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16 March 2012 @ 11:57 pm
G A M E O F T H R O N E S K I N K M E M E  

- all characters must be from george r. r. martin's a song of ice and fire's series or the hbo adaption game of thrones
- leave a pairing in the comments, along with an accompanying kink - eg jaime/cersei, voyeurism, theon/robb, oral.
- graphics and fanart are also accepted
- no hate pleeease, we don't all love the same ships but let's not bash because of it :)
- multiple fills are encouraged

SEE: asoiafkinkmeme

she's a salty little pissernorthernqueens on March 18th, 2012 01:32 am (UTC)
ygritte/theon, modern au, on the tube
(Anonymous) on March 29th, 2012 12:02 am (UTC)
The Metropolitan Line (Ygritte/Theon) 1/3

Theon was a little drunk. It had been one of those nights. Robb and Jeyne had invited him and Ygritte to some dull London Symphony Orchestra concert at the Barbican and Theon couldn't say no because it was Robb, and, if he was honest, he never said no to Robb.

Robb and Jeyne had met at Oxford. Robb had read Classics at Balliol naturally, like every Stark for innumerable generations. Theon had smoked a bit too much weed before his interview, which hadn't gone down well. Somehow, despite his less than impeccable academic record he had got accepted by the Scandinavian Studies department at UCL. He suspected his Dad might've been involved somehow. He dropped out anyway, in the second year, and went to art college. St. Martin's. Not that that had impressed his family at all.

Robb and Jeyne had said goodbye a few minutes before, heading south towards Moorgate and then on to the Northern Line to Angel. Jeyne's family lived in Islington on one of the leafy roads behind Upper Street and Robb often stayed there.

So Ygritte and Theon were left together at Barbican station. Ygritte was Jeyne's friend from school, although she was slightly younger, still studying, at UCL, although Theon had only met her after he left.

Evidently she also liked to drink in slightly inappropriate situations. She'd eagerly shared his hip flask while the concert dragged on interminably. They'd sat next to each other, Ygritte's bare leg pressed against Theon's trousers in a way that could have been deliberate, or not. Ygritte occasionally reached her hand in to Theon's pocket and retrieved the flask herself, as he tried not to squirm and not to think about her hand brushing his thigh like that. Now he was standing behind her, arms around her waist in what was probably a slightly over-familiar gesture, enjoying the way he can rest his chin on the top of her head, sinking in to her thick red hair.

"Theon Greyjoy, you're such a fucking slut!" she laughs, as he presses himself against her back.

"I am not!‚" he pouts, pretending to be hurt. "I just want to escort you home. You're only small, anything could happen to you"

She elbows him in the ribs, disentangling herself. "You know Greyjoy, anything could happen to you too‚" she says poking his chest emphatically. "The tube is...errr...very, very..." Theon receives a poke for each very,"...dangerous at night. Also! I could have you in a fight easily" she laughs.

"You can have me anytime you like darling" he replies raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"You wish Greyjoy!" she snorts. "Anyway, how can you take me home, you don't even know where I live!"

"Yeah I do. Finchley Road. Hence us getting the Metropolitan Line and also...also...", he dodges another poke of her finger, "HENCE you saying to Jeyne 'I'm going north to Finchley Road'. Ha."

"Yeah well...maybe I should escort YOU home‚" she says grinning, "after all, you are only small", she gestures with her fingers suggesting just how small she believes Theon to be.

"Hey, hey...I am more than happy for you to escort me home" he says grinning, "I can show you just how un-small I am."

Theon pulls Ygritte back towards him and she sort of slumps against his chest before looking up at him "God you're witty Greyjoy", she rolls her eyes. "Is this how you seduce all the girls?"

"I have other techniques" he says, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah right! You know nothing Theon Greyjoy."

"Well...I know that the train is here."

The Metropolitan Line (Ygritte/Theon) 3/3 - (Anonymous) on March 29th, 2012 12:06 am (UTC) (Expand)
she's a salty little pissernorthernqueens on March 18th, 2012 01:33 am (UTC)
sansa/theon, modern au, in robb's bed, sansa's idea
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 18th, 2012 09:18 pm (UTC)
found bravery in my bravado
Robb and Sansa are back home for break but of course, Robb heads out to see Jeyne. Arya ditches out with her pack, Bran goes to a sleepover with the Reeds, and Rickon passes out from too much sugar. So, it’s just him and Sansa and Theon prefers that, prefers having Sansa alone, pressing her into the sofa cushions, tongue deep in her mouth and a hand working its way underneath her shirt.

