#oh well robb is dead? next

[lovl3igh]

gods bless the north and their patience for stark children

[cactusspatz]

February recs

Trying something new this month! I've got five top recs below (most of which are quite long, sorry not sorry), but in an attempt to keep my Pinboard more contemporary I've put all of my January bookmarks up at this tag if you're looking for more to read.

Below are recs for: 9-1-1, The Untamed, Game of Thrones, and The Hobbit. And at Pinboard are more recs for 9-1-1, The Untamed, & The Hobbit, plus Batman, Goblin Emperor, KJ Charles, and Star Wars!

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston (9-1-1, Buck/Eddie)

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. Eddie is the newest firefighter at the 118. Buck is the ghost haunting the 118. Unfortunately for both of them, Eddie's also a witch and needs to put Buck's spirit to rest, because that's what witches do. Turns out, Buck's spirit? Super not interested in being put to rest. Very interested, however, in flirting with Firefighter Diaz, who is just trying to survive his candidate year. (Also turns out, Buck? Super not dead.)

I adore this trope, but this one's got great worldbuilding around the magic, and the author is skilled at combining drama and humor. So you've got the emotions and pining but also Eddie's sisters roasting him via group chat, and so on.

Batting a Buck & Change by Daisies_and_Briars (9-1-1, Buck/Eddie)

“Do you remember that shift where Buck was off and Hen was on mandatory relaxation, and they both got drunk in Hen’s kitchen in the middle of the afternoon while we had to resuscitate a canine?” Eddie nods vigorously. “Oh, Hoover. I remember Hoover.” “Why have we never been drunk during a dog resuscitation, Eddie? Have you thought about that?” “Well now I am.” “We should call them and let them know that we can have fun on Dads’ Night Out.” Nothing could go wrong. OR: Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip.

I am weak for shenanigans and Chimney's keeping-secrets fail - one of his panicked attempts to escape a conversation in this is HYSTERICAL, you'll know the one - and this fic has a top-tier assortment of both, plus a lovely Eddie-Chim friendship/baseball buddies/mutual dad admiration society.

The Pack Survives by astolat (GoT, Robb/everybody)

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival. —Thornton Wilder

Sprawling AU where the South makes peace and Robb lives - but ends up having to deal with internal rebellion, polyamory negotiation, dragons, and of course, a terrifying army of the dead. Features Robb growing up and making fewer and better mistakes in addition to his usual tactical genius, plus a fantastically sharp Sansa.

Thicker Than Water by athena_crikey (The Untamed, Wangxian)

The Lans were one of the founding families of the Vancouver Guild; part of their legacy is to maintain their place in it for the benefit of all. Cultivation is important, essential, serious. In the distance, something squeaks. A disaster, is Lan Zhan’s first impression as the bike squeals to a halt on the far side of Song Lan’s car. The man riding it – and he’s tall, and lanky, and sure-footed – hops off and locks it to the car’s back door. The back door of a police vehicle. He pulls his helmet off to reveal long, sweat-soaked hair with a shaggy undercut, bright grey eyes, and a smile that launches like an arrow straight through Lan Zhan’s chest. No, he thinks, watching this trainwreck of a man shimmy between the narrow space dividing Song Lan’s back bumper and the next car’s hood like he’s doing some kind of dance step. Absolutely not.

Excellent modern-with-cultivation AU with a gorgeously written Lan Zhan POV - both in terms of the prose and his deep-seated trauma that bubbles up along the way.

A Passion For Mushrooms by Chrononautical (The Hobbit, Bilbo/Thorin)

There are many trials for a hobbit attempting to make a life among dwarves. A hobbit wants a garden. A hobbit wants to eat regular meals. A hobbit wants friends, good books, and comfortable chairs. Bilbo does his best to carve out a little hobbit life for himself in the mountain. If only there were not one final obstacle. For a hobbit heart wants love, and among dwarves that is a sticky subject.

AKA the one with the mushroom mine, more feelings about guilds than I ever imagined having, and some epic cultural misunderstandings (both romantic and otherwise). I'm very much showing up to this widely recced story 6 years late with Starbucks, but it's got fantastic worldbuilding, humor, and romance.

Enjoy the reads! I always like it when people tell me which ones they liked so feel free 😘

[dtyfp2]

Feasts

The Great War

“You’ve got dirt on my dress!” You tell Robb as you brush away the little pecks of dirt. Robb doesn’t seem to care, instead he grabs a handful of mud and throws it at you.

“There, you’ve got more dirt on your dress now,” he laughs. In retaliation, you grab your own handful and throw it at him.

The fighting escalates, the Septa’s standing watch over you have no idea what to do. Are they playing? Should they step in? You have more mud on you then you’ve ever had in your life, but you’ve also thrown more mud than you ever have.

“…what’s going on down there? Robb!” His mother calls from the balcony. Robb is distracted by his mother, he stopped fighting with you for a moment, and a moment is all it took for you to shove him into the fountain.

The next thing you remember, the two of you are standing in front of your parents. One covered in dirt, the other dripping wet and seething. Your father thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever. That was the Baratheon in you, you were your fathers daughter in that moment.

“Relax Cat, Cersei, they’re just being kids. If you think this is bad, you should have seen what Ned and I did growing up!”

———————————————————

“Princess?”

Robb is surprised to see you here. The two of you stand across from each other, having just bumped into each other around a corner.

“Robb,” you greet, glancing down at the direwolf who had been following him. The obedient wolf sat when Robb stopped.

“Are you lost?” He asks, noticing you didn’t have anyone with you. He also realizes you’re walking in the complete opposite direction of the feast.

“I think so. I brought Myrcella and Tommen to bed and can’t seem to find my way back,” you admit to him with a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh.

“It’s the other way, I can escort you back,” he offers.

“Oh, no need, it looks like you’re going somewhere. I’m sure I can figure it out,” you assure him, slightly nervous to go anywhere with that direwolf at his feet.

“I was just bringing Arya to her room, I guess she got bored and started flinging her peas at Sansa. I was heading back anyway,” Robb chuckles at his younger sisters antics. He motions for you to follow, and waits for you to catch up with him before he starts walking again.

“What is your Direwolf’s name?” You ask him, unable to keep your eyes off the, still little, puppy as he trots alongside Robb. Your mother didn’t like the wolves, she cursed and called them unnatural beasts once alone. You didn’t even know there were direwolves this side of the wall.

“Greywind. You can pet him if you’d like,” Robb offers, your apprehension obvious on your face. Robb stops and kneels down, whistling for Greywind to come and sit between his legs.

“He won’t bite, will he?” You ask, carefully kneeling down as well. Robb shakes his head with a laugh and your hand shakes as you outstretch it. Greywind sniffs your fingers first before licking at them, walking away from Robb to get closer to you.

“He wants you to pet him,” Robb tells you. Your other hand had been balled up into a fist by your side, but you work up enough courage to carefully stroke his back.

“He has big paws,” you comment off handedly as Greywind begins to raise his paw at you, as if trying to shake your hand.

“That means he’ll grow into a big direwolf. Bigger than the others,” Robb answers as he reaches out to pet Greywind.

“How did you find him?” You ask, laughing as Greywind flops down onto his back on the ground, happy with the attention he’s receiving. Your fear quickly dissipates, your hands no longer shake as you properly kneel down to give him a good pet.

“We came across a large stag that had been mauled, we heard some yipping and found 6 baby Direwolves whining for milk from their dead mother. They would’ve died if we hadn’t brought them in, so my siblings and I each took one,” Robb answers as he scratches Greywind’s stomach.

“How lucky, 6 wolves for the 6 Stark children,” you muse, glancing over at Robb for a split moment before looking away. He looked to be in his element, dressed warmly with the light of some torches brightening his face on one side. He had an easy smile on his face, nothing like the fake ones that surround Kingslanding.

His hand accidentally brushes yours and you’re quick to pull it back, standing up suddenly. Perhaps you reacted so obviously due to all your lessons as a girl, no one had ever touched you so casually before, no one besides your family. You don’t think Robb minded so much, perhaps this type of thing was normal to him, or it wasn’t such a huge deal. He simply looks up at you, slight confusion evident across his features, as if asking if you were alright.

You stumble over your words, you must look like a fish out of water as you try to think of something to say.

“You know, the last time we played, you shoved a bunch of mud in my face,” you remind him, your hands wringing behind your back. Is that all you could come up with?

Robb laughs out loud at the memory as he also stands, resuming his walk towards the feast. He had a nice laugh.

“If I recall correctly, you pushed me into the fountain after,” he remembers, his easiness quickly dispelling any awkwardness you may have felt earlier.

“That was your fault, technically. We were pushing and shoving and then you suddenly stopped, how was I to know?” You defend yourself jokingly.

“I was the first to throw mud, so I apologize,” Robb gives in.

“An apology 10 years too late, whatever shall I do with it?” You ponder out loud, eyes peeking over at him from under your eyelashes.

“Well, if you want to get into technicalities, princess, my mother made me apologize right after, so my apology was right on time,” he recalls. Yes, he has done so, you remember now. While he stood dripping wet, his mother whispered with him and forced him to apologize. It was a half hearted effort at best, it was obvious he didn’t want to or think you deserved it back then, but he did it because him mother asked him to.

The music from the dining hall now flittered around. You must be getting close.

“Your Northern feasts are nothing like the ones we have back home” you tell him, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the prospect of re-entering the hall. You felt as though you stuck out like a sore thumb in there. At first, it was obvious you were overdressed. Secondly, your hair was all wrong, it had been in a pretty undo but you had taken all the clips out when you realized no one else (besides your mother) wore their hair like that. At the thought of your hair, you lift a hand to readjust the flower crown still sitting upon your head.

The people inside the hall sang, chatted around, even danced! When did they even have the time to eat? The music was loud and jolly. The feasts you were used to were tame in comparison…and quieter. Much quieter.

“But I’m sure these ones are a lot more fun,” Robb grins as he stops in front of the door, pulling it open enough so you could walk in. You quietly thank him for leading you back before heading straight back to the front, surprised to see that your mother had gone. Your father, remained in the crowd, sitting with Northern women you didn’t recognize. That was certainly putting it nicely.

“Her Grace has retired for the night, princess,” Ser Selmy tells you as you approach, you thank him before sitting back down. Lady Catelyn remains in her seat, but the Lord Stark had joined her. They were holding hands, Ned Stark had obviously moved his chair closer to hers as they looked down upon their people.

“My Lord Stark, I’m sorry it has taken me so long to say, but I’m deeply sorry for your loss. My father says our Lord Jon Arryn was like a father to you both,” you lean over to say.

“Thank you, Princess Helen. He was a good man,” Ned nods solemnly.

“He was. My father told me to regard him as my own grandfather as a girl, since his father passed before I was born. Lord Jon Arryn always took a special interest in me. I can see how both you and my father turned out to be such brave honourable men under his watch,” you tell him. The Lord Stark smiles softly. You could tell he was a man of few words.

“And how is Lady Lysa, Lady Stark? I haven’t heard from her since we left Kingslanding. Is she well? Do her and Robyn have their health?” You ask after Catelyn Stark’s younger sister.

“She is well, princess. She’s returned to the Vale, where her son is now Lord,” Catelyn assures you.

“Good…the people of the Vale are good people, they’ll be well looked after,” you hum as you turn back to your forgotten dinner. You pick at a few pieces before turning back to the crowd of Northerners. They had slowed down, as had the music. Robb was sitting across the room with his uncle, Benjen Stark the Ranger. He must have made the trip down from the wall for the feast.

Your hands clasp under the table. You could still remember the feeling of Robb’s hand on your own, despite how fleeting the moment was. He was warm, you remembered, where you were cold-he was warm.

You remain distracted until a slice of cake is placed in front of you. Honey cakes, your favourite.

“I asked the kitchens to save you a slice. Eat a couple bites, Princess, I should then escort you to your rooms. You’ve had a long day,” Ser Barristan says as he hands you a fork. He could tell you were tired, no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

“Thank you, Ser Barristan,” you smile as you accept the fork and begin to eat. Oh, how you loved honey cakes.

When you finish, Ser Barristan Selmy already has a hand out waiting to help you up. You make sure to wrap up a couple cubes of meat for Balerion before getting up.

“Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Lord and Lady Stark, and for welcoming my family into your beautiful home. I’m afraid I must also retire for the night, I don’t think Ser Selmy will allow me to stay up any longer,” you joke, politely curtsying to convey your thanks.

“It’s our honour to host you, princess. Have a good night, sleep well,” Lady Stark smiles at you as she bows her head.

You turn and allow Ser Selmy to lead you back to your room, you thank him for his efforts and wish him a good night before closing the door and readying yourself for bed.

You call for Balerion from your window. He comes quickly and you lay out the food you had brought for him.

You’re laying in the dark when your door creaks open. The sound and the light pouring in startles you, but only for a moment because the sounds of Myrcella and Tommen’s feet pattering on the floor make it obvious why they’re here. Your two youngest siblings giggle as they jump into your bed, their Septa dutifully following as she also enters and lights a candle.

“I hope it’s alright, Princess, they woke from their sleep and wouldn’t go back down,” their Septa says apologetically as your youngest siblings hide under the covers on either side of you.

“It’s no trouble, Septa, thank you,” you laugh, glancing down at Myrcella and Tommen who both look rather triumphant.

“Helen, tell us a story,” Tommen begs as you lie back down.

“Yes, tell us a story,” Myrcella pleads as a lays her head on your shoulder.

“Alright alright, but only one story and you just sleep right after,” you bargain.

“We will,” they both chime. You adjust your blanket so it’s covering them properly while you think.

“Once, there lived a woman named Jenny…”

[kellyvela]

"Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, Podrick Payne in tow. "You look lovely, Sansa."- Sansa(ASOS IV). "Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely."- Jon(ADWD XI). Jon and Tyrion thinking Val and Sansa lovely. "Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you . . . you look so lovely."- Sansa(ASOS I). Loras a brown hair knight is lovely.

Oh, Anon,

You have no idea how I love that Jon passage!

"Did you follow me as well?" Jon reached to shoo the bird away but ended up stroking its feathers. The raven cocked its eye at him. "Snow," it muttered, bobbing its head knowingly. Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

"It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely."

A young beautiful girl, that everyone considers a princess, next to a direwolf???   

You can bet Jon was remembering another beautiful girl, princess like, next to a direwolf, looking as though they belong together...

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.   —A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Oh, look! This is one of GRRM favorite miniatures:

Oh, and about Jon, Loras and their brown hair:

Jon and Loras are excellent horse riders (indispensable requirement to be a good jouster). Both Jon and Loras are sworn to celibate orders (Night’s Watch, Kingsguard). Jon’s father, Rhaegar Targaryen, wearing an armor adorned with rubies (red) gave Lyanna Stark a crown of winter roses (blue), while Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, wearing an armor adorned with sapphires (blue) gave Sansa Stark a (red) rose, unofficially crowning her as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Margaery, who looks like Loras’s twin sister, is compared with Lyanna Stark. Jon Snow inherited the Stark look from his mother Lyanna. Hence we can say that Jon and Loras have similar looks. Jon and Loras also have a slender physique.

