound by Spider's Thread (Jmart, time travel, somewhat fix it, No sex, Annabelle asks Martin to kill a bitch for her in exchange for saving Jon's life somewhere else) WIP)

The Beast in your Heart (La bete dans coeur) Jonelias, Eventual jmart, Hunt!Jon, Kai!jon. Jon finds out about the watcher's crown ritual and chooses the nuclear option. To throw himself at another fear. He is subsequently transformed, and elias is not nice to jon when he finds out what he's done. Dead dove, very dark, very smutty WIP)

Chiaroscuro (Jmart, timsasha, Artist/Muse au. Jon is a infamous artist who paints the most captivating art but has remained out of the spotlight. A medical diagnosis makes him decide to retire, but he's going to do one final piece. Enter Martin, and Jon's inevitable falling in love with his final muse, no sex, ace jon (WIP

Under skies and sea (Vast Jon. No sjhip. Jon is becoming a sea bird. this is problematic for many reasons) WIP)

Sable Island AU (Jmart, Foggyskies, Jon is a low profile environmental researcher that takes a job on a remote island studying seabirds. He starts to become one, and chronicals his journey. Then Martin, the sun of Peter Lukas, one of two men that are wagering over Jon's life, crashes the supply boat onto the island. They reflect on life, and death (WIP

The Storm Singer : (Jmart, Jonpeter, Foggyskies) Jon is the last siren in the bay and he's sworn to destroy the man who ruined his life. Peter is the fisherman turned monster hunter that massacred Jon's people. He wants Jon dead because he killed his wife. Martin and Simon are also there and they are in love! (not with eachother) Sirens and Sailors! Smutty (WIP

The Lonely Bride: Jonpeter forced marriage. Martin refused to run away with jon in s4 and Peter offered him an alternative way out. Dark, exactly what it says on the tin. smutty (WIP

The Hunter's Stag (Jonpeter, fantasy au. Faerie au.) Jon is a magic white stag that was cursed by a faerie king, to run until he's caught and killed. Peter is the hunter that doesn't want to do that. They become friends. And then more. (WIP

Wintergreen AU: (noship. Jon is 8, has a boat, and is going to america. he gets caught in bad weather and picked up by the Tundra. Now there's a child on board his ship and Peter Lukas doesn't know what to do with him. Silly, lighthearted fun i guess. WIP)

I'm not your Protagonist (I'm not even my own): Jmart, Jonelias) Jon wakes up somewhere else and realizes he's not happy. He does his best to figure out why. (EVERYONE HAS TRAUMA AND GETS THERAPY FIC) WIP)

YEOMYTIM (Your eyes on mine, your Teeth in me _Jondaisy, WIP)

The Hearthwitch's Cat (Jmart, Fantasy) Jon is a powerful arch mage that learns a terrible secret and for his safety, becomes a cat. Martin is the hearthwitch he chooses to adopt as his owner. Fluffy, romance, silly fantasy shenanigans (WIP

The red strings of fate (Can go fuck themselves) Jonelias, eugenics au) Jon is someone who never ever wanted to have a partner, but the system matches him to some bastard name Elias Bouchard. Jon's only way out of having children (legally) is to be a holy terror of a wife. Shenanigans ensue. Smutty, fluffy, light hearted i guess. Elias is not evil and Jon is ace spec WIP)

Non TMA stuff:

Dawn of Shadows (Wip, fantasy)

Everyone loves Fucked Up Houses :) (wip, horror)

That weird creepypasta thing, (wip, horror romance)

A real War (wip, Everymanhybrid)

Mabel vs the Grim Reaper (wip, Gravity Falls)

Grimoire Falls (horror fantasy, gravity falls au)

If I think of more of these, I will add them!

ALSO IF YOU ARE CURIOUS, SEND ME AN ASK ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT! Seriously yell at me about my ideas please im desperate :))

EDITED 3/29/24

[istumpysk]

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Curtain of Light

TIER:

Fanfiction: These "theories" are nothing short of delusional fan-crafted fantasies, embarrassingly disconnected from any shred of textual reality.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

Oh boy!

First, let's outline the theory.

Please note, like any other fan theory, there are always minor differences of opinion. So, we'll cover the basics that most people seem to agree on.

Daenerys, Jon, and Tyrion are the three heads of the dragon.

To defeat the Others, they will each mount a dragon and travel as far north as possible, beyond a curtain of light, where they will encounter a Lovecraftian, apocalyptic dimension filled with all kinds of monsters.

While they are beyond this curtain of light, they will engage in life-affirming activities in the face of death. Some believe this could manifest as Tyrion learning to love himself, childbirth, or a sexual encounter between Jon and Daenerys.

They will then sacrifice themselves and their dragons to defeat the Others. Presumably, much will go up in flames.

Apparently, this epitomizes the theme of the human heart in conflict with itself and will serve as the conclusion of the story.

Now, for the evidence...

Oops, there isn't any.

If you've ever had the privilege of reading someone discuss this theory, you'll have noticed a glaring lack of textual support. Nevertheless, I'll do my best to piece together a coherent argument for why this could happen.

(Honestly, I'm a bit bitter that I'm putting in more effort to prove this theory than anyone else has.)

What does it mean when something is Lovecraftian?

To borrow from dictionary.com, 'Lovecraftian' pertains to elements reminiscent of the works of fantasy and horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, especially those that depict monstrous, misshapen beings from other dimensions or universes.

George R. R. Martin, a fan of literature, incorporates numerous Lovecraftian references in his A Song of Ice and Fire series and its associated works.

Examples include:

Leng (Island): Inspired by Lovecraft's Plateau of Leng.

Sarnath (City): Likely inspired by the city of Sarnath in Lovecraft's "The Doom that Came to Sarnath."

Ib (Island/Civilization): Possibly a nod to Ib from "The Doom that Came to Sarnath."

K'dath in the Grey Waste: Inspired by Lovecraft's Kadath in the Cold Waste.

Church/Cult of Starry Wisdom: A probable reference to the same cult in Lovecraft's "The Haunter of the Dark."

Deep Ones: Likely inspired by the aquatic creatures in Lovecraft's "The Shadow over Innsmouth."

"What's dead may never die": Possibly inspired by Lovecraft's phrase "That is not dead which can eternal lie / And with strange eons even death may die."

The Drowned God: Possibly a nod to Lovecraft's Cthulhu.

Dagon: An Ironborn-associated name, also an ancient being in Lovecraft's lore.

The Black Goat of Qohor: Possibly a reference to Lovecraft's Shub-Niggurath, the "Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young."

N'Ghai and Nefer: Likely inspired by Lovecraft's N'Kai, an underground realm associated with Tsathoggua.

Are you noticing a pattern? These nods to Lovecraft are mostly found in peripheral settings, with minor association to the Ironborn. George tends to make a lot of references to all kinds of literature in a similar fashion.

I'd hesitate to jump to the conclusion that this implies the existence of a parallel universe with otherworldly monsters, accessible via a portal in the far north. But since this is appearing in the evidence section, I guess we'll do that anyway.

Moving on.

The words "curtain of light" appear in a Bran chapter. One time. In only this chapter.

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live. - Bran III, AGOT

Melisandre also references curtains, though they are clearly different curtains than Bran's curtains. Whatever, it's fine.

Shadows in the shape of skulls, skulls that turned to mist, bodies locked together in lust, writhing and rolling and clawing. Through curtains of fire great winged shadows wheeled against a hard blue sky. - Melisandre I, ADWD

x

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. Now he was a man, now a wolf, now a man again. - Melisandre I, ADWD

There is a place called the Land of Always Winter. It's like the Arctic.