“Not here,” she whispers, pushing him off. She gets up and takes Theon by the hand. He follows her, smirking, eyeing how her t-shirt clings to her, the curve of her spine, and imagines taking her from behind.

Sansa leads him upstairs and he starts for Sansa’s room, but she shakes her head, tugging him further down the hall, into Robb’s room.
He halts, “We shouldn’t,” but Sansa smiles almost devilishly.

“Is that Theon Greyjoy saying he won't do something to me?” She steps close to him, hand reaching down to rub at his jeans, cupping his erection. “I want you to fuck me.”

He steps forward, crushing her against the door as he kisses her deeply, hands shedding her of her shirt. She reaches behind her back, scrambling for the doorknob and they stumble into Robb’s room.

He doesn’t know if Robb has figured it out – that Theon’s fucking his best friend’s sister. Robb’s room is in a disarray like always and they shuffle towards Robb’s bed, bouncing a bit as they land.

The sheets smell like him, he thinks as he unhooks Sansa’s bra, and that’s all he can think of even as her hands work at his zipper.

They shed the rest of their clothes quickly and Theon likes how warm she is against him, how her breasts feel in his hands. He presses her deeper into Robb’s sheets (dark navy blue), one hand sliding up by her head to brace himself, sliding underneath Robb’s pillow and his hand clenches around Robb’s tshirt and boxers he uses for bed.

Her legs tilt up and Theon pushes in with ease, their fucking is a practiced one. His head dips as he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks; Sansa moans and bucks against him and his answering thrust is sharp and quick. With a tit in one mouth and her cunt tight and wet around him, Theon is quite occupied but he’s never one to let his partner down. His fist still clutching Robb’s bed clothes, his other hand finds Sansa’s clit, thumb drawing circles and hand occasionally brushes against his own cock as his rhythm takes on a steady in-out movement.

He can feel it building, the orgasm building on his spine, in his cock, and he abandons her breast to bury his face in her neck, eyes half-open to auburn curls and Theon for one wild moment imagines it’s Robb he’s fucking, the bed smells of Robb, and he jackknives his hips wildly as Sansa moans loudly in his ear, fingernails digging into his back.

He comes with a grunt, withdrawing as he spills, cum splattering on Sansa’s thighs and the bedsheets. Theon continues to draw shapes into Sansa’s clit, driving her to orgasm with a moaning shriek. They lie on her brother’s bed, panting hard, Theon’s hand still clutching at Robb’s shirt.

A moment passes and Sansa takes in the state of the bed – the rumpled sheets, his cum on the bed, the smell of sex in the air. “We’re gonna have to wash that,” she kisses him, a teasing bite on his lower lip.

Theon pulls at her hair, baring her neck to him, kissing and smiling into her skin, “We're not done yet.”

Edited at 2012-03-18 09:29 pm (UTC)
Re: found bravery in my bravado - lainemontgomery on March 20th, 2012 10:56 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: found bravery in my bravado - vorrothiel on March 22nd, 2012 03:05 am (UTC) (Expand)
she's a salty little pissernorthernqueens on March 18th, 2012 01:33 am (UTC)
robb/jeyne, first time, red compels
(Anonymous) on March 18th, 2012 01:46 am (UTC)
Brienne/Hyle, ways to keep warm.
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on March 18th, 2012 04:22 am (UTC)
the rom-com of westeros for gaby
Winter is coming, the Stark words said, and Brienne wondered if somewhere one of the Stark girls was shivering, finding warmth in those letters.

They weren’t helping her, though, and she shivered under the thick cloak draped around her shoulders. She was fine, though, or would be; it wasn’t snowing at least, and Pod was out gathering firewood, and Ser Hyle was nowhere to be found. Thank the gods, she found herself thinking, picturing him and his smirk and his little japes and she shivered again.

And, then of course, Ser Hyle showed up, dropping to the ground next to her, stinking of days-old ale, and she shivered once more--though, not, she thinks, from the cold this time.

“You know,” he said, leaning in close, his hair tickling her cheek, “there are ways to keep warm in this weather beyond furs and ale.”