And lovely is a synonym of sweet, both meaning pleasant:

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised. "Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose." She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Ahhh, how I love my romantic babies ❤️

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT Prologue

I love the prologue of AGOT. It’s probably my favorite opening to any of the books, it is such excellent atmospheric horror writing. I get chills every time I read it, it’s that good. It should probably come as no surprise that the Wall plotline is my favourite, and the prologue really sets the stage for it so well. 

Three rangers of the Night Watch out are out beyond the Wall, and they are in trouble. The wildlings they have been tracking are all dead, and that's never a positive. Will, our POV character, is listening to fellow brother Gared argue with Ser Waymar Royce, who’s in charge of this ranging despite not having been at the Wall all that long. 

Gared is making some excellent points; mainly that they should all turn around and go home. I like Gared. 

But Waymar is having none of this. And now, poor Will is getting dragged into the conversation.

“My mother told me that dead men sing no songs,” he put in. “My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.”

This entire chapter is 90% foreshadowing and 10% spooky trees. I love it. 

Things to be learned from the dead, I’m so excited. This how all historians should pitch themselves. 

Both Gared and Will no that something is seriously wrong tonight. Will has been on hundred of rangings and he’s never been this afraid. Not like this. 

A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.

Probably my favourite line from the whole chapter. The feeling of not being alone combined with setting us up for hive mind of the tree gods? perfection!

Ser Waymar Royce is not getting the spooky tingles like the other two, and Will drops Waymar’s backstory and description on us. 

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.

We find out later that House Royce is one of the few non-Northern houses descended from the First Men, who also still send men to the Wall, though it is mainly to get rid of troublesome younger sons. Ah, troublesome younger sons who main threaten a main heir being sent to the Wall. Where have we heard that before?

Oh never mind, the comparison isn’t even subtle, when Waymar is described almost exactly the same way Jon is next chapter. 

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. -BRAN I, AGOT

I’m just saying, Waymar is pretty clearly a stand in for Jon.

He’s also Sansa’s first crush

Anyway, Waymar is also proof from the start that Night’s Watch is not as egalitarian as the songs would lead you to believe, and who you are and who you know absolutely does matter in the NW. Jon gets this lecture from Donal Noye later, but the complicated social strata of Westeros influencing the NW is there from the start. 

Will actually drops a bit of wisdom that I think might be important to a lot of the would be rulers of Westeros. 

It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups,

The power of mockery and laughter comes up a lot in ASOIAF, particularly as a tool to undermine rulers. Jon actually uses this same tactic against Ser Alliser Thorne, after Thorne tries to break him down. Tyrion is also pretty aware of this and also uses it against... Thorne too, in ACOK. That’s funny. 

Meanwhile, Gared is back to arguing with Waymar that they should head back. Waymar, for all his trappings of knighthood, is a bit of a dick to Gared, but he’s not exactly *wrong*. Gared says that they should consider their mission ended, now that the wildlings all turned up dead, but Waymar isn’t having it. He instead asks Will exactly what he saw, and what Will describes is just straight up weird. There are no blood, no sign of a battle, just people lying too still to be alive. Their fire in the firepit had gone out.

Waymar also realizes this weird. Gared thinks it’s the cold. 

“It was the cold,” Gared said with iron certainty. “I saw men freeze last winter, and the one before, when I was half a boy. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how the ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don’t have the strength to fight it. It’s easier just to sit down or go to sleep. They say you don’t feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it’s like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.”

What a terrifying description! Westerosi winters sound like they suck, and could easily kill a bunch of people just like that.

Also, what’s that??????? The cold burns????? Could it be! Ding ding ding! Our first set of ice and fire parallels!

But seriously, the idea that the cold can burn a person just a much as fire can comes up a ton in the Wall plot lines. Balancing between the extremes of ice and fire is going to matter. Remember that George has said he was inspired for the series title by Robert Frost’s poem “Fire and Ice” which is about the world ending? I do!

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To know that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Once again, this chapter is 90% foreshadowing and 10% spooky trees. Just the way I like it. 

Moving on, Waymar is a bit of an asshole to Gared about the ears and fingers he lost to frostbite, before he turns to Will, and points out that the Wall has been weeping this week, making it much too warm for everyone to freeze to death. Friendly reminder its still summer in Westeros. Balmy. 

Now, Waymar wants to actually see the bodies, so he and Will head up together. 

We get one of my favourite atmospheric lines from AGOT, possibly from the whole of ASOIAF. 

Twilight deepened. The cloudless sky turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise, then faded to black.

*SCREAMS* I just love it so much! I can see it my mind, the kind of winter sky without any clouds, just one colour, and it evokes old wounds, like the world itself is still aching from something. And fading into the black of night, just as the action is about to start???? I wish I could write like this. There’s even a wolf howling in the distance, something that is almost always a negative omen (unless you’re a Stark). Something is on the prowl.

Gared is doing is best to get out of dodge, while Waymar wants to press on. He draws a beautiful shiny new sword, only for Will to tell him it’s probably better to have knife in these tangles of tree. There’s something there, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Waymar ignores this advice, and starts another argument with Gared. 

Gared wants to start a fire. 

“There’s some enemies a fire will keep away,” Gared said. “Bears and direwolves and … and other things …”

So, the most obvious part here is that Gared is probably referring to the Others and white walkers. And this makes total sense in the context of the prologue. And we’ll see, later, that fire is about the only weapon that man really has against then (baring valyrian steel and dragon glass, which not everyone has). But allow me to put on my conspiracy hat. Gared mentions bears and direwolves, which are wary of fire, but neither of those animals are inherently bad. They are wild animals- they belong in the woods, and it’s the humans who are in their house essentially. I think it’s interesting to consider the devastation that fire can have on the natural world, and how fire is one of the advantages humans have on animals, and how animals are appropriately wary of that. And of course, the direwolf is the sigil of house Stark (and the bear is the sigil of house Mormont, but I would rather die than think about book Jorah,) Maybe the Starks should be wary of fire? All of them seem to be hurt by it at one time or another. 

Waymar says no fire, and Will is afraid that gated might attack the lordling over this, and his money is on Gared. Luckily, no one dies (yet) and Waymar and Will go on ahead. Surprise! All the bodies are gone! In my personal experience, it’s never good when you’ve misplaced a body. Especially when there’s no-one around for miles to move them. 

Unlike Will, Waymar is not prepared to immediately cut and run. This is his first ranging, and he will not return a failure! They're going to solve this mystery, even if its the last thing he has to do! (spoilers!) 

Will scurries up a tree, his knife in his mouth, while Waymar tries to figure out what the fuck just happened. I only bring this up, since Will thinks the cold iron in his teeth brings him comfort, and all I could think about is faerie lore, since the fae abhor cold iron. It’s probably a completely irrelevant thought. But there’s nothing- only the sounds of spooky trees.

Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers.

Spooky trees and foreshadowing!

There are pale shadows lurking in the corner’s of Will’s eyes, but when he looks, they are gone. It is cold. Too cold, and Waymar calls out. It's too late.  I have to include the description of the Other because there is no way for me to do it justice. 

A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.

SO creepy! the comparison to old bones! Love it!

Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. “Come no farther,” the lordling warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s.

He’s only eighteen! Way too many of the characters in ASOIAF are essentially babies. And this is probably another nod to Jon, who is only fourteen at the start go AGOT. None of this “he’s three, he needs to toughen the fuck up” that Ned is fond of. Babies, I say! Children!

Waymar throws back the cloak that Will has been fixating on the whole time, and faces the Other and it’s creepy ice sword.

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

What a great line! I’ll use it whenever one of my professors challenge me in class. Duel over my final marks

But in all serious, this is such a fantastic line. And the bit about him being a boy no longer, but a man of the NW is great as well. It most obviously is foreshadowing for Jon, as his changes from the unsure kid, to the Lord Commander, but I think this could also go for Sam as well, who finds his courage in his brothers. 

The Other halts, and Will gets to see it’s eyes, a bright blue, “a blue that burned like ice.” And the ice and fire as opposite but equal forces motif continues. And as another side note, blue sometimes associated with death in the Middle Ages, and it’s interesting that George chose to associate it so strongly with the Others. 

Waymar does his best but the Other’s pale blue blade gets him. Waymar rallies one last time, with a cry of “For Robert!” but his blade shatters, and down he goes. I think it’s interesting that Waymar choses “For Robert” as his last battle cry, but it makes sense. Robert as king of the Seven Kingdoms is the “Protector of the Realm.” In theory, he should be the one defending Westeros from this threat. In practice, it’s probably going to be the Stark in Winterfell, who is the one who pretty much always helps out WF. 

Will waits until the laughter of the “watchers” in the trees dissipates, which is described as ‘sharp as icicles.” Really driving home that the Others are the personification of ice here. 

He crawls down when he thinks the coast is clear, to check Waymar’s body. 

 Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.

Yeah, Jon’s fate was sealed since AGOT.

Will picks up Waymar’s shattered sword, hoping to bring it back as proof.But unfortunately for Will, dead doesn’t quite mean the same thing as it used to. The corpse of Waymar, a wight, rises up. A shard from the shattered sword has pierced Waymar’s eye.

His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye.

The first piece of evidence that Jon is going to lose an eye! Pretty much everything that has happened to Waymar in this chapter, will happen to Jon by ADWD, which means Jon will probably lose an eye. Just like Jonnel One-Eye Stark. 

Will’s last thoughts, as the undead Waymar’s hands close over his throat, is that his touchy is ice cold. 

*guitar riff* 

WOW, what a doozy of prologue. A lot happened here. ASOIAF is a heavy metal series, and the Wall plotline is undoubtedly the most heavy metal part of the series, which is why I love it.

In conclusion, forehshadowing, spooky trees, and Westeros, specifically Jon is fucked. 

In order the capture the full Heavy Metal-ness of ASOIAF, have this playlist by @starkmaiden

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ChfZs9Vm3mjFoLEPaVoRn?si=e4ade6bdd61e4c55

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Revenge of CHAOTICA! edition

EPISODE 8 —THE PLOT THINNENS!— “There’s a warehouse in the district near this port where he’s seen a lot of Warforged around. And on top of that, lot of Imperial soldiers trying not to look like imperial soldiers.” Katt: “It’s the crew cuts and shined shoes, every time.” Thunderchild nods: “Oh yes, soldiers failing to not look like soldiers is usually a good sign that there's important government shit that needs to be either stolen or blown up.” “I do like to earn my reputation. A living client is a happy client.” "On the other paw, dead men leave no 1-star reviews.” “And an unhappy client neatly fills a shallow ditch.” GM: If you want to approach them give me a stealth check… Katt: *rolls a nat-20* GM: You are vengeance and the night. Moonpaw: *rolls a nat-11* GM: They don’t seem to notice you either. But with less being the night. GM OOC: [name] stop rolling twenties. Roll for damage. Kat roundhouse kicks him into a convenient dumpster….Katt stops, pulls him out of the dumpster to check him for keys, ID and wallet before dropping him back in. Fiver: "Ugh, racist elves, how stock." Moonpaw: "It's one thing to be an asshole. It's another level to carry around evidence.” Fiver: "Not only are they a faschy piece of garbage, they're a cliche faschy piece of garbage.” To be fair, along with humans, Swamp Elves are the rednecks of Mongo Space. "Always going on about how 'Swampworld will rise again'. Sure it will.” Like, Batman is not stealthing through the only door in the room. "What seems to be the officer, problem?” “Where did the Tabaxi come from?” "I dunno, yer mom?” Moonpaw's ears twitch again. "And the plan devolves to fighting, as usual.” “Okay…New rule. When I am doing undercover bad guy thing, no one is allowed to accompany me unless they are shorter than 3 feet tall.” GM: [name], have you ever played a non-horrible PC? Thunderchild: “Yup, someone out there (whether up or down is up for debate) is definitely playing a joke on me. I do not like encountering inferior fascist versions of people I know.” The lizardman was planning on convincing them to leave the army and start a soup kitchen on Dune. OOC: Okay now I feel bad. “But-then-they-won’t-be-the-rings-of-my-enemies-as-spoils-of-war.” OOC: (I'm like the Mike Nelson of the Group. I'm the responsible one on paper. but its like saying you're the older brother cause you were born five minutes sooner out of a set of triplets.) OOC: To be fair, they do make excellent off-the-cuff-NPCs. We should just keep running into weirdly similar trios as we adventure. OOC2: Our version of Dibbler. Fiver raids the fridge before heading up the stairs to the next level. GM: They have Nuka Cola Orange. "I-will-try-to-read-their-lips. Wait. Circles-dont-have-lips..." “Now you nincompoop!” “Fiver-is-no-kind-of-poop..." Fiver clutches his chest and holds out his rabbits foot "May the Black Rabbit steal your fruity cereals.” “Gah! Assassins! You’ll not catch Doctor Nivasi unaware!” And then he pulls out a remote and flees into an escape pod that he of course had. Thunderchild: “So now we switch to plan: kill everything hostile, steal everything not nailed down and then light a fire on the way out?” "I always wanted to depreciate a mad scientist’s car.” Thunderchild: “Okay, first thing to do is stop hitting yourself.” Moonpaw: "Actual advice would be useful! I only know how to do the one thing!” Thunderchild: “Try not to die. I don't know why people expect me to have good advice to give in these situations.” “It's-a-double-sided-mirror! I-can’t-stab-it-without-stabbing-me!” "Fork, it's mounted on immovable rods!” OOC: Sudden twist. Trunky is a vampire. Well, technically only Moonpaw rolled high enough for that, but she’s only been sentient a week, so one of the others shouts it. Fiver: “It’s fine. SMASH THE FUCKER.” Thunderchild: "Like 70% chance she'll be fine.” GM: 60% at the worst! Thunderchild: “Worse comes to worse I'm an expert at fixing machines. And people.” Robbins: “Amber’s-going-to-become-a-distillery-isn’t-she?” Thunderchild: “I can build other things!” Amber: "Don't you even think about it! When I die I will become a blacksmith's forge, no still for you.” However, it’s at this point you see the screen behind where the mirror was showing the number 14. 13. 12. "What's that for?" Moonpaw goes up to the screen. Robbins: “I-think-it’s-bluffing.” Thunderchild: “If that had not exploded we would have looked really silly.” “Folks, I’m guessin’ that’s where we’re headed,” Tango says, pointing to an immense space station, like a factory complex in space. “Thats-no-moon..." "It isn't obvious?” OOC: Eggman...The Fastest Thing Alive. OOC: Captain Thunderchild’s Militarized Still. The Distillery Artillery. OOC: Basically, yeah: you boil a thing with alcohol to catch the alcohol vapor and have more-concentrated alcohol.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Sansa I (Chapter 6)

My little honeyed ham!

Sansa had watched from the castle walls as Margaery Tyrell and her escort made their way up Aegon's High Hill. Joffrey had met his new bride-to-be at the King's Gate to welcome her to the city, and they rode side by side through cheering crowds, Joff glittering in gilded armor and the Tyrell girl splendid in green with a cloak of autumn flowers blowing from her shoulders. She was sixteen, brown-haired and brown-eyed, slender and beautiful. The people called out her name as she passed, held up their children for her blessing, and scattered flowers under the hooves of her horse.