The icy trenches rose around them, knee high, then waist high, then higher than their heads. They were in the heart of Winterfell with the castle all around them, but no sign of it could be seen. They might have easily been lost amidst the Land of Always Winter, a thousand leagues beyond the Wall. - Theon I, ADWD

x

Yet no matter the truths of their arts, the children were led by their greenseers, and there is no doubt that they could once be found from the Lands of Always Winter to the shores of the Summer Sea. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Dawn Age

x

What is commonly accepted is that the Age of Heroes began with the Pact and extended through the thousands of years in which the First Men and the children lived in peace with one another. With so much land ceded to them, the First Men at last had room to increase. From the Land of Always Winter to the shores of the Summer Sea, the First Men ruled from their ringforts. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Age of Heroes

The Others are believed to originate from the Land of Always Winter, where, according to legend, you can also find spooky ice spiders.

However, I should mention, a detail that might be easily missed in the books is that they are currently at Hardhome and continue to press south towards the Wall.

Yet there are other tales—harder to credit and yet more central to the old histories—about creatures known as the Others. According to these tales, they came from the frozen Land of Always Winter, bringing the cold and darkness with them as they sought to extinguish all light and warmth. The tales go on to say they rode monstrous ice spiders and the horses of the dead, resurrected to serve them, just as they resurrected dead men to fight on their behalf. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

In 2012, George confirmed that future books would explore further and further north. No shit, you don't say. I wonder if Bran's journey through history, where we learn more about the origins of the Others, has anything to do with that.

"And what lies really north in my books—we haven't explored that yet, but we will in the last two books." - George R. R. Martin

Bran uses the common metaphor "the heart of _____ (winter)" in the same passage that the curtain of light appears. Later, in another book, Daenerys enters the House of the Undying, where she encounters blue figures reminiscent of the Others. There, she finds a literal blue heart that appears to be their life force. Drogon eats it. Together, these things might suggest that there is a literal blue heart beyond a portal that needs to be set on fire to defeat the Others.

Also, another time, Theon stands in the middle of Winterfell and uses the same "the heart of" metaphor (common phrase found throughout the series). Shortly after, he references the Land of Always Winter, so I thought I would throw it in to be generous.

He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. - Bran III, AGOT

x

They were in the heart of Winterfell with the castle all around them, but no sign of it could be seen. They might have easily been lost amidst the Land of Always Winter, a thousand leagues beyond the Wall. - Theon I, ADWD

x

A long stone table filled this room. Above it floated a human heart, swollen and blue with corruption, yet still alive. It beat, a deep ponderous throb of sound, and each pulse sent out a wash of indigo light. The figures around the table were no more than blue shadows. As Dany walked to the empty chair at the foot of the table, they did not stir, nor speak, nor turn to face her. There was no sound but the slow, deep beat of the rotting heart. [...] Through the indigo murk, she could make out the wizened features of the Undying One to her right, an old old man, wrinkled and hairless. His flesh was a ripe violet-blue, his lips and nails bluer still, so dark they were almost black. Even the whites of his eyes were blue. They stared unseeing at the ancient woman on the opposite side of the table, whose gown of pale silk had rotted on her body. One withered breast was left bare in the Qartheen manner, to show a pointed blue nipple hard as leather. She is not breathing. Dany listened to the silence. None of them are breathing, and they do not move, and those eyes see nothing. Could it be that the Undying Ones were dead? [...] Then indigo turned to orange, and whispers turned to screams. Her heart was pounding, racing, the hands and mouths were gone, heat washed over her skin, and Dany blinked at a sudden glare. Perched above her, the dragon spread his wings and tore at the terrible dark heart, ripping the rotten flesh to ribbons, and when his head snapped forward, fire flew from his open jaws, bright and hot. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

x

Only its eyes lived. Bright blue, just as Jon said. They shone like frozen stars. 

[...]

When he opened his eyes the Other's armor was running down its legs in rivulets as pale blue blood hissed and steamed around the black dragonglass dagger in its throat. - Samwell I, ASOS

If you cherry-pick through the text and remove all context, you might be able to piece together a few sentences suggesting that life and love will defeat the Others and that a great self-sacrifice is imminent.

The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. - Bran II, AGOT

x

We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. - Jon VIII, AGOT

x

"Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same." - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

"You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live." - Jon V, ASOS

x

Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. "No," she wept, "no, please, stop it, it's too high, the price is too high." More stones came flying. - Daenerys VIII, AGOT

x

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up." "I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly. "You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son." - Jon I, AGOT

Daenerys is convinced that there will be three heads of the dragon, and let me tell you, that girl's expectations are always fulfilled.

"If you were grown," she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, "I'd fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag." But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one. She thought of Daario. If ever there was a man who could rape a woman with his eyes . . . - Daenerys V, ASOS

If the author leads you to believe that something will happen, it must be true.

Lastly, I should mention that there are vague references suggesting that George has written other stories with events and themes similar to this proposed ending. However, I can't verify these claims, and unsurprisingly, the works in question are never cited.

Well, that was it.

Say what you will about the "Daario is Euron" theorists, but at least they attempt to back up their crazy idea with actual text from the books.

COUNTER-EVIDENCE:

To put it bluntly, this theory has no basis—no textual support, no historical parallels, no evidence in the companion books, no prophetic visions, no dreams, no myths, no legends, no similarities to the television show, and no foreshadowing to speak of. It is entirely made up, with only a few words from the text as its foundation.

Does that sound like George R. R. Martin to you?

That said, now that I’ve realized his three-fold revelation strategy, I see it in play almost every time. The first, subtle hint for the really astute readers, followed later by the more blatant hint for the less attentive, followed by just spelling it out for everyone else. It’s a brilliant strategy, and highly effective. - Anne Groell, George R. R. Martin's editor

A Song of Ice and Fire is about the people of Westeros putting aside their petty differences and uniting against two existential threats: ice, represented by the Others, and fire, represented by Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. It's not a story about fire defeating ice.

Well, of course, the two outlying ones — the things going on north of the Wall, and then there is Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons — are of course the ice and fire of the title, "A Song of Ice and Fire." The central stuff — the stuff that's happening in the middle, in King's Landing, the capital of the seven kingdoms — is much more based on historical events, historical fiction. It's loosely drawn from the Wars of the Roses and some of the other conflicts around the 100 Years' War, although, of course, with a fantasy twist. You know, one of the dynamics I started with, there was the sense of people being so consumed by their petty struggles for power within the seven kingdoms, within King's Landing — who's going to be king? Who's going to be on the Small Council? Who's going to determine the policies? — that they're blind to the much greater and more dangerous threats that are happening far away on the periphery of their kingdoms. - George R. R. Martin

x

Ice and fire of course are also opposites, they're a duality and there's a lot in my books that are about duality. Certainly the religion of Melisandre, one of the most important characters, I think is basically a dualist religion with the premise that there are two gods. It's somewhat based on Zoroastrianism, and a little bit based on Catharism, Albigenses heresy who I know had some roots here in Spain once upon a time, before they were all killed. The idea of a world divided between good and evil, war between the two, which is so basic to so many fantasy starting with Tolkien, but much more so in the case of Tolkien imitators, was something that I wanted to recast and think about and maybe subvert a little. But I'm still using kind of the language of it, and some of the symbols associated with it. So all of these are grist for the mill, it's not something as simple as saying ice is this and fire is that. They're both many things. And one of the most important things is that both of them, ice and fire will kill you dead. So they're both dangerous in their own ways, hate, love, desire, coldness, they can both be deadly. - George R. R. Martin

x

While the lion of Lannister and the direwolf of Stark snarl and scrap, however, a second and greater threat takes shape across the narrow sea, where the Dothraki horselords mass their barbarian hordes for a great invasion of the Seven Kingdoms, led by the fierce and beautiful Daenerys Stormborn, the last of the Targaryen dragonlords. The Dothraki invasion will be the central story of my second volume, A Dance with Dragons. The greatest danger of all, however, comes from the north, from the icy wastes beyond the Wall, where half-forgotten demons out of legend, the inhuman others, raise cold legions of the undead and the neverborn and prepare to ride down on the winds of winter to extinguish everything that we would call "life." - The Original Outline

x

I have tried to make it explicit in the novels that the dragons are destructive forces, and Dany (Daenerys Targaryen) has found that out as she tried to rule the city of Meereen and be queen there.