“You are the most-”

“Abominable excuse for a knight? Look at that, we’re finishing each other’s sentences already!” And he grinned at her, crinkled eyes and gleaming teeth, and she wanted to scream, but she cold, and she was sick of him, so she kissed him instead.

She kissed him, and he tasted like ale and the cold, and it took him a minute to respond, to catch up with what was happening. And then his hands were in her hair, and his tongue was in her mouth, and she almost pushed him away.


But she didn’t, and then his hands were running down her body and unlacing her breeches and she was was climbing on top of him and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but she felt warmer already.

The cold was still biting at her skin, but she couldn’t feel it, could only feel Ser Hyle’s hands around her waist, could only feel his heartbeat against hers, and him, underneath her, in her, and she leaned down and kissed him again.

And then something behind her was clattering to the ground, and someone was stuttering, “Ser? I mean, my lady? I mean, ser? Are you-are you alright?” And she was up and blushing, hands scrambling for her laces, for her fur, for her dignity. And Ser Hyle was still lying half-dressed on the frostbitten ground, and he was laughing, looking up at her. “Glad to see you know how to have some fun after all,” he told her, and it was all Brienne could do to not scream, or slap him, or just leave.
Re: the rom-com of westeros for gaby - jeynebesterling on March 18th, 2012 04:27 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the rom-com of westeros for gaby - lainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 05:25 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the rom-com of westeros for gaby - sternflammenden on March 18th, 2012 07:17 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the rom-com of westeros for gaby - misstopia on March 18th, 2012 02:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: the rom-com of westeros for gaby - broken_lullaby on March 19th, 2012 06:47 am (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 01:49 am (UTC)
Jon/Val + against the wall...
(Anonymous) on March 21st, 2012 04:26 am (UTC)
Oh my God this needs to be done.
I want this in my life lol
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 23rd, 2012 02:03 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - breve on March 23rd, 2012 02:24 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 26th, 2012 04:40 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 23rd, 2012 08:55 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 26th, 2012 04:42 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on March 24th, 2012 05:48 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 26th, 2012 04:42 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 01:49 am (UTC)
Theon/Sansa + arranged marriage sex, (her) first time...
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on April 3rd, 2012 11:49 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 01:50 am (UTC)
Jon/Dany + a queen does not ask...

Edited at 2012-03-18 01:51 am (UTC)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 01:50 am (UTC)
Jon/Sansa + in the godswood...
mira natural: my lordmira_natural on March 18th, 2012 09:15 pm (UTC)
secret home I made and found a new way to breathe
She never dared to imagine coming back. Seeing the cold stone walls from her childhood, from the times when she was still naive and innocent, a wandering mind full of stories of handsome knights and beautiful brides living in the world of honour. Summer child, dreaming of lands of eternal warmth, of the South, a place, where her wonderful future was supposed to be.

How distant this sweet child she once was feels now. Looking at the snow around her, seemingly melting but not quite yet, she feels strangely at home. As if, somehow, during the time she spent away from the North, in the lazy rays of suffocating, dry sunshine, the blinding snow somehow managed to find the way to her heart.
To slowly but steadily built its bastion in there, raising thick Wall around it, covering the sweet green hills of dreams with its icy kisses, its ferocious blizzards uprooting fecund trees where her imagination lived. Giving her mind a crystal-clear clarity and sharpness of an ice sliver. Leaving no place for mercy or hesitation in the arctic desert inside her soul.

When Jon - or rather, Lord Snow, as it is only proper to title the Queen's husband with courtesy - finally came to the Vale, she met him as the proud Lady of the Eyrie, a true heir of the Northern Lords. She never spoke of the fate that met Littlefinger (Cat, Cat, my sweet Cat, he rasped his last words as she placed a red kiss with a needle on his throat, his manhood still buried deep in her); somehow, under her skin, she felt that he knew.

His eyes never left her face, not once, wide, wondering and deep, as she pledged her loyalty to the Queen. She felt Ghost's warm tongue on her hand as he promised to escort her to the Winterfell, where she would hold her lawful lands as the Lady of the North. Where the landscape of the outer world will reflect the one that filled her body.