The Tyrells were responsible for the famine in King's Landing.

+.+.+

Would he command his Kingsguard to strip her naked once again? The last time he had done that his uncle Tyrion had stopped him, but the Imp could not save her now.

A BEAR! A BEAR!

+.+.+

No one can save me but my Florian. Ser Dontos had promised he would help her escape, but not until the night of Joffrey's wedding.

A BEAR! A BEAR!

+.+.+

I wish the Hound were here. The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she'd been wise.

A BEAR! A BEAR!

+.+.+

Even so, she must accept. She was nothing now, the discarded daughter of a traitor and disgraced sister of a rebel lord. She could scarcely refuse Joffrey's queen-to-be.

King, Sansa.

+.+.+

The sight of Ser Loras Tyrell standing on her threshold made Sansa's heart beat a little faster.

[...]

For a moment she did not know what to say. "Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you . . . you look so lovely."

[...]

"Your grandmother?" Sansa was finding it hard to walk and talk and think all at the same time, with Ser Loras touching her arm.

[...]

"Oh," said Sansa. I am talking to him, and he's touching me, he's holding my arm and touching me.

[...]

"It is." Ser Loras laughed. He has the warmest laugh, she thought as he went on

[...]

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says. Desperately she tried to think of something clever and charming to say to him, but her wits had deserted her. She almost told him how beautiful he was, until she remembered that she'd already done that.

He was beautiful, though.

+.+.+

He's no boy, though, he's a man grown, a knight of the Kingsguard.

Damn, I was so sure they'd be the exact same age.

Loras was born one year earlier.

+.+.+

They have scarcely finished burying the dead from the last battle, and already they are practicing for the next one.

George is incredibly talented at differentiating the inner monologues and mannerisms of each POV character, but every once in awhile Sansa will sound exactly like her mother.

+.+.+

On the edge of the yard, a lone knight with a pair of golden roses on his shield was holding off three foes. Even as they watched, he caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. "Is that your brother?" Sansa asked.

"It is, my lady," said Ser Loras. "Garlan often trains against three men, or even four. In battle it is seldom one against one, he says, so he likes to be prepared."

"He must be very brave."

Jon drew his longsword. He dared defy Ser Alliser only to a point, and he feared he was well beyond it now.

Thorne smiled. "The Bastard wishes to defend his lady love, so we shall make an exercise of it. Rat, Pimple, help our Stone Head here." Rast and Albett moved to join Halder. "Three of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal. All you need do is get past the Bastard." - Jon IV, AGOT

+.+.+

"He is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance."

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle." - Jon I, AGOT

+.+.+

"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

He doesn't remember, Sansa realized, startled. He is only being kind to me, he doesn't remember me or the rose or any of it. She had been so certain that it meant something, that it meant everything. A red rose, not a white.

You're not his rose, Sansa.

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. You know nothing, Jon Snow." - Jon III, ASOS

You're not his rose, Ygritte.

+.+.+

Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roofed keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts.

Love these little anecdotes about Targaryens lusting over their sisters constantly showing up in Sansa's chapters.

+.+.+

"I am aware of that, child. It's said that your Tully grandfather is dying too. Lord Hoster, surely they told you? An old man, though not so old as me. Still, night falls for all of us in the end, and too soon for some. You would know that more than most, poor child. You've had your share of grief, I know. We are sorry for your losses."

Hold up, how am I only now realizing we never get Sansa's reaction to Bran and Rickon being killed?

Holy fuck, George is a clown sometimes.

+.+.+

"They tried to marry me to a Targaryen once, but I soon put an end to that."

Pretty sure that Targaryen rejected her.

Nobody give me any more background, I've already learned too much about Targaryens against my will.

+.+.+

You Starks were kings once, the Arryns and the Lannisters as well, and even the Baratheons through the female line, but the Tyrells were no more than stewards until Aegon the Dragon came along and cooked the rightful King of the Reach on the Field of Fire.

Does that mean the next one is going to reverse it all?

+.+.+

My son ought to take the puff fish for his sigil, if truth be told. He could put a crown on it, the way the Baratheons do their stag, mayhap that would make him happy.

[...]

Sansa's mouth opened and closed. She felt very like a puff fish herself.

A fish with a crown on its head, wouldn't that be a sight to behold.

+.+.+

"The Tyrells can trace their descent back to Garth Greenhand," was the best she could manage at short notice.

The Queen of Thorns snorted. "So can the Florents, the Rowans, the Oakhearts, and half the other noble houses of the south. Garth liked to plant his seed in fertile ground, they say.

Who are the Tyrells trying to plant their seed in right now?

+.+.+

"Lemon cakes are my favorite," Sansa admitted.

"So we have been told," declared Lady Olenna, who obviously had no intention of being hushed. "That Varys creature seemed to think we should be grateful for the information.

Knowing Varys is assisting the Tyrells with all of this, I have to assume he knows what Littlefinger is up to.

Sorry Varys, Littlefinger is going to win this one.

+.+.+

All men are fools, if truth be told, but the ones in motley are more amusing than ones with crowns.

Yes, yes. All men are knights, all men are fools, and some even wear crowns.

"A fool and a knight?" said Jonquil. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Sweet lady," said Florian, "all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned." - The Hedge Knight

+.+.+

An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. "Break it, my lady," he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. "Catch them!" Butterbumps exclaimed.

"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. - Daenerys III, AGOT

It seems to me that whenever an egg cracks, children are being born.

Don't shoot the messenger.

+.+.+

Should you ever have a son, Sansa, beat him frequently so he learns to mind you.

Amazing how many people give Sansa parenting advice.

+.+.+

All these kings would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers."

Catelyn, yes. Cersei, no.

+.+.+

Sansa glanced about nervously.

[...]

No one seemed to be paying them any mind, but even so, she was frightened.

[...]

Ser Dontos had warned her to speak freely only in the godswood.

[...]

"Are you frightened, child? No need for that, we're only women here. Tell me the truth, no harm will come to you."

[...]

"Joffrey," Sansa said. "Joffrey did that. He promised me he would be merciful, and cut my father's head off. He said that was mercy, and he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. The head. He wanted me to weep, but . . ." She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth. I've said too much, oh gods be good, they'll know, they'll hear, someone will tell on me.

[...]

What if she tells him, what if she tells? He'll kill me for certain then, or give me to Ser Ilyn.

[...]

"She's terrified, Grandmother, just look at her."

[...]

"But," Sansa said, "Varys . . . he knows, he always . . ."

[...]

Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat. The Queen of Thorns was so close she could smell the old woman's sour breath. Her gaunt thin fingers were pinching her wrist. To her other side, Margaery was listening as well. A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well."

Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

"That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him. - Bran I, AGOT

+.+.+

The wrinkled old lady smiled. "At Highgarden we have many spiders amongst the flowers. So long as they keep to themselves we let them spin their little webs, but if they get underfoot we step on them."

I'll be storing this in my brain.

+.+.+

"OH, SWEET SHE WAS, AND PURE, AND FAIR! THE MAID WITH HONEY IN HER HAIR!"

"You will love Highgarden as I do, I know it." Margaery brushed back a loose strand of Sansa's hair.

Hey look, a maid with honey in her hair!

Val looked at him with pale grey eyes. "He always climbed too fast." She was as fair as he'd remembered, slender, full-breasted, graceful even at rest, with high sharp cheekbones and a thick braid of honey-colored hair that fell to her waist. - Jon X, ASOS

Nice description.

+.+.+

Wed to Ser Loras, oh . . . Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armor, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.

Sansa is losing full composure in the middle of soup. Lol

+.+.+

"Loras?" Lady Olenna sounded annoyed. "Don't be foolish, child. Kingsguard never wed. Didn't they teach you anything in Winterfell? We were speaking of my grandson Willas.

A BEAR! A BEAR!

+.+.+

"He was hurt as a squire, riding in his first tourney," Margaery confided. "His horse fell and crushed his leg."

Poor Leo Tyrell.

+.+.+

"I CALLED FOR A KNIGHT, BUT YOU'RE A BEAR! A BEAR! A BEAR! ALL BLACK AND BROWN AND COVERED WITH HAIR!"

Called for a knight, and got Dontos, the Hound, Willas, and Tyrion instead.

Where is that gosh darn knight?

+.+.+

"I thought that dreadful song would never end," said the Queen of Thorns. "But look, here comes my cheese."

Don't you worry little Sansa, that dreaded song will eventually end.

Final thoughts:

Forever smug over Sansa having the best chapters in the best book.

-> return to menu <-

[agentrouka-blog]

Do you think whenever something is mentioned next to the phrase "if gods are good" then the likelihood of that event happening is miniscule and the opposite of that happens?

Hi anon, 

you can't do this to me! I get curious and stupid.

I went and checked out every mention of that phrase (excluding “Gods be good” or the affirmative “the gods were good” - coming to a total of 42 uses) and it is exactly as you say. 

It’s almost a guarantee for the opposite.

Curiously, the pattern only holds up through ASOS and begins to corrode in AFFC. In ADWD and the TWOW sample chapters, the chances of things happening in spite of the phrase increase quite a bit. 