She has the power to destroy, she can wipe out entire cities, and we certainly see that in 'Fire and Blood,' we see the dragons wiping out entire armies, wiping out towns and cities, destroying them, but that doesn't necessarily enable you to rule — it just enables you to destroy. - George R. R. Martin

In the established lore of A Song of Ice and Fire, dragons can't cross the Wall and dislike cold and wet weather. How exactly will they get to this Lovecraftian Land of Always Winter, and how will they be of any use in that climate?

The men of the Night's Watch were as thunderstruck by the queen's dragon as the people of White Harbor had been, though the queen herself noted that Silverwing "does not like this Wall." Though it was summer and the Wall was weeping, the chill of the ice could still be felt whenever the wind blew, and every gust would make the dragon hiss and snap. "Thrice I flew Silverwing high above Castle Black, and thrice I tried to take her north beyond the Wall," Alysanne wrote to Jaehaerys, "but every time she veered back south again and refused to go. Never before has she refused to take me where I wished to go. I laughed about it when I came down again, so the black brothers would not realize anything was amiss, but it troubled me then and it troubles me still." - Fire & Blood: Jaehaerys and Alysanne—Their Triumphs and Tragedies

x

Autumn was well advanced when the Prince of Dragonstone came to Winterfell. The snows lay deep upon the ground, a cold wind was howling from the north, and Lord Stark was in the midst of his preparations for the coming winter, yet he gave Jacaerys a warm welcome. Snow and ice and cold made Vermax ill-tempered, it is said, so the prince did not linger long amongst the northmen, but many a curious tale came out of that short sojourn. - Fire & Blood: the Dying of the Dragons—A Son for a Son

x

The big man looked out toward the terrace. "I knew it would rain," he said in a gloomy tone. "My bones were aching last night. They always ache before it rains. The dragons won't like this. Fire and water don't mix, and that's a fact. You get a good cookfire lit, blazing away nice, then it starts to piss down rain and next thing your wood is sodden and your flames are dead." - The Dragontamer, ADWD

x

He saw no sign of dragons, but he had not expected to. The dragons did not like the rain. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

x

(bonus, for laughs:)

"The things…Mother have mercy, I do not know how to speak of them…they were…worms with faces…snakes with hands…twisting, slimy, unspeakable things that seemed to writhe and pulse and squirm as they came bursting from her [Aerea Targaryen] flesh. Some were no bigger than my little finger, but one at least was as long as my arm…oh, Warrior protect me, the sounds they made…" "They died, though. I must remember that, cling to that. Whatever they might have been, they were creatures of heat and fire, and they did not love the ice, oh no. One after another they thrashed and writhed and died before my eyes, thank the Seven. I will not presume to give them names…they were horrors." - Fire & Blood: Jaehaerys and Alysanne—Their Triumphs and Tragedies

House Targaryen and their dragons played no role in the previous Long Night.

How the Long Night came to an end is a matter of legend, as all such matters of the distant past have become. In the North, they tell of a last hero who sought out the intercession of the children of the forest, his companions abandoning him or dying one by one as they faced ravenous giants, cold servants, and the Others themselves. Alone he finally reached the children, despite the efforts of the white walkers, and all the tales agree this was a turning point. Thanks to the children, the first men of the Night's Watch banded together and were able to fight—and win—the Battle for the Dawn: the last battle that broke the endless winter and sent the Others fleeing to the icy north. Now, six thousand years later (or eight thousand as True History puts forward), the Wall made to defend the realms of men is still manned by the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch, and neither the Others nor the children have been seen in many centuries. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

x

The Targaryens were of pure Valyrian blood, dragonlords of ancient lineage. Twelve years before the Doom of Valyria (114 BC), Aenar Targaryen sold his holdings in the Freehold and the Lands of the Long Summer and moved with all his wives, wealth, slaves, dragons, siblings, kin, and children to Dragonstone, a bleak island citadel beneath a smoking mountain in the narrow sea. - The World of Ice and Fire—The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest

Bran's curtain of light is simply a reference to the aurora borealis. For the love of christ, it's not a portal to another dimension.

North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. - Bran III, AGOT

x

Sailors, by nature a gullible and superstitious lot, as fond of their fancies as singers, tell many tales of these frigid northern waters. They speak of queer lights shimmering in the sky, where the demon mother of the ice giants dances eternally through the night, seeking to lure men northward to their doom. - The World of Ice and Fire—Beyond the Free Cities: The Shivering Sea

Speaking of Bran, why isn't he central to this theory? Didn't that sentence appear in his chapter? What is Arya up to? Where is Sansa? Why are the Starks, who are the central characters of this series, taking a backseat in their own conflict, which is unfolding in their own backyard?

(Not to mention the Night's Watch, the wildlings, the northerners, and the children of the forest—you know, the people who are actually integral to this storyline.)

Yeah, the children were always at the heart of this. The Stark children, in particular, were always very central. Bran is the first viewpoint character that we meet, and then we meet Jon and Sansa and Arya and the rest of them. It was always my intention to do that. - George R. R. Martin

x

Whenever I propose analogies like that, fans jump in with their own ideas, but it depends on what team you root for. To me, the Starks are heroes, so they would be the Giants. - George R. R. Martin

It's going to be a pact facilitated by Bran.

What is commonly accepted is that the Age of Heroes began with the Pact and extended through the thousands of years in which the First Men and the children lived in peace with one another. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Age of Heroes

x

Regardless, the children of the forest fought as fiercely as the First Men to defend their lives. Inexorably, the war ground on across generations, until at last the children understood that they could not win. The First Men, perhaps tired of war, also wished to see an end to the fighting. The wisest of both races prevailed, and the chief heroes and rulers of both sides met upon the isle in the Gods Eye to form the Pact. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Coming of First Men

x

According to these tales, the return of the sun came only when a hero convinced Mother Rhoyne's many children—lesser gods such as the Crab King and the Old Man of the River—to put aside their bickering and join together to sing a secret song that brought back the day. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

x

How the Long Night came to an end is a matter of legend, as all such matters of the distant past have become. In the North, they tell of a last hero who sought out the intercession of the children of the forest, his companions abandoning him or dying one by one as they faced ravenous giants, cold servants, and the Others themselves. Alone he finally reached the children, despite the efforts of the white walkers, and all the tales agree this was a turning point. Thanks to the children, the first men of the Night's Watch banded together and were able to fight—and win—the Battle for the Dawn: the last battle that broke the endless winter and sent the Others fleeing to the icy north. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

Tyrion Lannister is not a Targaryen; he is not one of the three heads of the dragon. He is the malevolent, vindictive son of Tywin Lannister. He rapes women, he kills women, he marries child hostages to acquire their castles, he will be complicit in the death of potentially hundreds of thousands of people, and he isn't getting anything remotely resembling a heroic ending.