She remembers, standing in the Godswood, when her hand touches the rough bark of the Godstree, the first time she fell on her knees before him. His soft gasp when she untied the laces of his breeches, freeing his manhood, kissing its tip, mouthing it lightly. His hand in her hair, not pulling, but caressing the amber curls that slipped from her braid, when she let her teeth lightly scrap him, her tongue pressing the underside of his cock. The dull thud of his back colliding with the tree when she swallowed him, his hands tensing on her neck confusingly.

He pushed her on the cold ground, his gentleness long forgotten in the sweet rush of blood in his veins, the soft whispers of the winds of winter filling her ears as he plunged into her, his face suddenly filling out her whole vision, leaving no place for the rest of the world. He moved inside her fast, panting, as if he was running away from terrifying nightmares. The blackness of his eyes and his hair shaded the bloody redness of the leaves, erasing all other colours from her surroundings, as the pace started to bring her to the edge. Targaryen colours surrounded by cold snow, she thought unconsciously, so fitting.

She found her peak before him, arching her spine and clenching her fists on the leaves and moss, digging her nails into frozen ground. She laid under him, catching her breath, filling her lungs with brisk air, as he shuddered and filled her with his warm semen, Ghost howling in the distance.

(And when he kissed her, his lips crisp and cold, his hands leaving stains of mud on her cheeks, she didn't think of Petyr.)

When she looked at the Godswood crown upon her, the bits of clear sky visible through the foliage, lying in the heart of winter, for the first time since she could remember she felt she found a place she belongs to, no matter how damaged she is.

The first signs of Spring break the ice in her heart. Slowly. Painfully. And so, so achingly sweetly.

Edited at 2012-03-18 09:31 pm (UTC)
i was set alight - vorrothiel on March 19th, 2012 01:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: i was set alight - midnightblack07 on March 19th, 2012 04:27 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: i was set alight - vorrothiel on March 20th, 2012 03:39 am (UTC) (Expand)
a girl with kaleidoscope eyes: amy hairporna_cherrytree on March 18th, 2012 02:41 am (UTC)
arianne/daenerys - right after a training session with the dragons, sweat
unityfic: spooky blue charterunityfic on March 20th, 2012 11:17 pm (UTC)
ffff, I love your prompts.
(no subject) - a_cherrytree on March 22nd, 2012 03:26 am (UTC) (Expand)
bela0103: Oh Porn! Kermitbela0103 on March 18th, 2012 02:50 am (UTC)
Domeric Bolton/Lyanna Stark, pegging
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 18th, 2012 03:44 am (UTC)
Ashara/Ned, fecund fic

(I have no shame...lol)
Sternflammendensternflammenden on March 18th, 2012 03:46 am (UTC)
Brandon/Barbrey, she tops him
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 18th, 2012 03:47 am (UTC)
Aegon VI/Sansa, on the kingsroad
kimbo_smartieskimbo_smarties on March 18th, 2012 10:36 pm (UTC)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 19th, 2012 04:50 pm (UTC) (Expand)
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 18th, 2012 03:49 am (UTC)
Older!Arya/Older!Ned Dayne, all manner of debauchery after too much wine
goblindaughter on March 18th, 2012 04:03 am (UTC)
Sarella/Asha, cunningulus, we are both women captains
(Anonymous) on March 18th, 2012 05:22 am (UTC)
Robb x Jeyne - desperate, after a victory where both participated in the battle (Jeyne's first time doing so).
refinedby_fire on March 18th, 2012 05:23 am (UTC)
This is mine, I forgot to log in before I posted :/
refinedby_fire on March 18th, 2012 05:24 am (UTC)
Jon x Val - the wildling princess needs some comforting.
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 05:37 am (UTC)
Robert/Lyanna- While Robert is visiting Winterfell, Lyanna comes to him in the chamber that he shares with Ned.

Edited at 2012-03-18 05:38 am (UTC)
Junojuno_chan on March 21st, 2012 08:10 pm (UTC)
I've never written Robert before but I keep coming back to this prompt, I THINK I'M GONNA ATTEMPT IT.
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 08:27 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 22nd, 2012 01:22 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 22nd, 2012 01:34 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 22nd, 2012 02:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 22nd, 2012 01:44 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 22nd, 2012 02:52 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - dk65 on March 25th, 2012 10:07 am (UTC) (Expand)
sundance kid1964 on March 18th, 2012 09:09 am (UTC)
jaime/sansa, future. dangerous unpredictable hi-i'm-still-an-asshole-what-even-is-redemption jaime
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 20th, 2012 06:56 pm (UTC)
[Okee, I tried really hard for asshole!Jaime here, but he's my bb, so I don't reaaaaally know that it worked- I hope you'll like it anyway!]