Let’s look at all the examples. :)

~~~

"If the gods are good, I shall not be here on your return. You commanded me to return to Winterfell, remember?" (AGOT, Eddard X)

-> -> Ned stays and dies.

"If the gods are good, they will grant us a warm autumn and bountiful harvests, so we might prepare for the winter to come." (ACOK, Prologue)

-> -> They don’t.

"Shae is not the first to grace my bed, and one day I may take a wife and sire a son. If the gods are good, he'll look like his uncle and think like his father." (ACOK, Tyrion II)

-> -> UNDECIDED, but strong tendency toward NO.

"Good. Craster's Keep is just ahead. If the gods are good, he'll let us sleep by his fire." (ACOK, Jon III)

-> -> Jon doesn’t.

And if the gods are good, Bywater will find Arya alive, before Robb learns she's gone missing. (ACOK, Tyrion VI)

-> -> He doesn’t.

If you never tell, never speak of it, will it become only a dream, less than a dream, a nightmare half-remembered? Oh, if only the gods would be so good. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

-> -> SEMI-SUBVERTED. Bran and Rickon are NOT dead. But it’s not because Catelyn kept silent, and she never finds out.

“It's Cersei and Tyrion who concern me. As well as my lord father."

"They live, all three." But not long, if the gods are good. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

-> -> All three outlive Catelyn.

"I want him burned. If the gods are good, they'll burn him, but I won't be here to see. I'm going." (ACOK, Sansa VII)

-> -> Tyrion is slashed with a sword, not burned. MAYBE LATER?

"If the gods are good," Osha said in a low angry voice, "the Others will take them that did this work." (ACOK, Bran VII)

-> -> UNDECIDED but it doubt we’ll see Ramsay return as a wight if his dogs eat him?

If the gods are good, a patrol will chance by and put an end to this. (ASOS, Jon IV)

-> -> No patrol appears, the wildlings climb the Wall.

If the gods are good, they will send her a daughter, Sam prayed. (ASOS, Samwell II)

-> -> Gilly’s child is a boy.

He wondered if Petyr Baelish had reached the Vale yet. If the gods are good, he ran into a storm at sea and sank. (ASOS, Tyrion VI)

-> He lives.

If the gods were good, the Mad Mouse would make the same mistake.  (AFFC, Brienne II)

-> Her stalker ends up being Podrick, who doesn’t underestimate her at all.

"Our lord father was murdered in that tower. I cannot bear to look at it. If the gods are good, the fire may smoke a few rats from the rubble."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Tyrion, you mean." (AFFC, Cersei III)

-> No Tyrion appears.

If the gods are good, we will pass Maidenpool before he knows that I am there. ( AFFC, Brienne III)

-> She cannot avoid Randyll Tarly.

"If the gods are good, we may catch a glimpse of a unicorn." (AFFC, Samwell II)

-> -> No unicorns for Dareon.

"Let them rot there," declared Ser Kennos cheerfully. "If the gods are good, they'll be swallowed up in quicksand or gobbled down by lizard-lions." (AFFC, Jaime IV)

-> -> They are not.

"If the gods are good, you will have sons of your blood to follow you. Why would you throw all that away for . . . for some vow?" (AFFC, Jaime IV)

-> -> UNDECIDED but strong tendency that Lancel will never have children.

If the gods were good, he would give Ser Loras the glorious end he seemed to want. (...) Ser Loras lusts for glory as real men lust for women, the least the gods can do is grant him a death worthy of a song. (AFFC, Cersei VII)

-> -> He is horribly injured and disfigured but lives.

If the gods were good, each of them would kill the other, like Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk. (AFFC, Cersei VII)

-> -> UNDECIDED but strong tendency that Bronn and Loras will not kill each other.

As for his lady mother, if the gods are good this news will kill her. (AFFC, Cersei VIII)

-> -> Loras remains alive and so does Olenna.

"The smallfolk call it the crossroads inn. Elder Brother told me that two of Masha Heddle's nieces have opened it to trade once again." He raised his staff. "If the gods are good, that smoke rising beyond the hanged men will be from its chimneys." (AFFC, Brienne VII) 

-> -> SUBVERTED. It is the Crossroads Inn.

If the gods are good, he'll slip and fall. (AFFC; Brienne VII)

-> -> Rorge doesn’t. Biter will push her into the mud, though.

If the gods were good, Wat might die beneath the lash, leaving Margaery with no way to disprove his testimony. (AFFC, Cersei X)

-> -> Wat the blue bard remains alive.

The most beautiful woman in the world, thought Quentyn. My bride-to-be, if the gods are good. (ADWD, The Merchant’s Man)

-> -> Nope.

It will be warmer when the sun comes up. If the gods are good, the Wall may weep. (ADWD, Jon II)

-> -> No mention is made of the Wall weeping that day.

If the gods were good, Lannister's severed head was halfway back to King's Landing by now, but more like the dwarf was hale and whole and somewhere close, stinking drunk and plotting some new infamy. (ADWD, The Lost Lord)

-> -> Tyrion’s head remains attached.

"If the gods are good, we won't encounter any wildlings. I'll want the grey gelding." (ADWD, Jon VII)

-> -> They do.

He will give me back to Ramsay then, he thought, and Ramsay will take a few more fingers and turn me into Reek once more. Unless the gods were good, and Stannis Baratheon descended on Winterfell and put all of them to the sword, himself included. That was the best he could hope for. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

-> -> He doesn’t. Making it unlikely that Stannis will kill Theon at all.

"Val will return." Before Stannis, if the gods are good. (ADWD, Jon VIII)

-> -> SUBVERTED. Val does return, and before Stannis too.

If the gods are good, by now she has found Tormund Giantsbane. (ADWD, Jon IX)

-> -> SUBVERTED. Val has found Tormund by then, indeed.

Red Jeyne and Jez and Helicent would tear him to pieces if the gods were good. Or worse, he might be taken back alive. (ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell)

-> -> It happens very differently.

If the gods were good, he might stumble on the Blackfish, or lure Beric Dondarrion into an unwise attack.  (ADWD, Jaime I)

-> -> None of this happens on the way to Raventree.

Brienne, where are you? Have you found her? "… if the gods are good, she'll forget she was a Stark. She'll wed some burly blacksmith or fat-faced innkeep, fill his house with children, and never need to fear that some knight might come along to smash their heads against a wall."

"The gods are good," his hostage said, uncertainly. (ADWD, Jaime I)

-> -> Neither Stark sister forgets who she is, and neither is likely to do the above.

With Rowan's help, Theon got Jeyne Poole into Squirrel's clothes. If the gods are good and the guards are blind, she may pass. (ADWD, Theon I)

-> -> SUBVERTED. Jeyne is not recognized.

She is not my queen, he might have said. If truth be told, the day of her departure cannot come too fast for me. And if the gods are good, she will take Melisandre with her. (ADWD, Jon XI)

-> -> UNDECIDED.

If the gods were good, the wrinkled old cunt might crash into Septa Unella and take her down with her. (ADWD, Cersei I)

-> -> No septas go tumbling down stairs.

Tormund turned back. "You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up … how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

We will see, Jon thought, remembering the things that Sam had told him, the things he'd found in his old books. Longclaw had been forged in the fires of old Valyria, forged in dragonflame and set with spells. Dragonsteel, Sam called it. Stronger than any common steel, lighter, harder, sharper … But words in a book were one thing. The true test came in battle. 

"You are not wrong," Jon said. "I do not know. And if the gods are good, I never will." (ADWD, Jon XII)

-> -> UNDECIDED. But the bit about dragonsteel is kind of begging to be subverted big time.

And if the gods are good, you will not dream of dragons. (ADWD, The Queen’s Hand)

-> -> UNDECIDED. We have no clue what Missandei dreams of. 

If the gods were good, by now Obara Sand had treed him in his mountain fastness and put an end to him. (TWOW, Arianne I)

-> -> UNDECIDED. But unlikely to be that easy.

"Your lordship should not believe such nonsense," Alayne said. "I'm sure Ser Harrold loves you well." And if the gods are good, he will love me too.  (TWOW, Alayne I)

-> -> UNDECIDED. But extremely unlikely, given his terrible first impression and his red shirt status.

He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him. (TWOW, Alayne I)

-> -> UNDECIDED. But begging to be subverted, since everyone is counting on him to die. Maybe he’ll just go bald really early.

[amymel86]

Bitches keep starting new Jonsa fics!

I’m bitches.

Shit. It happened again. Sansa really doesn’t need to be thinking about this on the day before her wedding but it happened AGAIN. The Red Keep Hotel’s 400 thread count, Braavosi cotton sheets are still balled up in her clenched fists. Sweat still dampens her brow.

A quick look over at the heavy blackout curtains shows no hint of daylight peeking from around the drapes. And stretching over to unplug her charging phone confirms that it is not yet dawn on this – her ‘Wedding Day Eve’ as Beth had coined it.

Should she make a call to her therapist once the world starts to wake up? She won’t go into great detail this time of course – but Sansa had thought that these dreams had stopped. It’s been ages since he’s featured in them and tonight-

Tonight...

Tonight he’d fucked her in her wedding dress.

Oh, Gods! How awful is that? Sansa is due to get married in under 48 hours and she’s dreaming of having sex with her groom’s brother?!

Deep breath.

Sansa closes her eyes.

In.

Out.

What was it that Brienne had suggested during their last session when she’d brought up the dreams?

“You may be manifesting these kinds of dreams because Jon is one of – if not the only – person that, outwardly, doesn’t show that he likes you. You’ve admitted yourself that you are a people-pleaser, Sansa, and I can imagine having someone in your life that you can’t seem to please would frustrate you very much.”

She was right, of course. It did frustrate her. Sansa was good at getting on with people – with everybody.

Except for Jon.

Even when they were younger, back in the north. That was before his dad had made contact with him – back when all he was was Miss Snow’s boy – the boy next door – the boy who was Robb’s best friend. He was always at their house but Sansa had little to no interest in him at the time and she was sure he had felt the same.

They were just too different.

The only time she really remembers having any kind of connection with him was when she’d hugged him for beating Joff’s ass when he’d hit her. But even that – she’s sure he’d only stepped in out of a sense of loyalty to Robb. The rest of the time he hardly acknowledged her beyond a bored looking grunt.

He’d gone away to college and Sansa had heard through Robb and Arya that he’d later dropped out, tried his luck down in King’s Landing at one of his father’s many, many investment businesses.

That hadn’t worked out either.

Sansa had just about forgotten all about Jon Snow – the boy next door – when, just three years ago, he’d contacted her via her old email of all things – couldn’t he have slid into her DMs on one of her socials like a normal person?

After short chats back and forth for a while – honestly, Sansa hadn’t been aware that Jon even knew how to hold a conversation until then - she’d found out that he had stayed down in King’s Landing and owned his own tattoo parlour now – a far cry from the respectable suit and tie gig that his father had envisioned for him.

He knew she was desperate to visit the capital and invited her to do just that.

That had been the first time she’d met his brother, her now fiancé, Aegon.

... and now she can’t seem to stop having sex dreams about a man who is decidedly not her husband-to-be. Honestly, he’s not even nice to her half the time and she doesn’t even know why – what has she ever done to him that was so bad? Aegon says Jon’s just too used to living and working in Fleabottom now – that the rough side of the city has rubbed off on him and caused him to forget his manners.

Sansa wonders if he ever had any in the first place?

Then she remembers how his lack of manners had made her react in one of those dreams and she can feel her whole body flush from her head to her toes.

“Mmm, fuck! You all wet for me, Princess?” Jon rumbles, his strong hands pinning her wrists back into the bed as he fills her. She whines before cutting off the noise with a bite to her lip. “Oh no, none of that,” he nips, teasing out her plump bottom lip with his own teeth, “I wanna hear aaall the noises Little Miss Perfect makes when she comes.”

Her heart is hammering in her chest as she stares up at him above her, a devious smirk on his face while he fucks her slow and measured.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth, Jon Snow,” she hisses.

His smile doesn’t falter, his hands tighten around her wrists above her head. “I think you like my dirty mouth.” His hips halt their torturously drawn-out movements and he stills, his cock completely buried inside her. He kisses Sansa with more force and desperation than she’s ever experienced, all while his body lay heavy and still above her. She squirms and whimpers – she wants more. Jon lets a self-satisfied chuckle escape their kiss.

“I hate you!” she pants when he finally releases her from his lips. His tattooed arms skim down her frame and then faster than is possible, he flips them so that she now straddles his hips. Sansa braces herself on his chest as he grins up at her.

“That’s right, baby,” he coos, voice rough, hands smoothing up and down her thighs, “show me how much you hate me, sweetheart.”

“Christ,” Sansa curses, falling back against the sheets at the memory. She stares up at the ceiling for two, maybe three seconds before rolling to her side. Huffing, Sansa shoves a pillow between her legs and prays for more sleep – preferably dreamless.

***

Fuck! Jon wants to throw something – his phone, a pillow – something. He can’t because Ygritte is asleep beside him, here in this swanky hotel bed in the middle of the night. But Jon can’t sleep. He doesn’t know why he can’t sleep – well, that’s a barefaced fucking lie but Jon refuses to look too closely at it because if he does, he’ll get mad all over again and even further from drifting off.

The night is dead still and heavy as he sits up, letting the fancy, soft sheets fall away from around his waist. Briefly, Jon considers waking Ygritte up and offering to go down on her – that always led to sex and if he got some, maybe he could sleep? Urgh – no. That was pretty fucking selfish. Plus, his girlfriend has been in a mood with him since she’s not keen on weddings, nor his family and Jon is kind of forcing her to go to this thing anyway.

There was no fucking way that he was gonna show up alone to watch his brother marry Little Miss Perfect. The only way he managed to sway her was by revealing that his father had already paid for their suite for three nights and that there would be a free bar at the wedding.

Sighing, Jon scrubs his hands down his face and reaches for his glasses. His phone tells him that it’s 2am.

The en suite bathroom light flickers on and the extractor fan kicks in instantly. Jon cuts the noise as fast as he can by flipping the exterior switch. Ygritte turns over in bed but doesn’t wake.

Closing the door with a soft click, Jon lets out a breath. The light overhead hums quietly and the reflection in the over-sink mirror is a sorry and accusing one. Bracing his weight on the porcelain sink, Jon glares at himself. His eyes catch on one of the first tattoos he’d ever gotten; a dragonfly in flight over his heart.

“Fucking hell, you’re pathetic,” he whispers to himself.

Maybe he just needs to jerk off and then he’ll be able to sleep?

Jon snorts snidely at himself. Yeah, ‘cause that’s not pathetic at all. Christ.

He almost walks out the bathroom but then stops, coming back to the basin and opening his phone. It’s not pathetic. He is a man – he has needs, dammit! As long as he’s just looking at generic porn and doesn’t open up that hidden file he has that contains images and videos from a certain person’s social media, then it’s fine – it’s all fine!

His traitorous thumb hovers over that file none-the-less.

Oh, so we’re just gonna jerk off to pictures of the bride on the day before her wedding, are we?

“I can’t handle this,” he grumbles - grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees sparkles.

Standing in the doorway, the light from the bathroom behind him floods in and lands upon one of the little amenity tables backed up against the adjacent wall. On top had been an expensive looking vase of fresh roses and a professional brochure listing all the important information about the hotel and their stay. It had boasted a long list of facilities – including a 24hr gym.

If Jon’s feeling too guilty to see to his frustrations one way – perhaps he should try another.

[sonderthroughthestreets]

Skdjdbd I keep forgetting it’s Halloween soon but I started writing this Sobbe Ghost AU a while ago

Robbe moves into this old run-down apartment building and his used to belong to this guy who’s unfortunately been in a coma for a year now due to a car accident. He meets Milan who’s also a resident there and he shows him around the building. When Robbe first steps inside, there’s remnants of the previous tenant everywhere and a cold energy that he can’t explain.

There’s paintings and this old record player that they left behind and Robbe for some reason asks to keep them. He meets Jens, another resident of the building and on his daily bike ride to his uni, he always sees a girl with short, black hair, a septum piercing and tattoos smoking a cigarette. He never gets the courage to actually talk to her. Some days she fades in and out like she’s not really real. Anyways, as he continues to live in his flat, Jens comes up to him and they have a conversation about the building. Mostly joking about everyone here is pretty old and they’re probably the youngest people there. But then Jens goes:

How are you holding up?

Robbe: good, good. My sink’s broken again though.

Jens: oh. So, no like, weird noises or weird stuff happening at your place?

Robbe: Well, uh, Milan said there’s always weird noises since the building’s pretty old so. How come?

Jens: Well, it’s just I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff living here. They say that old people are the link to death. The closest thing to death really. So when someone dies around here, their spirit kind of sticks around for a bit.

Robbe: Oh, but the old tenant didn’t die, he’s in a coma

And Jens pauses for a second, a lift in the corner of his lips and a glint in his eyes that make him look wiser and make Robbe look naive.