Jaime kissed her cheek. "He left a son." "Aye, he did. That is what I fear the most, in truth." That was a queer remark. "Why should you fear?" "Jaime," she said, tugging on his ear, "sweetling, I have known you since you were a babe at Joanna's breast. You smile like Gerion and fight like Tyg, and there's some of Kevan in you, else you would not wear that cloak . . . but Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you. I said so once to your father's face, and he would not speak to me for half a year. Men are such thundering great fools. Even the sort who come along once in a thousand years." - Jaime V, AFFC

Daenerys and her dragons represent one of the two principal threats in the narrative. Azor Ahai is a misinterpreted prophecy that is intended as a warning, not as the foretelling of a hero.

Since the first book, her sole objective has been to rule foreign lands seized through force. She exploits slaves, consistently engages in brutal acts of violence, and leaves devastation wherever she sets foot. She will intentionally burn King's Landing to the ground, and then she'll be stabbed to death.

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words. "Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass. - Daenerys X, ADWD

The idea that Daenerys, Jon, and Tyrion will love themselves or each other, either physically or emotionally, and then collectively sacrifice themselves, is the dumbest climax anyone has ever conceived. You forfeit the right to ever complain about the show if this is what you thought should happen.

Finally, please remember that, by default, the original creators of this theory are always wrong about everything.

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

You might be asking yourselves, "How do we distinguish between joke and fanfiction theories?"

I'll tell you. Both are equally absurd, but the fanfiction tier has the unique quality of making you feel like you're reading a story written by a fanfic writer who's in denial about their aspirations to write fanfic.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective—I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.*

*won't be necessary for this theory.

NEXT THEORY:

Varys has Tyrek Lannister

[strawberrysugasoba]

another update on my magnus archives journey i have just reached the beginning of season for and i am ready for this to take a 100% homoerotic turn.

i actually don’t know if that’s the case because the season 3 q+a had one mention or martins crush and jonny either glazed over that or was very very wrapped up in his answer regarding the question the crush was tied into. either way i’m just hoping they’re in love and i sleep peacefully for one night but pinterest has let me know this is not the case.

tim is also dead hello? i thought with the amount of fans he had surrounding him and the way he was portrayed in fan art he was like this goofy go-round white boy but he was just out for revenge and because of his brother and a kind of a prick?? don’t get me wrong i think he is definitely, or ig was, the most sensible but i was really led to believe by fanart he was a different person entirely.

and micheal!! my poor baby, not true he’s kinda bad but i loved his character and there was just so much more i feel like they could have done with his character. but i think that’s something that happened when you have planned all the way until season 5 what you want to do with the story i just can’t believe that’s that you know. i loved how his voice sounded and his personality and i think that him trying to kill the archivist like that was kind of far fetched for his character. it all seemed to fast to me and i really miss him.

then there’s elias, i love you you evil bastard. i really hope his backstory and reasoning for why he is what he is is just for shits and gigs, like bro got high one day and just happened to find this place that served the eye. i love just evil characters or opportunistic villains bc they just do what suits their needs and i feel like elias’ roll really fits that vibe. also i cannot figure out how old he is in my head, maybe like a doctor strange type of silver fox.

kinda back to martin to end this but imagine getting your evil boss arrested finally and fucking peter lukas just appears. i’d probably shit and vomit holy cow. but tbh i think peter is going to be a ‘good’ guy, idk i saw on pinterest though some fanart or him and elias, don’t lie to me guys are they together. PLEASE. i could so get behind that dynamic and it could totally be a joke ship and my heart will hurt bc of what could have been.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I'm in my George R. R. Martin era, besties. He told me it's okay to take my time with my writing and not force myself. I mean, who am I to say no to the king himself? As always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: Violence, non-consensual knifeplay aka stabbing, we don't know how to cope here we have Daemon Targaryen as a father.

"Her hands do violence, but there is a different dream in her heart." - Dishonored.

The Red Keep was in upheaval. Maids hurriedly carried baskets of clothing throughout the halls, servants checked over their shoulders at every turn, and every entrance and exit was guarded with at least two Gold Cloaks. A curfew was set in place by order of the Hand. No one was to roam through the Keep past sunset unless necessary.

There were no more unaccompanied excursions to the training yard, and if Arryk hadn't been overbearing before, he was practically an extension of you now. Everywhere you went, whether to the library or the Godswood, Ser Arryk was always five paces away. He was almost breathing down your neck at every turn, hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for the unseen threat.

You did suppose it was your fault, having murdered a member of the City Watch, but it was still rather annoying. You understood, of course, why there was a need to be up in arms about it, and you couldn't blame them for it. There was a murderer in their midst, and if they could best a trained killer, a man hardened with battle, what would they do to a defenseless Lord or Lady?

No one suspected you. Of course, they wouldn't. You were just one of the many bastards of Daemon Targaryen who had the sheer luck of becoming legitimized. You were only mindless court gossip, an object for men and women to gab over, not a human being. And while you did resent the fact, it worked in your favor.

"Who do you think could've done it?" Fiora asked Jeyne as she washed your scalp. "They said it was violent, that his head was severed from his body!"

Jeyne rolled her eyes, using a bristled brush to scrub at your nails. "Do not believe such rumors, Fiora. You're just as gullible as the lot of them," the older woman dismissed, gesturing her head.

"But Jeyne, Lottie told me herself! She was the one who discovered his body; the Mother rest his soul." The younger maidservant silently prayed as she brought a curved finger to her lips, looking up to the stone ceiling.

"How did a servant discover his corpse?" you questioned with your eyes closed, body adjusting within the warm water of the bath.

"Well, you see," Fiora started, suddenly stopping her ministrations, "Ser Lorgan was known as... umm... oh, what do you call it?" You glanced over at Jeyne with a brow raised. "He... Well... Ser Lorgan Sunderly had many friends. Many."

"Oh, Gods Fiora," Jeyne blurted exasperated, rolling her eyes. "He was a harlot. He had rotations of women in his bed, only to leave them wanting and waiting in the morn. It seems only fitting that he should be discovered by one."

You frowned, though it was not one of sadness but more of a believing surprise. Judging by how easy Ser Lorgan was as you led him to bed, it made sense. As you spoke, you relaxed into the tub, shutting your lids again. "Do you think it was one of his companions? Scorned by his lack of care and repertoire of lovers?"

Jeyne snorted, placing your hand into the water as she started on the other. "That seems likely, but have done it with such," she paused, staring at the furthest wall of your chambers as she thought of the correct word, "malice. But that tends to happen when one has been slighted, no matter how insignificant it seems to another."

You nodded with her sentences as Fiora rinsed the soap from your ebony strands, massaging rose oil into it once done. As the two women assisted you in leaving the bath, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your body, a knock sounded, leaving the three of you puzzled and slightly inconvenienced. You gestured to the maids to bring the bamboo partition over to your dressing vanity so they could continue their nightly routine.

"Enter," you called from behind the intricate paneling. The artisans nailed a cream-colored canvas tarp into the wood to protect your modesty, leaving you and the others outside to see dark shadows.

"Princess," you could see the figure bowing, still keeping formalities despite the informal presence. "I beg your pardon. I am here to do my nightly rounds before rest."