Hiccups: Part One

He’s made her cry again. The third time since they rode from the Vale two days ago- his shoulder still aches from the pummeling he’d received from the wench after reducing the little lady to tears yesterday evening. But she’s off on patrol now, leaving him to deal with the sniffling girl all on his own.

He can’t even rightly recall what he said to upset her; something off-handed and derisive about the North or Winterfell or her poor, dying, damnable family line, no doubt. Cruel thoughtlessness comes to him as easily as breathing now, and vow or no vow, he really cannot be bothered to curb his tongue to spare Lady Sansa’s delicacy.

And so he sits and watches her blue eyes grow limpid, watches her lower lip tremble and her cheeks flush pink. She’s holding fast so far, but just one breath, two- and here are the tears, small and crystalline, flowing down the high slopes of her cheeks.

Jaime rolls his eyes and quirks a single eyebrow. “Gods, girl. And here I hoped you might be made of sterner stuff.”

Her face darkens into a distressing shade of vermilion. “You...you are no gentleman, ser.”

“Truer words were never spoken, my lady,” he quips. But he has trouble keeping a little grin off of his face- she’s turning redder and redder as she tries to keep from sobbing. A bit of clear mucus trickles from her nose, combining with the stickiness of the drying tears- she’s really quite a sight, and he wonders why she doesn’t even trouble to wipe her face with the sleeve of her gown. Finally, he pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his breeches and extends it to her.

“Take it.”

The girl only shakes her head, auburn curls flying this way and that. “I’m...I’m not crying,” she sputters, and he laughs aloud.

“Aren’t you? Then I suppose you must be taken with some hideous affliction that causes the face to leak. If that’s the case, we’ll just leave you off at the side of the road and let nature have at you.” She still makes no move to take the handkerchief, and he waves it just in front of her nose. “Come on. Dry yourself off.”

But she just narrows her eyes at him, even as she sniffs and sighs. Her nose and throat are filling up, and she starts to cough- oh no, I didn’t go searching the bloody Seven Kingdoms for you just to have you choke to death on your own snot. Jaime feels an incendiary twinge as his patience, scarcely existent even under the best of circumstances, frays and frays. He whips the handkerchief at her once more, this time hitting her under the chin. Her jaw clenches, her hands ball into fists, she sucks in labored breath after labored breath.

And then a squeaking little sound: a hiccup.
He does not know why, but it’s enough to snap the thread.
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 20th, 2012 06:57 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 20th, 2012 06:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - 1964 on March 21st, 2012 12:25 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 05:07 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - iorwen107 on March 21st, 2012 10:45 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 22nd, 2012 01:45 am (UTC) (Expand)
sundance kid1964 on March 18th, 2012 09:13 am (UTC)
cersei/sansa, innocent!sansa wants to be a good girl and do as her queen commands
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 06:52 pm (UTC)
Damsel in Distress

Cersei dips the strips of fabric into the herbed water and carefully places them one at a time over the soft white skin, viciously slashed with crimson and violet.

Sansa releases a little chirp of pain, and the Queen Regent strokes a hand over her russet locks, her voice gentler than it has ever been since Tommen was weaned- “All will be well, sweetling. Just breathe.”

She’s heard the screams from the throne room, and she always wills herself to walk past without a single glance within- Gods, I don’t want to know. But for some indiscernible reason, she opened the doors today and gasped at the sight- gold armor and white cloaks surrounding a trembling, bleeding, half-naked girl- a flash of red hair, a glimpse of glistening blue eyes and tear-stained cheeks- Cersei took Sansa by the arm and helped her up, whisked her away, completely deaf to Joffrey’s petulant protests.

And now she eases the Stark girl into a seated position and takes her delicate face between both palms. “He will never hurt you again. Do you understand? You’ll stay with me, and he’ll not touch you.”

Sansa nods, again and again and again. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she sniffs, and Cersei uses the sleeve of her silken nightdress to wipe away the moisture on the girl’s cheeks. She looks deep into the sapphire-blue eyes, into the storm of emotions swirling in the pupils; fear and gratitude and confusion and naked, hungry need...