Jens: Well you know what they also say. Sleep is death’s cousin.

Robbe doesn’t take it to heart much. It’s all with a grain of salt as he Jens nods and walks away. But somehow he can’t ignore this weird feeling gnawing at his insides.

And that’s how he starts paying better attention, stops blaming everything on a lack of sleep. For a while he hears scratching of paint and brushstrokes on a canvas, the record playing at odd hours of the night and his sink is broken but he swears he’s heard someone turn the tap on to get a glass of water. He’s a man of science and he thinks there’s no such things as ghosts but the third night that he hears footsteps walk over to the record player to play what he found out is Bowie, he starts to believe in them.

“Hey!” he shouts to the empty air. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I would like to get some sleep, yeah? No one plays Bowie at 3 in the morning”

“You know Bowie?” a deep, intrigued voice materializes along with the body it belongs to. He’s got bleached hair and a Bowie shirt on, black jeans and Docs on his feet.

Robbe isnt just startled. He literally screams.

Somehow it doesn’t wake up everyone in the building and they start talking and asking questions and that starts their whole journey. Yk the whole “who are you?” “How did you die?” (“I’m not dead. I think.”) “Can you feel?” “I’m not sharing this place with a ghost” “excuse you this place is MINE actually” “ITS BEEN A YEAR” blah blah

They get closer and closer and start bonding and finding things out about each other. Having late night conversations and shenanigans where Sander can actually materialize next to Robbe outside of the apartment because, well, he’s not quite dead. He’s just asleep in a hospital bed somewhere. And Robbe finds it hard to trust people, he’s been on his own for so long and Sander wants the exact opposite of that, he wants autonomy, a living space of his own, freedom. That’s why he’d moved out against his parents wishes and came to live here.

At some point there’s tension and angst where they get into a fight about their parents because throughout there’s a theme that Sander’s parents were amazing people and Robbe kind of can’t stand it. So the convo goes something like this:

Robbe: Oh yeah, well if ur parents are so perfect, Why is it that in all the nine months, in the past three months, in one WHOLE YEAR, nobody has ever come to visit you? Not one single person

They don’t know Sander’s in a coma, he got into a fight with them the night of the car accident. Sander tells him everything and about how loved he felt. But how much love is too much love? Until it starts to suffocate you?

Robbe: I think they were just scared

Sander: Yeah but that’s the thing they shouldn’t be. I’m allowed to live my life. I’m allowed to have one outside of their world

Robbe: Yeah you are

I wish I had parents like you. My mom got sick when I was pretty young. Wasn’t right in the head and Uh, started seeing things that weren’t there. My dad couldn’t handle it so like the asshole he is he left. Pretty soon my mom did too. She checked herself into an institution to get better. And I guess she did and still is, day by day. But the things I’ve had to go through, that shit stays with me you know. It doesn’t just go away.

You know schizophrenia has a genetic component? 7% of it is genetic and if one parent has it the risk is at 13% chance of the child getting it

Sander: That doesn’t sound so bad. Are you scared you’re gonna end up like your mom?

Robbe: No. Not really. Because I know the things I see are all in my head or it’s just a dream. It’s not real. Not like it is for my mom.

Sander: Hmmm. You know mental illness isn’t the worst thing. It’s usually the judgment of having it that makes it harder to live with. The shame that comes with it.

Robbe: Oh, I’m not ashamed of it.

Sander: I guess I’m not either. But now I’m in a coma and I’m a ghost and I can’t even take my fucking meds

They’re laughing by the end of it and the tension eases. And of course they’re falling in love a little throughout it all.

“I wish I could touch you,” Sander whispers one night when he thinks Robbe’s asleep. There’s such a longing and desperation in his voice that Robbe decides right then and there to visit him in the hospital and try to wake him up. Because in all honesty, he wishes he could touch him, too. That he could give him all the comfort he needs, that he could feel even a sliver of what he thinks Sander would feel if they were able to hold each other’s hand or embrace in a hug.

And then Idk to go from here but Sander wakes up and they get together 😌

This whole thing is a mess and if anyone wants to write it properly I’ll love you forever 🥺🥰💕

[ladycatofwinterfell]

In sickness and in health

Summary: Her forty fifth birthday is undoubtedly the worst one in Catelyn’s life. Ned is desperate to help her, but that proves to be hard.

So what my mutuals and I decided is Cat’s birthday was today, and of course I had to do something for my fave birthday girl. Which then lead to angst, angst, and more angst. Enjoy!

“And when did you start smoking again?”

Catelyn took another deep drag from her cigarette.

“Spare me the lecture, I’ve heard it a thousand times already.”

Ned sighed and sat next to her on the porch. Not close enough to touch her, though. The fact that it was his way to silently protest didn’t escape her.

“I only asked when you started again” he said, pretending that he didn’t mind.

As if he didn’t absolutely hate it.

“You think this is unnecessary” she stated.

“Of course I do. You’ve been clean for more than twenty years, why break that now?”

“I’m not starting again, it’s just this once.”

Ned clearly didn’t believe her, but it was true. She wouldn’t fall back into that pit even though she was tempted. What was even the point? She would die sooner or later anyway. Most likely sooner. The doctors tried to be optimistic, but she was aware of that her chances were slim. As was Ned. Not the rest of them, though. They were all happily unaware of that she had been handed what could be a death sentence earlier that day.

“Why?” Ned asked.

“I’m dying no matter what I do, one cigarette won’t affect that.”

“You’re not dying. You’ll get treatment and you’ll live.”

He wasn’t stupid, he knew as well as she did that her chances of survival were quite low. He held onto hope because he was too afraid to imagine the alternative. That she wouldn’t live.

Catelyn had thought that she would cry when the doctor informed her of the test results, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t felt much at all. She had sat there, with Ned holding her hand, and discovered that it left her empty.

“Or I will just die.”

“Oh stop it.”

“Stop what? Dying? I can’t really control that.”

“For fuck’s sake, Catelyn” Ned muttered.

He might as well have thrown gasoline on a fire.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Are you gonna be mad at me because I’m telling you what we both know?”

“Except for that we don’t know that!”

She flinched when he raised his voice and dropped the cigarette, which fell to the ground in front of her feet.

It was a sad sight to see. A small trail of smoke rising up in the air in the last sun of the day, a dying breath before Catelyn put it out by putting her foot on it.

“Fuck you” she mumbled.

“You have given up” Ned said.

“Does it matter to you?”

He wasn’t the one that was going to die. He would live on. He would see Arya, Bran and Rickon out of the house. He would see Sansa marry her girlfriend. He would see Robb’s son grow older. He wasn’t the one being ripped from his family, he would get to live his life.

“Of course it fucking matters to me.”

He didn’t look at her, instead had his face turned towards the ground. In the dramatic light of the sunset he looked like he was on fire. Like she had lit him on fire with her cigarette.

She was being unfair, and she knew it. She was putting her own anxiety and fear and anger on him. He didn’t deserve that. But it also made her furious that he wouldn’t just leave her alone to let her feel what she felt. That he didn’t let her sit alone and accept that she would soon be dead.

“You can’t give up” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“That’s not for you to decide!” she snapped back.

She shouldn’t have snapped at him, but still it felt so good. It felt good to raise her voice, it felt good to tell him off. He wasn’t at fault, but she had no one else to yell at. No one was at fault, she couldn’t direct it anywhere.

“Why can’t you just go back inside to the others and leave me alone? This is not your fight, this has nothing to do with you, get yourself out of it! Don’t tell me what I should do or feel!”

The way his whole body tensed at her words didn’t escape her notice.

“You’re my wife, you’re the mother of my children, you’re half of my heart. I’m not the sick one, you’re right in that, but I’m your husband. You don’t get to give up on me, and you don’t get to give up on our family. I won’t let you.”

“I’m not giving up on you.”

“Except for that you are. If you can’t fight for yourself, then fight for me, fight for our children, fight for our grandchild. Hells, fight for your cat if she’s what keeps you going. I don’t care, just please fight.”

Catelyn was so tired. So incredibly tired. Her mind was a mess, a buzzing so loud that she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts. She didn’t want to end that way, there was so much more that she needed. So much more that she wanted.

“It’s our cat” was all she got out. “We got it together.”

The surprise over that that was what she got caught up on was apparent on Ned’s face, but he also seemed to soften at that.

“Yeah, it’s our cat.”

Catelyn searched for words and found nothing. She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to express anything. It was so much bigger than what she had learned to put words on. An overwhelming mix of so many things that just trying to say it exhausted her.

Ned silently moved closer to her and put an arm around her. She rested her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes and tried to breathe. It was so difficult, she couldn’t remember how to do it properly. The air never really seemed to reach her lungs, she could only manage to draw shallow breaths.

“I don’t want to die” she mumbled.

“I know.”

She opened her eyes and raised her head so that she could look at him.

“Don’t let me die.”

“I won’t. I’ll be with you during every moment and I will help you through it.”

Inside the house her birthday dinner was happening. Forty five. She turned forty five that day. All of them were there. Her children, her grandchild, her siblings, her father, her uncle, Ned’s siblings. All of them were there and all of them were happy, and none of them knew. They would be devastated when she told them, and she wouldn’t do that to them that day. Her birthday should have been a happy day.

The door opened and she turned her head to find Rickon standing behind them.

“Lyanna wants to know if it’s time for cake soon” he said.

Catelyn put a smile on her face, could only hope it reached her eyes.

“Tell her it’s time for cake now” she said.

“Will do.”

Rickon turned and walked inside again, leaving the door open behind him. She slowly pushed herself up, closely followed by her husband.

Before she could go inside he pulled her into a hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re the strongest person I know, and together we’ll make sure you get through this” Ned whispered.

“I promise I’ll try.”

“I can’t ask more of you than that.”

[nbrook29]

Lmao I don’t know how this happened 😆

***

June 26th 2021, Saturday

When Sander wakes up, it’s to the early morning June sunlight hitting him straight in the face. There’s a vague smell of alcohol lingering in the air, and he groans pitifully when he remembers the amount of beer he drank last night; well, it wasn’t that much per se, but for his not-usually-drinking self it was a bit much, which would explain the sour taste in his mouth. He could be beating himself up for letting a little too much loose and messing up his rather strict rules, but it’s finally summertime and he was feeling so happy and free. Exams are done and over with, bigger gatherings are allowed again, and most importantly, the love of his life has just graduated high school and-

Wait. 

He blinks his eyes open, arm reaching to the other side of the bed expecting a warm body, but it’s met with cold sheets instead. 

Where did that love of his life go? 

Bones cracking when he sits up on the bed, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes like a little boy, looking around the room, a twinge of worry in his mind. Robbe was way more drunk than him yesterday, being a giggly, inebriated, lovely, messy mess that was barely standing when the party came to an end. Sander had to practically carry him to their cabin, with Robbe wrapped like a koala around his back, holding tight as he mumbled love declarations into Sander’s hair until he fell asleep, arm looped around his head and cheek resting on top of it. It was unbearably cute, but it was also a miracle Sander’s legs didn’t give out because as small as Robbe is, carrying his dead weight on his back is a challenge.

For a second, a dark scenario enters his mind, and he’s working himself up over Robbe maybe getting up at some point to throw up and being so drunk he choked in the bathroom (yes, he’s a tad dramatic), but then a scrap of paper lying on the makeshift bedside table that is his backpack catches his sight and relief washes over him. 

It’s clearly torned out from his sketchbook and he smiles before he even reaches for it.

Come and find me when you wake up x

Little hearts were added all around for good measure and then there’s another message below.

P.S. You’re so fucking hot xxxxx

Snorting, Sander thinks back to yesterday’s afternoon when he showed up to pick Robbe up with his dad’s car so they could meet everyone in Ostend. The way his jaw dropped wide open seeing his brand new look makes him feel very smug at the mere memory.

Right next to the note there’s that piece of confetti he put in Robbe’s long hair at the party, his boyfriend blushing so prettily when Sander told him he couldn’t find a flower as beautiful as him around so the confetti had to do for the time being. 

That’s Sander’s favorite activity: pulling a blush out of him with his sappy lines. Well, maybe after getting lost in their out of this world kisses. Or making love to him, slow and sweet or fast and dirty, Sander’s not picky.

5 minutes and he’s out the door after the quickest shower of his life, minty fresh and ready for a quest to find his other half. It’s still very early, the clock showing a few minutes past eight, and to be honest, Sander wonders how on earth is Robbe up and about already. He was fully preparing for a morning full of Robbe’s moans (not the good kind), cursing him for letting him drink so much and swearing on his life that he’ll never touch alcohol again.

The beach is almost empty, barely a few people lounging on the sand, and it takes him no time to spot longish brown curls flying with the force of the wind. Robbe looks lost to the world around him, sitting cross-legged and leaning back onto his arms, face turned to the sun to catch the early morning rays. A soft smile is dancing on his lips as he takes in the sight of the calm sea stretching till the horizon to the sound of whatever is playing in his headphones (probably Bowie because Robbe has a Master’s degree in his music now, courtesy of Sander Driesen) and he looks the most relaxed Sander has seen him in weeks. He looks beautiful.

And Sander is so so in love with him it hurts.

The boy must’ve sensed his presence because he turns around just when he’s a few meters away, his smile growing wide at the sight of him, squinting a little and wow, how does he look so good after a night like that? Sander wonders whether it’s his lovesick devotion that makes him see Robbe through a filter or if sleep did its job marvellously this time.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Robbe pulls at his jean jacket to sit him right next to himself and wastes no time before looping his arms around his neck, peppering his lips with good morning kisses.

“Hey, drunkie,” Sander teases once Robbe gets his fit, earning a half-hearted glare and a soft scoff.

“I was not that drunk.”

“You fell asleep on my head while I was carrying your butt to bed.”

“Well your head is very comfy,” Robbe states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for further discussion because he shuts up any snarky comment Sander may have had with another kiss. That’s a-okay with him, and he tangles his hand in Robbe’s gorgeous locks that he will worship till the day he dies, never missing an occasion to bury his fingers in the tangled strands. The other hand joins in the fun, tugging playfully at the earring he’s also a tiny bit too obsessed with and delighting in the high-pitched sound it pulls out of Robbe.

“What are you doing here so early? I thought you’d be dead to the world till at least noon.” Sander makes himself comfy in Robbe’s embrace, leaning against him and playing with Robbe’s long fingers that are resting on his stomach.

The boy huffs a quiet laugh, a warm puff of air tickling Sander’s neck. “I think it’s the sea breeze making me sober up quicker than normally,” he pauses, hand nudging lightly at Sander’s chin to make him lift his head back and meet his eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he continues. “That and also I think that I was less drunk on alcohol and more drunk on love.”

Sander may be the king of sappy lines, but Robbe has a few of his own up in his sleeve, and everytime he pulls one out, it makes him melt into a pile of goo. Sander crashes their lips together in a kiss that’s a little too heavy for a morning in a public space, but hey, they’re drunk on love and he doesn’t care, Robbe doesn’t care either, and there aren’t many people around them anyway so fuck it. He hums into the kiss, Robbe’s tongue grazing the roof of his mouth almost as by accident, and it’s so good, it always is.

“Last night, it felt so... life-changing, you know? And I don’t know why cause not that much is changing, really.”

“You’re graduating high school, it feels big.”

“Yeah, but I’m staying here for uni, I’m not moving or anything. I don’t know, I think I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately.” Robbe shrugs like he doesn’t really understand it, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either. There’s a small frown between his eyebrows though so Sander reaches to smooth it out with his thumb.

Then, something comes to his mind. “Maybe it’s because of us?”

Robbe’s frown gets deeper. “What do you mean?”