You hummed, Fiora gently rubbing your hair with the towel. It weighed heavily on your scalp when wet, and you gave the servant a grateful smile to have the weight taken off your neck.

"Ser Arryk, I should have known it was you. Who else would knock at my chambers at an inconvenient hour?" Jeyne rubbed the lavender oil you loved onto your skin, mixing a few drops of clary sage to help calm your nerves before sleep.

"Forgive me, Princess, but your wellbeing is my utmost priority," he replied smoothly, not thinking of the implications his words could mean.

Huffing a laugh, you raised your arms into your porcelain nightgown, the sleeves short for the late summer heat, ending just below your ankles.

"Your priority or the Crown's? Is it not you who pledged to obey the King's commands, to keep his secrets, to counsel him when requested, and to keep silent when not, to defend his name and honor?" You grinned as you recited the oath the seven members of the Kingsguard took in a mocking tone, Fiora running a comb through your damp hair at the vanity.

"Yes, Princess, but-"

"It seems near treasonous for my wellbeing to be your priority," you interrupted with a condescending tone. "Was it the King who assigned you as my shield?"

"No, Your Grace. It was the Hand." Arryk's voice lowered an octave, causing you to feel slight remorse.

"Then, why do you serve me so steadfastly? Should you not be guarding your King in these perilous times? There's a murderer on the lose, ser."

"The Hand's word is the King's," the knight countered, an odd occurrence for the obedient man.

You hummed again in response as you rose from your dressing vanity, your hair still damp and smelling faintly of flowers. You revealed yourself from behind the partition, hands clasped behind your back and chin held high.

"So it would seem," you replied lowly, stopping your movements a step away from the kingsguardmen. Arryk's eyes quickly flickered downwards before snapping to the wall behind you. "By all means, Ser Arryk, survey my chambers to ensure the killer is not hidden between my dresses."

You gestured to the space around you as you sat at the head of your bed, back resting against your pillows with your legs crossed. The knight made his rounds, looking inside your wardrobe, curtains, a trunk at the end far corner of your room filled with winter dresses, ridding leathers, and a quilt Ma sewed for you for your last nameday. You watched with an unimpressed smirk, your brows raised as he stood straight like a rod announcing his task was complete.

"Aren't you forgetting something, ser?" Arryk gazed at you, puzzled, his shoulder-length hair tied back at the base of his neck. "Why, Ser Arryk, you forgot the most obvious spot underneath my bed! Don't you want to keep me safe? As you said, there is a murderer within the castle," you teased mischievously, a toothy grin rounding your cheeks.

He begrudgingly followed your orders, ever the dutiful knight, though they were a jest. The Kingsguard's armor clanked as he kneeled at the side of your bed, using a gloved hand to balance himself on the mattress as he searched the area. As you suspected, there was no one hidden within the shadows of your room, and when Ser Arryk deemed all was safe, he rose and was met with the sight of you on your haunches, a playful expression on your face.

Once again, his eyes flickered downwards and then to the wall behind you. Your lips fell into a thin line, annoyed with his avoidance as you caught him looking again. You lowered your gaze as your skin blanched, swiftly cowering the prominent outline of your nipples, the textured skin around them peeking through the white fabric.

"You may go, Ser Cargyll," you declared hurriedly, pivoting on your knees as you hid underneath your sheets. "Why did you not tell me you could practically see my breasts beneath this gown?" You exclaimed at your maids, the two ladies staring after the door.

Fiora couldn't contain her giggles, covering her freckled cheeks as Jeyne barely withheld a smile. "We thought you knew," the older woman answered.

You groaned, rolling over in bed and shoving your face into your goose feather pillows. "You're wicked. Both of you! Leave me here to rethink of this at the last moment before I fall asleep."

They both chuckled, curtsying with their red woolen dresses before exiting and leaving you to wallow in shame and self-loathing.

***

A light rain drizzled outside the red rock walls of the Keep, a hazy grey mist blanketing all of Kings Landing. All the inhabitants, even the poor folk, hide indoors and underneath awnings, the humidity suffocating. Your daily luncheon with Helaena was eaten within her chambers instead of the typical garden surroundings, and you stared longingly out of the high-paned windows.

The rain had been perpetual for the past few days, never exceeding a delicate sprinkle. It seemed to be making up for the lack of thunderstorms that usually cracked the night sky during summer, and a part of you hoped that the Gods forsaken thing would pour and be done with it. You couldn't stand another hour trapped within the castle; it only served to remind you of your surroundings and the ache for Dragonstone.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played a few steps away from you and the Princess's place at her dining table, a well-worn wooden dragon in one hand and a finely sewn stuffed doll in the other. The twins had grown so much in the past moons, each saying their first word within weeks of the other, and since then, they had a habit of imitating every sound they heard.

Helaena was delighted when her little Jaehaera mimicked a noise that sounded like "eat," though when she prompted her daughter to repeat it; it was the prefix elongated. Still, you smiled and matched her excited expression, trying to coax more words out of the tot. Jaehaerys followed a fortnight later, but it was a less joyful experience. The young boy was amid his infamous tantrums, screaming, "Up, up, up." The nursemaids were at a loss of what to do when he kept wailing in their arms.

You were unsure of how they concluded, but soon, you were brought into the nursery, having been the only person able to calm Jaehaerys down in the past, and it worked. Soon, the only sound out of the boy's mouth was "up," which sadly meant he wanted you and would scream and cry until he was in your arms. Being at someone's beck and call was irksome, but you couldn't deny the warm feeling and bright smile at being wanted.

Helaena's muttering threw you from your thoughts, her lilac eyes glassy as she stared at her children before her. Her fingers pressed against her thin, peony lips as if she were in a trance, feeling the soft muscles as they contorted.

"Beast beneath the boards... a fool's parsley... a sacrifice... peace reborn." The delicate words left her mouth in mumbles, straining your ears to fill in the missing gaps in her sentences.

Nothing made sense. It was all scattered pieces and fervent rambling, purple eyes flickering too fast for Helaena to genuinely see what was in front of her. You had seen her like this before, but it was many moons past, and some of you thought you might have made the two instances up since it had yet to happen since then.

She continued her words, her trance unbreakable as her son whacked his twin with his toy, causing the poor girl to burst into screaming tears, the nursemaids rushing to their sides. Jaehaerys soon began to cry like his sister, too young to understand that what he did was wrong and why his sister was crying.

"Helaena," you gently called, placing a timid but reassuring hand on her silken tan gown sleeve.

"Up! Up!" Jaehaerys began to wail, waddling over to your seat with his Mother. You delicately dismiss the boy, motioning to the nursemaid.

"Your Grace?" you repeated more forcefully, squeezing her forearm. "Princess, are you all right?"

Suddenly, in time with her son's sobs, Helaena's wide eyes met with your concerned ones, gripping your wrist with a strength you hadn't known she possessed.

"A sacrifice of blood; peace reborn in flames," she nearly shouted, causing you to flinch at the abrupt shift in her mood.

"Up!"

You turn to Jaehaerys, standing and scooping the upset child in your embrace as you tenderly stroke his soft silver hair, leaning his face into the crook of your neck. Helaena plugged her ears, moving away from the crying children as she stared at the tapestry of a viridian meadow, sheep, and lambs grazing on the tall grass, unblinking.

After a few moments, the twins finally calmed, the pain of poor Jaehaera's injury subsiding and her brother content in your arms. The poor maidservants looked exhausted after the situation, frizzy strands of hair peeking from their white caps as one placed a cool, damp cloth on the sniffling girl's afflicted area.