She sweeps Sansa’s thick, ruddy hair behind her ears and brings her face closer. “You’re safe now, my sweet girl,” she whispers, and before Sansa can reply, Cersei presses a kiss to her swollen pink lips.

She’s pure as freshly-fallen snow- it’s obvious that she knows not what to do with her mouth, but Cersei gently coaxes her along until she kisses back, until she parts her lips and strokes the tip of Cersei’s tongue with her own. The Queen eases the girl back onto the cushions- she shrieks, just a little- the wounds are still open beneath the bandages. But Cersei only continues to pet the red, red hair- “You’ll never hurt again...never again...”

Soft kisses trail their way down Sansa’s slim white throat, a tongue tracing the curve of her collarbone. She continues to mewl and squeak, but they are not sounds of pain- drunk with possessiveness- mine, mine, mine- Cersei strokes beneath the girl’s smallclothes, smiling when Sansa tilts her hips up to brush herself against the smoothness of the Queen’s long, deliberate fingers.

Cersei curls her fingers inside Sansa- she’s tight and warm and so, so wet- she presses her mouth to the side of the Stark girl’s neck and nibbles and sucks at the skin, just enough to leave a pretty red bloom. Nothing like the savage lacerations marring her lovely long back, just something dainty and decorative to mark her as Cersei’s own. The thought pleases her, and she brings her free hand into her own smallclothes, rubbing herself in time with Sansa.

The little maid rocks her hips up, mouth open in a silent scream, her inner muscles contracting at an alarming rate. After she rides her climax to its completion, Sansa reaches up and catches her fingers in Cersei’s soft golden hair. Her full lips curve up into a beatific smile, and she whispers- “So beautiful...the most beautiful...”

Cersei comes with a low cry, the hand that had been in Sansa now grazing over the curves of the girl’s body. And if the sight of long-lashed eyes and rosy lips and ample breasts causes a little sting of panic in her chest, the Queen Regent chooses to ignore it for now. Instead, she lies beside her rescued damsel, golden curls mingling with auburn, and wraps her securely in her arms.

(no subject) - breve on March 18th, 2012 06:59 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 08:28 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - 1964 on March 18th, 2012 08:30 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 08:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
sundance kid1964 on March 18th, 2012 09:27 am (UTC)
jaime/cersei, kids, cersei wants to try something she heard her older friends talking about
sundance kid1964 on March 18th, 2012 09:41 am (UTC)
jaime/myrcella, learning the truth
adirtyangel: Katherineadirtyangel on March 18th, 2012 09:41 am (UTC)

modern au where they share a dorm at college and things happends

Edited at 2012-03-18 09:43 am (UTC)
naylas2naylas2 on March 22nd, 2012 02:25 am (UTC)
can I love you for your beautiful jon/robb prompts?
(no subject) - adirtyangel on March 22nd, 2012 06:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
Inside Robb Stark's Bed 1/2 - smittenskitten on April 21st, 2012 08:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Inside Robb Stark's Bed 2/2 - smittenskitten on April 21st, 2012 08:52 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Inside Robb Stark's Bed 2/2 - adirtyangel on April 21st, 2012 03:38 pm (UTC) (Expand)
sundance kid1964 on March 18th, 2012 09:51 am (UTC)
jaime/sansa. sansa, desperate to feel alive (she's steel and sick of being treated like a porcelain doll)
dogged by a flock of apostropheslheena on March 19th, 2012 03:02 am (UTC)
Part One
She was, they said, Alayne Stone. Presumptive Lady of the Eyrie, given that Petyr Baelish had been missing for six months and the Lords of the Vale bickered between themselves. It made no sense - surely, one of the Lords would have placed themselves upon the carved weirwood throne over a bastard. Surely the threat of a man gone and likely dead in these times was not enough to stop the claims that every one of the lesser lords, who had blood ties however weak to the lineage of Arryn over some bastard girl.

So, as they did, King's Landing sent a messenger. A man to see what had become of the place, what sort of sorcery this Alayne Stone was using to hold the Vale from it's rightful lords.

He did not return.