Sander turns around in his arms, nodding at the surroundings, voice laced with excitement. “You know this is the first time we have been at the beach since we met?”

Brown eyes blink at him in confusion, but then they light up and match Sander’s excitement.

“Oh my god, you’re right! Fuck, it feels like a different lifetime.”

A very miserable, shitty lifetime if you ask Sander. For both of them.

“I was so lonely back then,” Robbe sighs.

Sander notices a tiny shadow of sadness fogging Robbe’s eyes, like it always happens when he thinks back to that period of his life. Some wounds were cut too deep to fully heal, but Sander’s always there to bring him back to the present.

Tugging lightly on his hair to make him look back at him, Sander gives him a lopsided grin.

“Not gonna lie, I’m very pleased this time around the only person that’s allowed to kiss you is me.”

Robbe hums, a smirk brewing on his lips. “Hmm, I don’t know, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss from Jens I think.”

And Sander knows he’s doing it on purpose, absolutely loves to rile him up and play the “Jens” card when he wants to be snogged into submission. Robbe learned early on that even though Sander’s aware he’s just joking, his possessive streak always comes out in situations like this, making their kisses extra good and their sex extra hot.

“Careful now,” Sander breathes against his mouth, the pent up tension that accumulated last night and wasn’t relieved because Robbe was too drunk hitting him hard. It seems to be mutual because Robbe bites his lip seductively, impish smile letting Sander know that he’s getting the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m gonna carry you to bed the way I did last night, but the finale will be a little different.”

Suddenly, Robbe’s smile turns softer, the gear change leaving Sander a bit confused, but he welcomes it with a chuckle when Robbe snuggles close to him, nuzzling into his neck and letting out a content sigh.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs sweetly against his skin, breaking and healing Sander’s heart all at once. 

“I love you too, cutie. In elk universum.” 

A giggle erupts from Robbe at the universe line. “It’s been a while since you said that.”

Sander presses a kiss to his temple. “I think I'm feeling a bit nostalgic too.” 

***

The beach is slowly starting to fill out with people and bursting their little bubble so they get up reluctantly to the sounds of their grumbling stomachs that demand late breakfast. They notice their friends in the distance, spreading a huge blanket on the sand and carrying armfulls of food, and they walk over to them slowly, smiling goofily at each other and swaying their joined hands, paying no mind to people around. 

“Hey, Sander?” Robbe says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be dating a college boy now,” Robbe announces, and he sounds so proud and so adorable that Sander has to tease him a little.

He sighs, putting an extra edge of sorrow into it. “I think you’re getting too old for me, Robin.” A choked-off sound of pain follows, Robbe’s mellowy state not stopping him from jabbing his elbow in Sander’s ribs when he’s being a cheeky little shit. He should’ve known better by now - Robbe’s elbows are merciless. 

They arrive at the spot shoving each other playfully until Zoe yells at them to behave and sit their butts down like good boys to eat their food. They dig in without needing to be asked twice, their previous bickering forgotten as Robbe feeds him sandwiches, pretending they’re airplanes and making Sander and everyone around laugh hard.

This, today, yesterday, is a new memory. One that wipes away the angst he used to associate sea and beach with after enviously watching Robbe in the arms of someone else. 

This time, Robbe’s smiles are directed at him, his eyes are constantly seeking out him, hand slides surreptitiously into his hand, and Sander’s heart is bursting with happiness.

They’re going on a roadtrip this summer, just him and his favorite skater boy, and Sander cannot fucking wait. Just like he can’t wait for their future together.

And if there’s a ring sitting in his bottom drawer nobody needs to know for now. 

Robbe will find out in 55 days.

[malereader-inserts]

To Serve Our King and Queen

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: Daenerys Targeryen x Baratheon!Reader, Sansa Stark x Baratheon!Reader Summary: A story of heart break, love and heart break again. Word Count:  2,407 Request:  Hey can u do a Daenerys x Baratheon reader where he is the son of cersei and Robert the true son. He used to be In love with Sansa but she wanted Joffrey so she break his heart. Reader leaves king’s landing with tyrion and meet Daenerys where both fall In love with each other. Later Sansa sees the reader with dany and Jon when they arrive to the north. Sansa is being disrespectful towards dany and reader put Sansa in her place and tells her to not talk to his WIFE like that ever again please. A/n: I changed it a bit, I wish it was a little bitter but oh well. 

Cersei and Robert were married before he even became king, Tywin had faith that the Baratheon would overrule the Mad King. It was the start of the downfall of their marriage, the sex was lousy, but it got the lioness pregnant. You were a beautiful babe that Cersei had fallen in love with your looks.

You were a year old when your father overthrows the throne and becomes king of the seven kingdoms. You had a somewhat happy childhood, you were spoilt by your father more than your younger brother - Joffery. Whilst your mother somewhat loved you, you knew that she loved her golden crown children more than you, you had a suspicion about your siblings, they look too much of your uncle Jaime than your father, which was known that Baratheon seed was strong.

So, you were more of a father’s boy than your mother’s. At a young age, you were trained hard, went through advisers and teachers - teaching your expanding knowledge, your father demanded that you were to start off young in training to be king, making sure you know how to fight and be a respected knight just like your father. When you were growing up, you were told tales from your uncle Tyrion, who adored you because he could hold an intellectual conversation with you.

As you grew up, often at times you went with your father to go on hunting, even met with your dad’s best friend and his children. You often had playtime with them, being good friends with Robb and Jon, but you were always wanting to be with Sansa, your father laughs that you would marry Sansa when you two were older - Ned would laugh too.

As years gone past, you tried to ignore your father’s debauchery and your mother’s ever growing hatred towards you. You grew up to be a fine young man, despite being the son of two fucked up people, you were a loved prince - charming, caring and a fighter. You were too familiar with your mother’s manipulation that you were just as smart as her in playing games.

Tywin saw your potential to rule. The people will love you, they already do, because you weren’t fake but you knew when to stand your ground. You weren’t going to be pushed around, you knew your worth to that throne and you will be king whether your mother likes it or not. 

You knew what you wanted but sometimes that’s not how it works out.

You wanted Sansa as a bride, when you arrived at Winterfell after so many years later, you saw how beautiful Sansa was. But, you could see how she was ogling on your brother Joffery, you scoffed - he’s not that big of a deal. 

“Sansa be wise, pick (Y/n),” Robb says in their little family circle after being dismissed in greeting the king, “Jon and I know him better than you, and he’s a delight.”

“But, he’s not Joffery.”

Arya snorted, “Of course, you would want a little prat than an actual prince.”

“Joffery is a prince,” Sansa argued, “He’s handsome and I love him.”

“You barely know the boy,” Robb says with concern on his voice, “How do you even know if you love him?”

You tried winning Sansa’s heart, but before you left Winterfell, Sansa had pulled you aside, you had a little bit of hope but you had seen how she was all over your brother and was by his side every opportunity she could get.

You got your heartbroken by her, she was honest and you were thankful for that, but it hurt your heart. Sure, the two of you were still young, feelings can change like the wind and nothing is certain in the future. 

When you arrived home, you talked to your dad about it and for once, he got serious - talking about that even if you were rejected you should always try to pursue her. He then laughed it off saying Baratheon men don’t have much luck with Stark ladies, but you could see in the pain in his father’s eyes as he remembers Lyanna Stark. 

When your father died there were talks about who will inherit the throne, Cersei was quick on her game to get Joffery on the throne, you were livid. There was a screaming match between you and your mother in front of the small council before venomously bidding her hell. It was Varys, who started to tell you to leave because there were talks of your mother that she was going to hire people to kill you. 

You couldn’t risk that, so you took a route down to the deepest part of Kings landing, keeping yourself out of sight, picking up a stray sword that caught your eye.

That’s your story really.

Anyone back home would believe that you were killed or dead, and suffered in the rule of Joffery Baratheon. People called your the lost prince of hope, their last strand of hope.

Tyrion did not expect to see you alive and by Daenarys side when he entered Esso, running away with the potential of execution on his head. When he saw you, it had been a few years that had past, you were a lot different. 

Your hair was longer, you had grown more muscle mass, must of because you trained with Greyworm. You stood up straighter as if you had a purpose, but you looked happier. What your uncle did not expect was to look at the silver haired woman with such love.

It was a familiar look that he had seen, it was the same look you used to stare at Sansa with. But, to Tyrion’s surprised the look with returned. When you weren’t paying attention or was looking away, Daenerys would give you the same look of love. Tyrion asked Barristan, who laughs and nods.

“Those two? In love like any other teenagers!” He laughs, shaking his head, “They’re betrothed to each other, looking for the perfect time to marry. Daenerys has explicitly said that she wanted no one by her side when she becomes Queen, but learning Ser (Y/n) story, she realised that the two of them have the biggest claim to the throne, rightfully, and on the way, she fell in love with him as did he.”

“Of course,” Tyrion nodded, “I would have liked to see my nephew rule the seven kingdoms, at least he has the birthright unlike Joffery and his siblings.”

“Bastards?” Ser Barristan asked as Tyrion nodded, “Well, that explains the blond hair.”

“I know for the fact that (Y/n) would rule with a good heart, he was trained and he has compassion, he fought any manipulation and lies that were fed to him.”

“Yes,” the knight nods, “I wonder what the people of Westeros would think when they find out a Baratheon could ride a dragon.”

As months past, years past on, Tyrion watched his nephew enjoy his life fighting for what is rightfully his alongside his wife, who loves him as much as he did. There was no one better to rule the Realms other than two great leaders. Tyrion watched how Daenerys freed slaves and took control, Tyrion remembers how you were as a prince. 

“Was there someone you loved before me?” Daenerys asked once, it was on the sail back to Westeros, she could see how excited you were to return home.

You looked at her, “I did, once,” You say, remembering how Dany had disclosed her lovers to you before, “She was fiery, but unlikely you who is made of fire and blood, it was her striking red hair - her name was Sansa Stark.”

“Is she-?”

“My uncle has told me before he had fled that she was alive, but I have no idea where she is now or if she is alive. I’m sure she turned to be a fine young lady.”

Dany raised an eyebrow, “Do tell more.”

“Well, as you know I am of Lannister blood.”

“I am aware,” Dany says distastefully, cringing that you were of blood of the man who murdered her father and you were the son of the man who killed her brother.

“She was more in love with my brother, Joffery. Half-brother because I had my suspicion that he wasn’t of Baratheon blood. You could say he’s pure, like you.”

Dany nods, knowing what you mean, after all, she is in a long line of keeping her blood pure as her relatives were all related one way or another. She hates to think the fact if she were to marry her narcissistic brother, Viserys, whilst both of you acknowledge that you two were distantly related - it was a fact that she was willing to ignore. 

“He was a cunt,” You laughed whilst your wife giggles next to you in bed, “Spoilt and full of himself, I don’t want to imagine what his rule was like, but stories from my uncle it seems to appear as hell.”

“And she picked him over you?” Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow, “Well, her loss, I think I have a great man before me. A true king.” 

You chuckle, smiling at her lovingly, kissing her forehead, “Shall we sleep, my love?”

“No,” She pouts as you can’t help but find it adorable, “I think you should tell me tales of Westeros, after all, it’s more of your home than it is of mine.”

You weren’t expecting to return to Winterfell, but, it demanded it’s independence, which you thought was outrageous - really. You were reunited with Jon, who greets you with a smile, a joke and good hug - it has been a while since you’ve seen your best friend, glad to see him alive.

You thought that you were going to take over Kings landing, but having to take a detour route to Winterfell to battle in a war of the undead. Although, you get to see your mother before going to the North.

You relish the sight to see her and your uncle Jaime astonished that you were alive and knowing you were going back to claim for the throne. Cersei did not miss how your eyes darken and the glimmer of your sword.

“Mother.”

“Son.”

It was the only interaction you had with her, she refused to come to talk to you, you weren’t surprised - you lacked a mother’s love as you grew up. But, Jaime tried his best to get you to talk to him. You shook off his advances before turning to Jon and Daenerys.

You were surprised to see Sansa, as she was with you. Arya had noticed how she was staring.

“You’re staring, do you have regrets?”

Sansa cleared her throat and stood up straight, “No, he’s just grown.”

“So, have you, perhaps you have a chance at wooing him,” Arya hums looking over to you, talking to Jon with Daenerys by your side, “I can’t deny that he is very handsome.”

You barely got to talk to Sansa when everyone was preparing to war, luckily that your group of people survived the war. But, Missandei was down in the tombs with Sansa and Tyrion where she had heard that Sansa was disrespecting your wife.

Missandei was going to tell her Queen, but rather think other when she sees you walking towards her with a smile - she knew that you were better to handle it. She saw how your jaw locked, no one was going to disrespect your wife.

“Thank you, Missandei, please be with Dany, I’ll sort her out.”

You went to Jon first, who was confused at his cousin after you and Dany told him that he was actually the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Jon had his whole heart to support you and Dany’s plan to rule the seven kingdoms, agreeing that despite Winterfell wanting independence, they would struggle.

Sansa was trying to find the right ways to talk to you, perhaps try and mend the relationship. But, when you were looking at her as you stride towards her - she thinks differently. 

Tyrion was in the room, trailing behind you as well as Varys. Jon followed closely behind whilst Arya looked confused, looking at her sister. 

“How dare you disrespect your Queen!” 

No greetings, no smile upon your face, fury on your expression and for once in her life, Sansa no longer recognise the sweet boy from many years ago.

“You should owe her your life after she came to rescue your home! She brought dragons and not once has she spoken about the clear disrespect that you and your people wore. She is not mad like her father at all.”

Tyrion, Varys, Jon and many other people could agree to that, Daenerys was nothing like her father and it was mostly because of you. You were her constant grounding, bringing her to reality and knowing that you will always be by her side. 

“She’s not my Queen!” Sansa snaps back, gritting her teeth, “I don’t think she should be if anything if someone was to take the throne it should be you! It’s been rightfully yours since your father died.”

“It is my throne,” You sneered as Sansa stops upon hearing your words, “You’re not only disrespecting your queen, you are disrespecting my wife.”

Wife.

Her hearts shatter, she wonders is that how you felt when she had rejected you. Your eyes were cold, your stance was stiff and the lost Valyrian sword matches it’s current owner - you. It reflected who you were, shiny and attractive, but can cut so deeply - it was hard to recover from it’s inflicted wounds.

“You shall never bad mouth the throne, you hear me?” You pressed on, your tone turning stern that she reluctantly nods, “Don’t test me, Stark.” 

With that, you turn on your heel and leave the room, leaving the occupants confused and somewhat terrified. 

“Well...” Arya breaks the silence, “Sansa?”

Her heart was broken, she thought this time she could find love. She was never Joffery’s, she refuses to be claimed by Ramsey and she lost Theon. But, she could not let a man ruin her thoughts, putting up a wall as she looks away from where you last were.

“I believe we all have a meeting on how we will accompany our King and Queen to the throne.”

She dreads to see you because she knows when she arrives - you will look at Daenerys with love and it’ll be returned. 

[if-music-be-the-food-of-love]

Loving the Alien

Just a little oneshot I wrote because Herbots grew a beard this summer, and thus Robbe did too. Rated T. Cross posted on Ao3 if you prefer reading it there. -> Link

***

“I honestly don’t know what to think about this,” Sander said, leaning on the door jamb, his eyes focused on Robbe’s face.

“Then don’t. Easy,” Robbe replied with a shrug and a wink. He took a green bottle from the cabinet above the sink and set it on the counter before pulling a razor and a pair of scissors out of a drawer. He set them next to the bottle and then turned to face Sander, arms crossed, his hip leaning against the counter. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

Sander dropped his gaze, smiling secretly at the floor, and sighed dramatically. “I just can’t decide. That’s the problem.”