The Princess released a shaky breath, removing her thin fingers from her ears as she faced adequately in her chair, taking a sip of juice from her cup and eating a slice of the goat cheese she requested. You gave Jaehaerys to the unoccupied nursemaid, the boy releasing an unhappy coo as you stroked his plump cheek with the knuckle of your index before returning to your place at the dining table.

You both continued to eat in silence. The only sound was occasional sniffling from one of the two tots and your chewing. The atmosphere had never been uncomfortable with Helaena, even with the rare appearance of her Queen Mother, and you were unsure of what to do, your lip curling between your teeth.

"I am with child again," Helaena spoke, her announcement cutting through the quiet like the blade of Dark Sister. She placed her hand affectionately on her lower stomach, a small smile on her angelic visage.

Your heart stopped at the revelation, sucking in a sharp breath as your nose began to itch, a telltale sign of tears. You were at a loss for words, not immediately congratulating her as was expected. A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, all in conflict with each other. Of course, you were happy for Helaena; you knew how much she loved being a mother. How much joy she held even when her children overwhelmed her. You bristled at the notion that some women were meant to be mothers, an idea you felt reduced the woman to her offspring rather than her being with autonomy, but with the Princess, it did not seem to dwindle her humanity. It was simply a quality of her that made Helaena all the more endearing.

"My congratulations, Princess. I am certain you'll birth another healthy babe as before," you responded. Your words were precise and calculated, as if you were speaking to a Lord and not your closest friend.

You swallowed the feeling of anger and crushed the green claws of jealousy. Emotions you had no right to bear. Aegon was her husband by law and the divine. Their duty was to create as many heirs as possible, but the sheer rage burning within saw no reason. You felt scorned by Aegon. Betrayed. The whore Prince wasted no time stuffing his cock inside anything it would fit, and you felt foolish to think he would ever do anything else.

He never cared for you, as he claimed. You were just a plaything to use and discard whenever you were unwilling. Did he indeed mean what he said? That the years you spent tucked away at Dragonstone were agony for him, or was that some ploy to disarm you and make you pliant in his bed? Aegon was an intelligent man, but you did not think him cunning.

Perhaps you would accept Ser Dalton Greyjoy's proposal and have the realm descend into madness. You would have the Greyjoy's fleet, army, and the Houses who already pledged loyalty to your Mother. Aegon would be dead before the end of that year if he were ever to take the Iron Throne.

"Yes. I will be a mother once more," Helaena spoke, a slight blush on her porcelain skin. "You are my closest friend, sweet cousin," she began, becoming bashful. "I would like you to assist with my birth in the coming moons. I-I know it's not for quite some time, but it would ease me greatly if you did."

You inhaled a shuddering breath, your polite smile slightly faltering. The idea of witnessing a birth firsthand frightened you deeply. You knew of the complications that could happen during the process and after it and how painful it was. You often wondered why women were chosen for such an act. It was men who ruled the world. Why was it not them who dealt with the burden? Men were free to do as they wished, take as many mistresses as they pleased, and govern countries as they saw fit. Why did they not have to carry the burdens of life? Why must it fall on women?

"Of course, Princess," you answered, your tone clipped though it seemed lost on the dreamy-eyed girl. She smiled in thanks, her lithe fingers intertwining with yours.

"Soon you shall be married and you'll understand the joys of child bearing. You're already so good with Jaehaerys. Some might even think he's your own if they did not know better." You couldn't hide the involuntary downward twitch of your mouth, your gaze changing into that of a frightened doe as she spoke. "I've heard whispers of Lord Dalton Greyjoy considering a betrothal. I wouldn't want you so far from me and the children, but I know you will do your duty should it come to that."

Helaena, oblivious to your discomfort, continued about different Houses that would be worthy of your hand, absentmindedly stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

In the naivety of your younger years, you believed your bastard status would prevent Lords from seeking a marriage. You planned to stay with your family for the rest of your days, assisting in politics and courtly matters while Rhaenyra ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Your life as a spinster would be happy without worrying about dying in the birthing bed like your Mother. But as all things did, the Gods seemed to have different plans for you.

You cleared your throat of the lump that had formed during Helaena's conversation, tentatively patting the back of her hand as you made up some excuse of promising Ser Arryk that you'd meet him in the library after your luncheon. The Princess was downtrodden to see you go but understood nevertheless, placing quick kisses on the tops of the twin's heads.

You exited Helaena's chambers in a flurry of gold embroidered black skirts, your sworn shield struggling to match your pace. The thick air of the Keep made sweat instantly seep from your pores, your exposed skin becoming sticky and uncomfortable.

You couldn't take it. The tears you had kept at bay finally stung your eyes, blurring your vision as you furiously wiped them away. Even when Aegon wasn't near you, he still affected your life. He was like a disease, infecting your mind with his plague, making you unable to think clearly and feel things you had no control over. Aegon's rot festered inside you like mold, its inky black tendrils invading your heart until it was a cold, immovable stone.

"Your Grace, wait!" Arryk called, his heavy silver armor clanking with his hurried movements. "Your Grace, what," he paused, inhaling an exerted breath as he saw your tears, "what's wrong?"

The knight placed a comforting hand on your shoulder that you shoved away as if it burned. "Nothing, Ser Arryk. I simply tire of the soupy weather."

He stepped back, a mixture of shock and hurt gracing his features. You had never rejected his affections before, and Arryk was at a loss for how to proceed.

"Princess, what ails you?" he insisted.

You flashed an indignant look at the knight, grimacing. "What ails me is nothing of your concern, Ser Cargyll," you snapped, continuing your brisk pace to your rooms.

"But Princess-"

"No," you interrupted, turning to face him and clenching your fists with your teeth bared. "Tis nothing of your concern. You are my sworn shield, not my friend. It would do you well to remember that."

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, regret taking hold of you. Arryk's usual stiff posture slackened, his shoulders slightly slumping, mouth parted in shock, and blue eyes wide with hurt. You wanted to rescind the vile sentences, but it was too late, for they had already cut the man deeper than any sword.

Sighing, you buried your face in your palms, hoping to rub the sweat and shame away. There was no purpose in apologizing. If you did, you wouldn't know if Arryk truly accepted it. He would follow your orders mindlessly, forever upholding his duty to the royal family. You looked away from the kingsguardmen, taking a breath to speak, but closed your mouth instead, resigning to your fate.

"Once you escort me to my rooms, you are dismissed for the day," you expressed, your voice holding a hint of passivity as you gesture.

Arryk nodded curtly, his body resuming its normal posture as he followed behind wordlessly.

***

As Jeyne and Fiora braided the last few strands of your ebony hair, you played with one of your daggers, observing the flickering metal in the vanity mirror as you spun it with the tip of your finger. Your eyes reflected someone who was not yourself.

Once bright orbs that burst with a ring of purple were now dull and lackluster, with a thin veil of fog clouding their color. Blue half circles decorated your lower eyelids, your cheeks devoid of the typical pink glow they held. Your lips were red, splotches of white skin healing from where you had bitten them raw.

Was this a sudden change, or did the features of you slowly drain until there was nothing left but a husk of your joyful self? The image of Queen Alicent flashed in your mind's eye; the woman always shrouded in green and pain you could never put a name to. For a moment, you felt pity for the poor woman, forced to marry a man twice her senior when she was but a girl, producing heirs for the King before your Mother was married, moved to sacrifice her girlhood for the sake of the kingdom, her family, and duty.