“Sander, you can’t decide what?” Robbe asked, rolling his eyes, but Sander could tell he was only partially exasperated. His dark chocolate eyes shone with curiosity, and he now gazed at Sander expectantly.

Lips twitching, he took two steps forward and cupped Robbe’s furry, though somehow still soft, cheeks in his hands. He pressed the barest whisper of a kiss to his lips, and then resting his forehead against Robbe’s, he murmured, “I can’t decide whether you’re hotter with this beard or clean shaven. It’s a real problem.”

Robbe snorted, and his whole body convulsed forward. His forehead clipped Sander’s jaw, and he stepped back, a little giggle escaping from his lips. “Really, San? That’s your problem?”

Sander pushed back the curtain of russet waves that had fallen into Robbe’s face, and shrugged, saying mock seriously, “It’s a legitimate dilemma, Robin. Put yourself in my shoes. Your boyfriend is hot as hell, and then he goes and grows a beard over vacation. Suddenly he’s even hotter--something you didn’t think was possible by the way--and you don’t know what to do with yourself.” He gave Robbe a pointed look. “I seriously had to control myself in public, and it was not easy.”  

Robbe rolled his eyes again and opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sander placed a finger across his lips.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “I just look at you, and you’re so fucking sexy that I can’t breathe. I literally have to stop and remind myself to inhale. I thought that was some stupid cliche in books, but no. Of course it’s real, and of course it would happen to me. Because of you. And then you grew this fucking beard...and I don’t think I’ve been able to think straight since.”

Robbe removed Sander’s hand and kissed his knuckles before holding it between his own. “I don’t think you were exactly thinking straight before,” he teased. “That would kind of defeat the purpose.”

Sander couldn’t help himself. A barking laugh burst out of his mouth, and he shook his head. “Well, if you’re going to go there. I haven’t had a straight thought since we met.” 

“Good,” Robbe said, pecking his lips lightly. “You may continue flattering me.”

“No, I’m done. Your head is big enough.” Sander crossed his arms and shrugged, leaning against the sink opposite Robbe. “If you’re not going to take my suffering seriously--”

“Suffering my ass!” Robbe scoffed, giving him a playful shove.

Sander grinned. “Yes, suffering. To know how hot you are both ways and to only be able to experience one at a time. Absolute torture. Seriously unfair. You should be ashamed of yourself, causing me all this pain.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“You-- The fuck, Sander, you--” Robbe smooshed his hand into Sander’s face, pushing him back as he rotated his wrist. Sander’s head rocked side to side, and he couldn’t help grinning, watching Robbe grasp for words.

“Gah! You--” Robbe continued to sputter, “Dork. You absolute dramatic, soppy dork. Oh my God, if people knew...I don’t think they’d believe me if I told them. No one. You want unfair? That’s unfair. You walk around looking all mysterious and aloof when you’re really just the cheesiest romantic ever.”

“Hmm.” Sander tilted his head to shake Robbe’s hand off, and then, placing his hands at Robbe’s waist, he tugged him in, capturing his mouth in a hard, fast kiss. His lips traveled to Robbe’s ear, leaving a few light kisses across his cheek, and he whispered huskily, “That all sounds very accurate, and you’re right no one would believe you.” He bit Robbe’s earlobe, briefly tonguing the small hoop earring. Robbe squealed and pushed him back, panting to catch his breath, eyes glaring.

Feeling very pleased with himself, Sander leaned back against the counter, saying coolly, “I still don’t know how I feel about you shaving it off. It’s grown on me. At first, I thought a chipmunk had moved onto your face, but now…”

“A chipmunk!” Robbe squawked indignantly.  “Weren’t you just waxing poetic about how sexy you thought it was? And anyway," he quirked an eyebrow, "I can’t put myself in your shoes." Using his best talking to a baby voice, he explained with pursed lips, "This adorable, sweet, baby face,” he pinched Sander’s cheek and then followed it with a light smack, “can’t grow a beard. I think you’re just jealous.”

“Hey!” Sander cried, swatting his hand away. “I happen to enjoy not having to shave all the time.”

Robbe took his hand and pulled him closer, kissing his shoulder. “And I enjoyed not having to shave this summer. But now, I’m tired of it, so it has to go.”

Sander wrapped both arms around Robbe and put on his best pout, eyes sad and pleading, bottom lip sticking out.   

Robbe laughed, slipping his hands into Sander’s back pockets. He gave Sander’s ass a squeeze and hugged him tighter. “You’re ridiculous.” He lifted up onto his toes and bit Sander’s thrust out lip, sucking it into his mouth before letting it slide out between his teeth. He let go with a ‘pop,’ and then wiggling his hips suggestively against Sander’s, he added, “If I shave, then you know what will happen?” He swayed them side to side, slowly, teasingly, hips pressing harder into Sander. One hand slid up Sander’s back, disappearing into his hair. He pulled Sander’s head down and kissed him, lingeringly, lips soft, tongue searching, slow and deep. 

Sander practically melted into his arms, his limbs turning to jello at the mere suggestion of Robbe’s hips, at the taste of his lips, his tongue. Robbe’s beard brushed softly against his cheeks and prickled the edges of his mouth. He was going to miss this, the delicious dichotomy of the longer soft hairs on his cheeks that tickled his skin and the shorter ones around his mouth that poked him and caught him off guard. He lifted his hands to Robbe’s cheeks and rubbed his palms up and down as they kissed, reveling in the scratch, the drag making his hands tingle. This was nice.

Robbe’s lips moved to his neck, and Sander took the opportunity to nuzzle his cheek and nose into the whiskers at Robbe’s jaw. They tickled and tingled, sending bolts of electricity to his toes. This was very nice.

Robbe’s lips traveled up his neck, the stubble leaving a burning trail that contrasted with his wet, open-mouthed kisses. So nice. This was so nice. It was such a different experience, so many different sensations. He was really going to miss this.

Robbe hugged him even closer, bending himself backwards, and then murmured into his jaw, “If I shave, I’ll have my 10:00 five o’clock shadow again, and I know how much you like that.”

It took Sander a moment to process his words, so overwhelmed by his hands and body and kisses, but when it registered, he stood tall abruptly, pulling out of Robbe’s embrace. “Done!” Sander loved the bare whisper of stubble on Robbe’s face, the dark shadow that heightened his features and made him look dead sexy. He could sacrifice the beard to have that back. Yes he could. He waved his arms vaguely at the razor, and said, “You have my permission.”

Robbe stood still, momentarily stunned, and then he burst into motion, laughing hysterically and falling forward to brace his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Fuck, Sander. You’re giving me whiplash.”

“Don’t blame me. You knew exactly what you were doing. Kissing me like that. Then exploiting my weakness for your permanent five o'clock shadow. You have no one else to blame,” he said, crossing his arms with a smug expression.

“You know,” Robbe said, coming forward and poking him in the chest, “I don’t need your permission. It’s my face.” 

“No, you don’t,” he agreed, an adoring smile lifting his lips. “Can I say goodbye first?”

Robbe's expression softened immediately. He raised his eyebrows, clearly perplexed, and nodded, “Sure.”

Lifting his hands to Robbe’s cheeks, he gently stroked the longer hairs on his jaw with his fingers, curling them to trace his knuckles up and down and then opening them to feel it one last time on his palms. It felt both familiar and alien, both soft and rough. It had been a totally new sensation, kissing and touching Robbe this summer, a joy he hadn’t known he wanted, and soon it would be gone. He leaned forward and lightly brushed his cheek against Robbe’s and then tucked his chin to rub his forehead all over Robbe’s face, making him giggle again. He kissed both cheeks and left one more light peck on his lips. “Okay. I’m done. You may proceed.”

Robbe’s eyes remained closed for a moment longer, his chin lifted as if chasing Sander’s lips. Slowly blinking his eyes open, voice coarse, he said, “I almost don’t want to now.”

Sander’s eyes shot up from where they had lingered on his mouth, immediately zeroing in on Robbe’s teasing gaze. Then it was his turn to roll his eyes. He fluffed Robbe’s wild hair and said, “But you’re still going to.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. It’s starting to itch.” He sighed, scratching his chin for effect. Then his demeanor changed, and he looked up at Sander from underneath his lashes, eyes dark and suggestive. “But don’t worry. I can grow it back any time, and then you can feel me up all you want.” He paused, delightedly watching Sander squirm before him, as he knew he would (sometimes being so predictable and completely at the mercy of one’s boyfriend was incredibly unfair). Robbe blew him a quick kiss and then followed it by poking his chest again and adding, “Unlike you.”

“Fuck you!” He brushed at Robbe’s hand.

“Later, baby,” Robbe said with a wink, and then he rose up to give him one last kiss. He patted Sander’s cheek playfully and said, “I love your doofy, soft, baby face. It’s perfect. Now go!” He turned Sander around and gave his ass a light smack before shoving him out of the door.

“I’m not entirely sure that was a compliment,” Sander called back over his shoulder. He could just see Robbe grinning at him as he pulled his hair out of his face into a bun. Holy fuck, he was hot! The beard was one thing, but if Robbe ever wanted to cut his hair short, Sander was prepared to stage a full-on revolt. He would mutiny. He loved Robbe’s wild, wavy locks. No matter how he styled his hair, it always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and Sander adored the sleep rumpled look. He was particularly fond of it when it was actually in bed, scattered across a pillow, but the fact that he could see it all day long was a bonus. Yes, Robbe’s hair was a treasure, and he’d use every tool in his arsenal to protect it, including guilt and begging, if necessary.

The beard could go. He’d save his energy to fight the real battle if and when it happened.  

 Sander had only just settled on a playlist to listen to while he scrolled through his phone when Robbe called him back to the bathroom. That was quick!

He pocketed his phone, leaving the music on, and trekked across the room.  “Done already?” he asked, walking straight in.

“Nope,” Robbe said, turning to face him with a broad grin and excited eyes. “What do you think?”

It took Sander a few moments to process what he saw. His first thought was that Robbe hadn’t even started because he still had whiskers, but then he noticed that Robbe’s cheeks were smooth and that his mouth now sported an oval-shaped goatee. “Wha--?”

Robbe snorted and rested his hand on the counter for balance. “Looks ridiculous, right?”

“Uhh...err...hmmm…” Sander struggled to respond coherently. He didn’t know how he felt about the goatee. It was definitely weird. It was Robbe’s face, his Robbe’s face, but he didn’t look right. Was it creepy or just new? He settled on, “Makes you look older.”

Robbe inspected his face in the mirror. “Maybe I do look older.” He winked at Sander's reflection and said, “We have established that you like older men, so I don’t think this is a problem.”

“Uhhh,” Sander grunted, brain misfiring. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Uh, you’re not...you’re not keeping it, right?” He met Robbe’s gaze in the mirror. “Right?”

Laughing again, he elbowed Sander lightly in the stomach and said, “Of course not! I just thought it would be fun to see what I looked like with a goatee.”

Sander exhaled, relief pouring out of him. He loved Robbe no matter what, but the goatee was too much too fast. The beard had grown on him gradually. The goatee was just...disturbing. “Good,” was all he said.

Robbe met his gaze in the mirror, a knowing look in his eyes. “You hate it.” 

He hesitated, “It’s...different.”

Robbe turned around, leaning back on the counter. “You hate it,” he insisted.

Sander sighed, “I hate it.”

“Well, now we know. No goatee,” he said, pecking Sander’s lips and then shoving him back out the door. “On to part two.”

Rolling his eyes, Sander asked, “Should I even leave at this point?”

“Yes!” he said emphatically.

“Fine. See you in three seconds.” He waved over his shoulder and headed back to the couch, pulling out his phone on the way.

It was significantly more than three seconds later when Robbe called him back. He walked into the bathroom with one hand over his eyes, asking, “Should I even look?”

“Hell yes! Sa-an, this is hilarious.”

Sander peeked through his fingers and immediately dropped his hand in shock. “No. No. No. Nope. No way. Absolutely not. No.” He waved his hands like a referee and shook his head for emphasis.

Robbe had a mustache. A creepy, crawly caterpillar mustache, sitting above his lip. It wasn’t a full mustache, more like a swath of hairs sticking out every which way in the general shape of a mustache, but Sander didn’t think more shaping would improve the effect. It creeped him out on a visceral level. 

“What?” Robbe asked, feigning ignorance. “Freddie Mercury had a mustache.”

Sander coughed and cringed. “Yeah, in the eighties, and I would say I’m a much bigger fan of his talent than anything else, especially his mustache. Much bigger. Ro-obe, get rid of that thing,” he whined.

“Wha-at?” Robbe whined back. “You don’t like it? Don’t you love me? What if I like it?”

“Don’t even pretend. I know you don’t. I love you, but it’s hideous Robbe. Absolutely not.”

Robbe cocked his head and then shrugged, smiling goofily. “You’re right. It’s awful. Now come over here and give me a kiss.” 

He reached his hands towards Sander’s face, pursing his lips into an exaggerated pucker, and Sander took an automatic step back. “Uh, uh, no. Not while that’s on your face. No kisses until it’s gone.”

Robbe stuck out his lip in a pretend pout and crossed his arms. “I should keep it just to spite you.”

“I’d shave it off in your sleep,” Sander chuckled. “Okay, let’s compromise.” He kissed Robbe’s cheek. “Now get rid of that thing, and I promise to kiss you senseless.”

“Deal,” Robbe said, but then he curled his fingers in Sander’s shirt and yanked him forward, sneaking in a surprise kiss on the lips. 

“Ble-yee-ack,” Sander sputtered, pretending to wipe the kiss off his mouth. 

Robbe cackled with glee and practically jumped up and down like an excited schoolgirl, thoroughly enjoying Sander’s disgust and dramatics. 

“Thought that was funny, hmm,” Sander huffed. Before Robbe could respond, he thrust out a hand, and pinched Robbe’s side right at his most ticklish spot. Completely caught off guard, Robbe nearly collapsed sideways. Sander caught him, but instead of setting him upright, he pinched and tickled Robbe’s other side with his other hand, causing him to lose his balance and fall against Sander in a fit of giggles. 

“You win. You win. Stop. Stooooooop.” 

Sander stilled his fingers and set Robbe back on his feet, brushing back the hairs that had fallen out of his bun. He kissed his forehead and then turned to leave. “I’ll see the less disturbing version of you in a minute.” He stopped at the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Still love you though.” He winked and walked the few steps back to the couch, collapsing on it backwards, knees bent over the backrest.

He closed his eyes, listening to the combination of his music and Robbe puttering about in the bathroom. He smiled to himself, a feeling of warm contentment washing over him. He was so lucky, so ridiculously lucky. He loved teasing Robbe, and Robbe not only enjoyed it, he teased him right back, giving as good as he got. It felt so wonderful to completely trust another person, to completely trust his good intentions, to believe in his love, and he knew the feeling was mutual. He had the best boyfriend in the world. Facial hair or no, loving him was easy, as natural as breathing. He was so fucking lucky.

A finger poking his nose pulled him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Robbe leaned over him, upside down at this angle, face smooth and shiny from aftershave. “Hey, sexy,” he whispered. Fuck, he was so hot.

“Hey,” Robbe repeated shyly. 

Sander rolled over and stood up, immediately pulling Robbe into a hug and thrusting his face into his neck, breathing in the familiar smell of shaving cream and aftershave mixed with soap and skin. 

He pulled back and looked Robbe over, eyes darting all over his face. “You look and smell delicious.” He ran a thumb over Robbe’s soft cheek and cupped his neck before kissing him gently on the lips.

“What was that?” Robbe asked indignantly, brown eyes glittering like a naughty imp. “You said you were going to kiss me senseless. That wasn’t even--”

He was cut off by Sander lifting him off of the ground in a bear hug. He was halfway to Robbe’s bedroom before Robbe caught on and wrapped his legs around his waist, kissing him all over his face. 

Sander finally captured his lips in a sloppy kiss right before they tumbled into bed, where he proceeded to kiss Robbe senseless, among other things.

Yeah, he had the best boyfriend ever. He could live without the beard.

[sayruq]

If Cersei was willing to try, she wouldn't have slept with her brother on the day of her wedding, cucked him everyday and aborted his child.

Robert deserved all of it. Need I remind you that he was sleeping around too? That's how Gendry was conceived.

The master called over a tall lad about Robb's age...

Cersei wasn't Lyanna and Robert hated her for it from day one.

And Cersei … I have Jon Arryn to thank for her. I had no wish to marry after Lyanna was taken from me, but Jon said the realm needed an heir. Cersei Lannister would be a good match, he told me, she would bind Lord Tywin to me should Viserys Targaryen ever try to win back his father's throne," The king shook his head. "I loved that old man, I swear it, but now I think he was a bigger fool than Moon Boy. Oh, Cersei is lovely to look at, truly, but cold … the way she guards her cunt, you'd think she had all the gold of Casterly Rock between her legs.

[...]

"Wear it in silence, or I'll honor you again," Robert vowed. He shouted for a guard. Ser Meryn Trant stepped into the room, tall and somber in his white armor. "The queen is tired. See her to her bedchamber." The knight helped Cersei to her feet and led her out without a word.