You released the dagger from your finger, letting it clatter on the polished vanity as Fiora flicked rose water into your braided hair. You would not let yourself feel pity for the woman who stood idle when shown the death of two innocents. She deserved whatever harm befell her and whatever pain is to come, the green bitch.

"Will you leave the window open tonight, along with a water basin? The room is still quite stuffy from the day, and I'm afraid I'll grow hot throughout the night," you asked the two maids, who nodded in acquiescence, forever kind and dutiful.

You would never let trouble befall them. They were innocents like Lyra and Sara. They needn't know more difficulty than what was already their station. Fiora and Jeyne left with small bows, bidding you a peaceful night's rest and promising to bring some citrus tea in the morning.

You stared at the stone ceiling above, the dark oak rafters, and a crisscross of different beams connecting like trails on a map. No spiderwebs were spun in the corners of the wood like Ma's little house. Every minute detail was accounted for. There was no dust resting on any surface like the pillow house. No loud lecherous moans sounded through thin straw-packed walls or rhythmic banging that used to lull you to sleep.

You sometimes missed the groans and whines that accompanied Ma's establishment. On your first night alone in the Red Keep, you could barely find rest in the silence, not because of the anxiety of what lay ahead but because it was noiseless, bone-chillingly so. One could sneeze, and the entire castle would hear it. Now, you had grown accustomed to the quiet and were sure that if you spent a night in your old bed, you would not find sleep.

You needed to visit Madame soon. It felt like an era since the last time you spoke to her, and she most certainly felt that, too. Despite what people believed, she was an excellent maternal figure in your life. She did her best to teach you the ways of life at a young age, and perhaps she did too well at that, for you knew things no child should know at the fresh age of one and ten. You learned how to steal, sew, and cook by eight, and by ten, you could lure men faster to the brothel than any whore could. At the time, you were proud of it, proud to excel in a task someone you looked up to gave you, but you understood now why you were so good at it, the hairs on your arms standing.

Swallowing your thoughts, you rose from the bed, going to your wardrobe and securing a long robe across your body. You stared at the discarded dagger atop your dressing vanity, the curved blade engraved with the body of a dragon, its head emerging from the widest end. The black leather of the hilt felt comforting against your scorching skin, tracing the smooth scale pattern that separated the silver dragon head that consisted of the cross guard and pommel.

You couldn't recall where or who gave you the thing, most likely another gift from Daemon. If you didn't know any better, you swore that your Father believed you to be a boy with the Harvest, Maiden Day, Yule, and nameday gifts he gave you.

Grabbing your dagger's holster, you buckled it just below your knee, admiring the contrast it created against your skin before dropping the hem of your nightdress. You brushed your digits through your braided hair, releasing a breath.

The maids left a single candlestick in its holder lit on your dining table, letters strewn about the obsidian-colored wood. You stared at the most recent letter of Lord Greyjoy, stating there had been sightings of a dragon near the border of the Iron Isles, burning the small plots of fields of his bannermen, though nobody had seen the coloring of it to be sure of who it belonged to. You knew it couldn't be your Father. Daemon liked to make statements with the Blood Wyrm and would be sure to be seen. Your Mother would never do such a thing, and Jace and Luke had no reason to fly across the entire continent of Westeros to burn little Lordling fields.

Vhagar was a beast in the skies, so one would see her flying. Dreamfyre, Tessarion, and their accompanying riders would only venture so far and reek dragon fire on unsuspecting people. Aegon was the only one whom you needed clarification on. His dragon was not particularly fast, but the golden scales of Sunfyre would reflect the sun's rays and blind those below. Still, you couldn't understand why the first son of the King would burn crops of unsuspecting civilians, but then again, Aegon was not the man you believed him to be, and he continued to prove that true.

You were unsure why you did it as the candle's flames licked the inked parchment, watching as the soft glow became bright orange, consuming the letter whole.

You cared not for any word of Lord Dalton since the announcement of his marriage proposal. The time your Father granted you to think made the reasoning for a refusal all the more apparent. The Lord Reaper of Pyke was a bloodthirsty man who was uncaring for the women in his life if adding three new Salt Wives since your courting was any indication. He was cruel to them, and you knew you would be treated no differently. Women were just commodities to the man, tiny tokens and treasure he collected on his travels to use as he pleased. You would not become his ornament nor any other man's so long as the dragon's blood flowed through your veins.

Once you reduced the letter to ashes, you pressed your ear against the chamber doors, listening in the silence of the night for the evening guard to snore. It was not more than twenty minutes before you heard the telltale noise emanate from the back of his throat, exiting the room with noiseless steps.

Your bare feet were sure in their strides, carrying you swiftly to your destination, knowing when to hide behind a corner and when to turn. You had traversed this pathway before, though it had been in the day and not lit by a single candle. The white streak in your hair was stark compared to your ebony locks, a single silver strand glowing in the moonlight as you padded to the lower barracks of the White Sword Tower.

Ser Edder would be readying for bed. He often spoke of his love for a good tome before sleep; you had even recommended some of your own. You didn't know why. Perhaps it was a tactic to soothe the guilt that knocked on your ribcage whenever you smiled too wide for what could be called acting. It was no matter. A man would be found dead by sunrise, and your pain would be vindicated.

There would be more men guarding the entrance to the knight's quarters, but it was late, the hour of the eel before the night's watch, and they would be craving rest like a drunkard to a bottle. You quickly slipped past a sleeping pair, found some awake, and threw a loose pebble left on the floor from insufficient cleaning.

Immediately striding to the door you knew was Edder's, you knocked thrice, glancing over your shoulders. You heard a soft shuffling from behind the wooden slab, a metal clanking, and then the creek of a hinge. Ser Edder's sword tip was pointed swiftly at your chest, eliciting a soft gasp from parted lips.

"Princess? What are you doing here? It's not safe," he chastised, placing his sword against the wall.

"I-" you stuttered, bringing your fingers to your lips as you looked around nervously. "I do not feel safe in my chambers, Ser Edder."

The knight glanced down both ends of the hall, staring at you briefly before opening the door wider. You stepped into his space, observing your surroundings much like Ser Lorgan's, save for a bookshelf filled with the appropriate items.

You turned towards Edder. Your body curled in on itself as you placed your candle and its holder on a small table. "I apologize for the impropriety of this visit, but I do not feel safe here."

Edder stepped closer, keeping a respectable distance as he observed your attire. "Princess, you are a member of the royal family. You're more guarded than the walls to Casterly Rock."

You laughed mirthlessly, a glint of bitterness behind your gaze. "You think too highly of the Hand, Ser. I believe they would sooner have me dead than waste a guard that could go toward his kin." You took a calming breath, placing the palms of your hands on your stomach to unwrap your robe, placing it next to your candle. "I'm frightened that the murderer will come for me. I was acquaintances with Ser Lorgan. What if I am next on his list? The Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks would not think twice before leaving me to protect the King."

Edder extended a comforting hand to your bicep but quickly placed it back at his side, turning it into a blanched fist. You had to fight the urge to smile.

Men are easy, simple creatures.

"You have your sworn shield, Ser Cargyll. He would stop at nothing to protect you, your grace," he protested softly, speaking like you were an untamed horse.

You hastily closed the distance between the two of you, grabbing his arm the same way he wished to do to you. "He cannot protect me at all hours of the day. The guard outside my room was asleep. That's how I was able get here. If-if I could so easily sneak by him undetected, how would I survive a trained killer? I would be dead by morn and no one would be none the wiser." You rambled to the knight above you, his moss-green eyes boring into your peculiar ones.

Edder thought they shimmered like a pool of amethyst, the purple and brown glimmering with undeniable beauty. You were enchanting, and the Gold Cloak was momentarily distracted by it in the dim glow of the room. You were the pure embodiment of the Maiden as you gazed up at him, your plump lips quivering with intensity.

It was only a moment, but you noticed how Ser Edder's gaze flickered downwards before returning to yours. His emotions were written plainly on his face, a picture book straightforward enough to read for even the simple-minded. You were pleasantly surprised how effortless it was to make him melt. All you needed to do was bat your pretty eyelashes and pout your plush lips.

"Will you protect me, Ser Edder? I fear no one else will," you pleaded doeishly.

"I-" You could spot the hesitancy in his voice as his muscles rippled beneath his cotton undershirt.

"Please, Ser, I beseech you." Edder swallowed thickly, the notch in his throat bobbing. "I need you, Ed. Please."

And that was all it took for the man to fall, his hand resting over yours as he nodded. You swiftly embraced him, hoping the action would ease him of regret or second-guessing. The knight slowly reciprocated the affection, loosening his tense posture.

Gods. Would they all act like this if a lady came crying and begging for their services? Would they forget propriety and respect simply due to a woman's moment of weakness? Or was it because you were a bastard, a Lady in name only, that Edder and Ser Lorgan felt comfortable enough to act in such a way? The thought only served to fuel your anger, and you squeezed His broad torso tighter.

"Thank you, Ser, thank you," you said breathlessly, releasing your hold as you gazed back into his.

You left no room to protest as you slammed your mouth onto his, all teeth and panting breaths as his lips remained stock still. You tangled your fingers into his cropped hair, digging them into his scalp to force him to reciprocate, but failed. Pulling away, you sucked in a much-needed breath, your eyes searching his face for any response to your actions.

Ser Edder looked down with reddened cheeks and bruised lips, a mixture of shock and pity on his features. Your body flared with the burn of rejection, your stomach churning with disgust at yourself, at your actions. Bile burned at the back of your throat, threatening to spill past your tongue as you separated from him as if his mere touch scorned you. You should've killed him before entering the room and saved yourself from this embarrassment.

"Princess," Ser Edder began, his voice so soft and kind that it made you want to scream. You turned away from him, cheeks flaming as you held your stomach, a wave of vile shame overtaking you. "Let me escort you back to your chambers."

You stepped toward the table where your candle was and gripped the edge, bracing yourself on the side of it as you inhaled deeply.

"Tis not safe for you to venture back alone, your grace," he continued. You rolled your eyes in response, your white-knuckled grip loosening as you faced him.

"You're correct, Ser Edder. It is not safe. Please escort me back to my rooms." The knight nodded, reaching the door as you hastily rucked up your nightdress and unsheathed your dagger.

Your legs carried your body on quick limbs, plunging the curved blade into the space between Ser Edder's shoulder and spine. The man hollered in pain as you jumped on his back, attempting to slice his throat, more wildling than a woman. He effortlessly pushed you to the side, falling onto the stone floor like a ragdoll, cracking your skull against the stone floor. Your vision swam, unable to open your eyes as fast as your mind told them to as you felt a hand grasp the wrist holding the knife.

"Princess, stop this. You're feeling unwell." You yanked your arm from his grasp, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head.

You refused to dignify the man with a response, freeing yourself from Ser Edder as you scrabbled away, putting your body in between him and the door. You assumed a guarded position as the knight glanced at the sword on the wall beside you. Before Edder could think to reach for it, you lunged forward, using the height difference to your advantage as he tumbled to the ground below you. You poised the dagger above your head, ready to drive it downward, but Ser Edder blocked it.

Your years of training were little compared to his lifetime as you struggled, using your body weight to aid the force. His arms shook below you, realizing his life would be forfeit if he didn't think of some way to stop you. Edder brought his knee to your side, faulting your movements as the blade slipped between his hands and cut through the meat of his shoulder, letting out a cry of pain.

You groaned in displeasure, curling in on your side as you regained your balance, gritting your teeth and smacking your head against his. Blood trickled from his nose, the positioning slightly out of place as he blinked rapidly. You repositioned the dagger, plunging it into his chest with a growl. Edder's squirming caused you to miss the vital area of his heart, puncturing his lung as you went to do it again, only to be stopped by a strong arm, thumb digging into the tendons of your wrist until you dropped the weapon.

You clabbered off the knight as you crawled to the knife, your fingers dusting the leather hilt as you were pulled across the flagstone floor, nails scraping. Kicking and flailing your legs, Ser Edder subdued you, kneeling on your back to keep you flush with the floor as he pinned your hands behind you.

"Princess, we must get you to a Maester. You are not well. I'll explain to him that it was a bout of Hysteria and we shall forget the whole thing," the Gold Cloak attempted to reason, only to be met with a feral snarling as you wriggled beneath him.

"Get off of me you, bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you for what you did!" you screamed, the muscles in your neck and back cramping.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Princess. I-I apologize for not returning your affections, but I am a man sworn to the City's Watch, my duty comes before-"

"You stupid fucking man! You are dead! You're fucking dead for what you did to them! I'll have your head sitting on a spike just as you did for them!"

Edder was silent above you, and you kicked your heel into his back, his grip loosening enough to where you could wiggle your arms free, propelling upwards and hitting your crown against his already injured nose. You grabbed the sides of his head before he could recover, slamming his bloodied face into your knee as he collapsed. You swung your bare foot into his stomach next, then his chest, knocking the escaping air out.

Scooping the dagger up from the ground, you quickly stabbed it between his ribs, ensuring it pierced past the flesh and into his guts, just as your Father taught you. Blood poured out of the line-shaped hole, staining his undershirt and the soles of your feet. Edder's arms immediately went to the wound as you kneeled, grabbing him by the roots of his perfectly cropped hair, sneering.

"Years ago, you and Ser Lorgan Sunderly put two innocent women to death. One a humble servant to the realm and the other a whore. My only family, and you killed them. Chopped off their heads and left them for the birds and maggots to eat. I wish I could afford you the same treatment, but," you pause, inhaling a deep breath as Ser Edder slapped weakly at your face, "we can't all get what we want. I wonder how your dearest Mother will fare after the news of your gruesome murder reaches her. Will she weep for you as I did? Will she curse the Gods for taking away her beloved son?" You chuckled darkly, the sound foreign, like it didn't belong to you.

"If the Gods are truly as merciful as we believe, perhaps the stranger will greet the woman before long. I wouldn't want her to live with the pain." You released Ser Edder's sweat-dampened hair, rising from your knees as you wet to his cot, wiping the blood from your hands and face.

Soft groans sounded behind you, and you turned to see the man standing, staggering toward the door and cradling his side as if that would change his fate. He would bleed out before any guard came to his rescue; you ensured that. You observed him silently as he stumbled to the wooden door of his chamber, tilting your head in a peculiar curiosity as if you were studying one of Helaena's insects. Edder's attempted escape was endearing, and it almost hurt your heart as you walked towards him.

With the curve of your blade pointed towards you, you wrapped your free arm around his skull, slowly sliding the hair-like edge across the thin flesh of his throat as blood sprayed onto his only exit. His body dropped to an unmoving heap on the floor, his gurgling drowned out by the crimson liquid spurting from his neck as it seeped into the cracked stone below.

Masterlist of Series

Yes, I support women's rights, but most importantly, I support women's wrongs. Like, yeeeesss, get it, girl. Slay! SLAY YOUR ENEMIES! SMITE DOWN THOSE WHO OPPOSE YOU! She's such a girl boss.

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