Robert reached for the flagon and refilled his cup. "You see what she does to me, Ned." The king seated himself, cradling his wine cup. "My loving wife. The mother of my children." The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and scared. "I should not have hit her. That was not … that was not kingly." He stared down at his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. "I was always strong … no one could stand before me, no one. How do you fight someone if you can't hit them?" Confused, the king shook his head. "Rhaegar … Rhaegar won, damn him. I killed him, Ned, I drove the spike right through that black armor into his black heart, and he died at my feet. They made up songs about it. Yet somehow he still won. He has Lyanna now, and I have her." The king drained his cup.

[...]

Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna."

Ned Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep. "I do not know which of you I pity most."

[...]

Robert had been handsome enough when they first married, tall and strong and powerful, but his hair was black and heavy, thick on his chest and coarse around his sex. The wrong man came back from the Trident, the queen would sometimes think as he was plowing her. In the first few years, when he mounted her more often, she would close her eyes and pretend that he was Rhaegar. She could not pretend that he was Jaime; he was too different, too unfamiliar. Even the smell of him was wrong.

For Robert, those nights never happened. Come morning he remembered nothing, or so he would have had her believe. Once, during the first year of their marriage, Cersei had voiced her displeasure the next day. "You hurt me," she complained. He had the grace to look ashamed. "It was not me, my lady," he said in a sulky sullen tone, like a child caught stealing apple cakes from the kitchen. "It was the wine. I drink too much wine." To wash down his admission, he reached for his horn of ale. As he raised it to his mouth, she smashed her own horn in his face, so hard she chipped a tooth. Years later at a feast, she heard him telling a serving wench how he'd cracked the tooth in a mêlée. Well, our marriage was a mêlée, she reflected, so he did not lie.

[...]

By the time Cersei wed the king, Robert's lady mother was long dead, though both of her brothers had turned up for the wedding and stayed for half a year. Robert had later insisted on returning the courtesy with a visit to Estermont, a mountainous little island off Cape Wrath. The dank and dismal fortnight Cersei spent at Greenstone, the seat of House Estermont, was the longest of her young life. Jaime dubbed the castle "Greenshit" at first sight, and soon had Cersei doing it too. Elsewise she passed her days watching her royal husband hawk, hunt, and drink with his uncles, and bludgeon various male cousins senseless in Greenshit's yard.

There had been a female cousin too, a chunky little widow with breasts as big as melons whose husband and father had both died at Storm's End during the siege. "Her father was good to me," Robert told her, "and she and I would play together when the two of us were small." It did not take him long to start playing with her again. As soon as Cersei closed her eyes, the king would steal off to console the poor lonely creature. One night she had Jaime follow him, to confirm her suspicions. When her brother returned he asked her if she wanted Robert dead. "No," she had replied, "I want him horned." She liked to think that was the night when Joffrey was conceived.

Joffrey was 12 in AGoT which means he was born in 286, 3 years after Cersei married Robert and he was probably conceived sometime in 285- 2 years into the marriage. The blame for their marriage failing goes to Robert, not Cersei.

[weirwoodking]

who do you think will be on the throne at the end? is there a chance it will be a woman? do you agree with the theory that bran will be king in the north bc he symbolizes winterfell? idk if i see dany on the throne bc i don't feel like she belongs in westeros, i think she would be better off with a throne on the other side of the narrow sea but i really don't know what i'm saying

It’s very hard to make predictions for ADOS, because we don’t have TWOW yet. So much can change about the story and the characters in one book, thematically and narratively. Think of how much the plot was influenced by just that final Bran chapter in ADWD. 

But, here I go anyway.

My short answer is: no one. (And no, I don’t mean Arya)

Let’s get into it.

Part 1: How the Show Tainted Everyone’s Brains

Obviously, a lot of people care about the Iron Throne plot. Sometimes too much. I do believe that this is mostly because of how much the HBO show changed everything about the story to make the Iron Throne seem like it was more important than anything else. Like promotional posters of all the actors each sitting on the throne, the name of the series itself being changed to “Game of Thrones”, actors getting asked in every interview “who do you think should get the Iron Throne?” as if it’s the last cupcake at a birthday party that everyone’s fighting over, the final episode was titled “The Iron Throne”. The marketing for everything was “it’s the fight for the Throne!” up through the eighth season. It made the object itself become a huge pop culture symbol.

It almost felt like the show was trying to make it seem like the goal of the Night King (a character not in the books) was to sit on the Iron Throne! The show portrayed it as if the Others were just a little distraction that needed to be dealt with so the characters could get back to arguing over the Porcupine Chair. However, in ASOIAF, it’s the exact opposite. The Porcupine Chair is what’s distracting the characters from the real conflict, the Others.

It’s almost comical how that has somewhat transferred over into the fandom, the “game of thrones” is what’s keeping everyone from focusing on what really matters, the “song of ice and fire”.

Part 2: GRRM’s Quote

It wasn't easy for me. I didn't want to give away my books. Every character has a different end. I told them who would be on the Iron Throne, and I told them some big twists like Hodor and "hold the door", and Stannis' decision to burn his daughter. We didn't get to everybody by any means.

-George R.R. Martin

So, he “told them who would be on the Iron Throne”. Something important about this quote is that he doesn’t say who. And, of course, the Iron Throne gets destroyed at the end of the show anyway. Show!Bran doesn’t really “end up on the Iron Throne”. Show!Dany does. George never said that who “ends up” on it in the books is who ends up on it in the show. He’s said that the Shireen thing and the Hodor thing will “happen very differently” in the books anyway. And, of course, another major part of that quote is “every character has a different end”.

I don’t think that who sits the Iron Throne last is necessarily going to be the ruler of Westeros at the end. For example, Cersei (or Aegon) may be the last person to sit the Iron Throne. Or even Euron (however, even though his goal is to rule post-apocalyptic Westeros as a god from the Iron Throne, I don’t think he’ll actually get there). If wildfire is hot enough to melt iron, I could see the throne being destroyed during whatever fiery shenanigans go down with Cersei and JonCon in TWOW. I think it would be fitting for the fight over the throne to end in the next book. ‘Cause the winds of winter are coming, baby, and it’s gonna be time to start dreaming of spring.

Part 3: The Weirwood King

The idea/theory of Bran becoming King has been around for a long time, long before the HBO show even started airing. This is because of the Celtic myth of King Brân the Blessed, whose name means “Blessed Crow” or “Blessed Raven” in Welsh. Other than the obvious connection with the name, Brân the Blessed’s story involves a magic cauldron that can bring the dead back to life. 

In the myth, Brân’s head is cut off and continues talking (think of how Bran’s most powerful aspect is the magical powers of his mind), because in Celtic mythology the head is believed to be where the soul is.

Celts had a reputation as head hunters. According to Paul Jacobsthal, "Amongst the Celts the human head was venerated above all else, since the head was to the Celt the soul, centre of the emotions as well as of life itself, a symbol of divinity and of the powers of the otherworld." (source)

Catch that? “Otherworld”. There is another myth (Irish, specifically) called the Voyage of Bran, in which the title character goes on a quest to the Otherworld. The Otherworld is a supernatural realm in Celtic mythology. It is also where the sidhe (a.k.a. aos sí) live. Remember, the sidhe are what George has said the Others are inspired by. In Irish mythology, the Otherworld is called Tír na nÓg, Mag Mell and Emain Ablach, in Welsh mythology it’s called Annwn, and in Arthurian legend it’s called Avalon. Fun fact, “Avalon” was the title of the novel George was writing when he had suddenly had the idea of a scene in which a young boy and his brothers see a beheading and then find a litter of direwolf pups in the snow. And so ASOIAF happened.

I’ll leave that there, and try not to go down the great big rabbit-hole of Celtic (and other cultures) mythology connections in ASOIAF. The takeaway is: ASOIAF has been influenced by these myths.

I do believe that Bran is going to be King. Not just because of his ties to this mythology, but also because of symbolism in his own story. The most notable one being…

Under the hill, the broken boy sat upon a weirwood throne, listening to whispers in the dark as ravens walked up and down his arms.

[...]

The singers made Bran a throne of his own, like the one Lord Brynden sat, white weirwood flecked with red, dead branches woven through living roots. 

[...]

His father and the black pool and the godswood faded and were gone and he was back in the cavern, the pale thick roots of his weirwood throne cradling his limbs as a mother does a child. 

- Bran III, A Dance with Dragons

Bran is also the only one of the Stark kids who still thinks of himself as royalty:

What was he now? Only Bran the broken boy, Brandon of House Stark, prince of a lost kingdom, lord of a burned castle, heir to ruins.

- Bran III, A Dance with Dragons

Bran is the heir to Winterfell. It doesn’t matter if Robb named Jon his heir in his will, the will was written under the pretense that Bran and Rickon were dead.

However, Bran doesn’t have any connection to the Iron Throne. It’s far more likely that he would sit on a weirwood throne, because of, y’know, everything about his story. So, if Bran was King of the Seven Kingdoms, I don’t think it would be on the Pincushion Stool.

If Bran is king of the realm, I do think there would still be a separate Lord/Lady of Winterfell, but I do think that there’s a possibility of a Pevensie siblings ending, where all the Stark kids would rule together as the Lords and Ladies and Winterfell.

Something that I’ve never really seen talked about regarding the idea of Bran becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms is the religious differences between the North and the southern regions of Westeros. Of course, the show didn’t deal with this at all. For fuck’s sake, they had Cersei blow up the Westerosi verison of the Vatican and face no backlash. It was so laughably absurd how Show!Cersei’s destructive reign was shown to have like… zero impact on the Seven Kingdoms. 

In short, I’m not too sure that the Kingdom who is majority Faith of the Seven worshippers would react too well to a weirwood-tree-Old-Gods-warg-wizard-king. I mean, when Janos Slynt finds out Jon is a warg he calls him a “thing”, a “creature”, and a “beastling that is not fit to live”, and wanted to execute him not just for being a turncloak but for being a warg as well. And Jojen warns Bran of these things, saying that his own folk may want to kill him if they know what he is.

But… all of that anti-magic attitude might not matter after night falls. 

Part 4: Winter is Coming

I believe that the Long Night is going to be very devastating for the Seven Kingdoms.

Martin is a big believer in making things have meaningful, permanent consequences in his stories. I don’t think that an apocalyptic event like the Long Night is something that’s just gonna get dealt with in a quick snap and have no lasting effect.

A lot of people are going to die. I don’t mean main characters, I mean people that would not survive a normal winter and sure as hell won’t be prepared for this one. Westeros’s food stores have been severely depleted by the War of the Five Kings, and we’ve been told multiple times in the text (particularly AFFC and ADWD) that feeding people during this winter is going to be extremely hard.

Besides that… the whole, uh, invasion of the eldritch ice beings thing might have a bit of an impact on the realm. 

I won’t go into depth about how the Seven Kingdoms will be affected by the Long Night, ‘cause we really have no idea. But, however it all goes down, I do think it will have lasting changes for the people of Westeros. The impact that it leaves may make the concept of Bran being a wizard-king more acceptable. “Oh, well we’ve just seen zombies and winter elves, so what’s too surprising about a magical greenseer warg king?” I think that Westerosi culture becoming more aware and accepting of the existence of magic is the only way that Bran could become the king of the whole realm. The Westeros at the end of the series is not going to be the place that it was at the beginning.

Part 5: Dany: A Home, Not a Throne

To sum up my thoughts on our dragon girl, I don’t think Dany will end up on the Spiky Toilet. I don’t want Dany to be on the Spiky Toilet.

Now, my personal speculation (which a lot of people disagree with, which is fine) is that Dany will never see King’s Landing before the Long Night. I personally don’t think that Dany will ever meet Aegon or Cersei. I don’t see there being enough time in the story for that. Yes, GRRM said that there will be a second Dance of the Dragons, but he also said that the second Dance does not have to involve Dany. He may have originally planned for it to be Aegon and Dany, but probably not once the Meereenese Knot happened.

The Meereenese Knot is what Dany’s ADWD plot is referred to as. GRRM did not intend for Dany to stay in Meereen as long as she has, but because of his “gardener” style of writing, that’s where the story led him. GRRM has said that one of the hardest parts of writing the Meereen plotline (which involves Dany, Barristan, Quentyn, Tyrion, and Victarion) is trying to find a way to cut the plot knot he accidentally got himself stuck in. He has said that Tyrion and Dany will meet towards the end of TWOW, which means that Dany will most likely be spending a large portion of her story with the Dothraki. That part is a completely blank page, but I believe that Dany will meet Tyrion possibly ¾ of the way into the book, and sail for Westeros at the end.

I won’t write a full meta about this here (because that’s not what this post is about), but to summarize my prediction: Aegon VS Cersei is going to be the battle in King’s Landing, a battle which will destroy the city. Dany (who has already rejected sailing for the Throne multiple times) will still be stuck in Essos, dealing with everything she’s still got going on, and will sail for Westeros at the end. Not for the Throne, but to go North for the real fight (remember that Marwyn is also on his way to Meereen to tell Dany that they need her).

Because Dany's purpose is not to fight for the Iron Throne, it’s to fight the Others. Dany (fire, light, and life) VS the Others (ice, darkness, and death) is the main thing the title refers to:

“Well of course the two outlying ones, the things that are going on north of the Wall and Daenerys Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons are of course the Ice and Fire of the title, the Song of Ice and Fire.” 

- George R.R. Martin, 2016

One of the most important excerpts that shows us where Dany’s story is headed is this:

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

- Daenerys III, A Storm a Swords

Dany has a short prophetic “this is what I was meant to do” dream. Dany could possibly have more dreams about the Others in TWOW, visions that will make what Marwyn has to tell her more believable. It’s not like that dream was the only one Dany has had that alludes to the winter threat, Dany has had visions about this since book one:

The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run.

- Dany IX, A Game of Thrones

Anyway, there’s just a lot more foreshadowing in the plot that this is what Dany is meant to do. I think adding in another conflict into her story once she leaves Meereen would make the story feel bloated and would severely fuck up the pacing.

I don’t think Dany will ever see the Iron Throne. The themes of her story have never been about her wanting the Iron Throne for what it is, but for what it represents to her. It represents the possibility of a home and of feeling safe for the first time in her life, what Dany truly wants. I think that it’s absolutely fine if Dany never sees the Throne or sits on it, and that it makes more sense for her narrative arc if she discovers that she can find a home somewhere else, not necessarily where she thought it would be. 

Part 6: Final Thoughts

So, in conclusion, I don’t really give a shit who ends up placing their ass on the Forbidden Laz-E-Boy, I care about the War for the Dawn. I care about seeing the characters I’ve followed for the past five books coming together to fight the real conflict of A Song of Ice and Fire. Also, even if we do get a Scouring of the Shire-type post-climax for ASOIAF, it doesn’t matter. People don’t see the Scouring of the Shire as the climax of Lord of the Rings, they see the climax as Aragorn leading the forces of good against the forces of evil and Frodo and Sam throwing the One Ring into Mount Doom. Whatever ending resolution comes after the climax of ASOIAF, it doesn’t change what the climax is.

"Do you think your brother's war is more important than ours?" the old man barked.

Jon chewed his lip. The raven flapped its wings at him. "War, war, war, war," it sang.

"It's not," Mormont told him. "Gods save us, boy, you're not blind and you're not stupid. When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits the Iron Throne?"

"No." Jon had not thought of it that way.

- Jon IX, A Game of Thrones

TL;DR:

My prediction: Cersei will be the last person to sit the Iron Throne, which will be destroyed in the Wildfire of King’s Landing. After the Long Night devastates the Seven Kingdoms, Bran will become the King of this new Westeros that has been majorly affected by the return of magic. Also, it would be real nice if Dany found her red door.

God I hope my rambling made sense