Another was sent, and then another. And then-- then, patrols began to go missing. Lannister men all, it seemed if they set foot across the border, they vanished. There were rumors of witchcraft, of angry gods, that the Lannisters were being punished for the sins of their Queen. It was suggested that Jamie Lannister himself tend to the problem. The High Septon made it clear that he would be of no help, and the Lannisters got themselves into this mess - and his going would be a sign of piety. A sign of humility.

A sign, perhaps, that would lead to Cersai Lannister not being hung in front of the church where she had been married.


It was as he had expected. Two hours ride into the Vale, and they were surrounded. Vale men all, the pale blue of their liverly oddly bordered by grey. They said nothing, had no explanation besides Follow me and Keep quiet.

It was, after a bit, blatantly obvious that they were being taken to the Eyrie.


Sansa sat on the weirwood throne, clad in Arryn blues with a cloak of Stark gray and black, her bright auburn hair in a simple braid that fell over her shoulder. When yet another band of Lannisters was brought before her, she glanced at their faces, but stopped short on the last. "The Sky Cells. All of them." She paused. "Except this one. I wish to speak with him."

It was a tale for songs - that she was the Lady of the Eyrie after her lady aunt had passed, that Petyr had left her as heir, that she was the heir to Winterfell, and she- she, Sansa Stark, once betrothed to Joffrey, her family dead - she was Queen in the North. She took no battles. She waged no wars. Instead, she won her kingdom bit by bit, though strength and words. Her presence here was still a secret from the south - a rumor, no more. Her short-lived marriage was never consummated, and she knew that Arya was not with Bolton's bastard, who had claimed himself Lord of Winterfell. She was biding her time. She was waiting. Winter is Coming were her family's words, and she lived by them - she would come, as slow as the turning seasons, and take back what her family had ripped from them.

She did not know why, then, but she did not put Jamie in the Sky Cells. No, he was a prisoner in the southren tower, and she spoke with him at times. At meals, when she felt the weight of the steel and iron crown she wore, when she realised that there were things only he knew. He had spoken to her mother, he said. She had asked him to look for her - to keep her safe.

That night, she had cried, alone, where no one else could see her.

The next day, she named Jamie Lannister to her Queensguard, not caring if he cared for it or not.
Part Two - lheena on March 19th, 2012 03:02 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - 1964 on March 19th, 2012 07:16 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - (Anonymous) on March 19th, 2012 07:38 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - lainemontgomery on March 20th, 2012 01:29 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - just_a_dram on April 1st, 2012 04:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
userfriendly_xuserfriendly_x on March 18th, 2012 01:56 pm (UTC)
theon (reek)/robb, forgiveness
leah rebecca: Robb Starkbloodofpyke on March 18th, 2012 07:25 pm (UTC)
ruined and broken
what is this idek but i feel like i should apologize

He pictured it, kept picturing it. Winterfell ruined, his brother’s heads on spikes, the North lost. And he wanted to scream himself raw, wanted Theon’s head on a spike of its own, wanted Theon as ruined and broken as he felt.

He heard, of course, heard that Bolton’s bastard had Theon chained in the dungeons under the Dreadfort, and somewhere in him, he tried to care, tried find it in himself to feel something. But he came up empty, came up jumbled, and so he buried it, deeper and deeper, and tried to lose himself in the war, in his new wife, in being this king who’d lost his kingdom.

It was hard, though, keeping it all buried, and bits kept resurfacing: Theon’s laugh when he tried to use a bow the first time; those stolen moments in the godswood, all ragged breathing and grasping hands; that last night they spent together, unspoken words crashing to the ground and shattering. He saw a man grasping a bow, and his mind flashed back to Theon piercing the wildling that held Bran all those months ago; he heard someone chuckling at a dirty jape, and he remembered the way Theon had laughed whenever he tried to act older than his years.

There might be more to the story, he thought sometimes, in the middle of the night when he woke gasping for air, hands reaching for someone who wasn’t there. But he pictured it all again, imagined Theon riding up to Winterfell in the dead of night, slaughtering his brothers where they stood, and his hands balled into fists, the sheets bunching up around him. He was your brother once, he reminded himself, could be your brother still, even broken and beaten and ruined.

And he thought of Theon, Ramsay’s new plaything, chained up and maimed, thought again of his brothers, of Winterfell, and something in him cried out, refused to be buried.
Re: ruined and broken - jodeau on March 18th, 2012 08:16 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: ruined and broken - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 08:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: ruined and broken - oximore on March 24th, 2012 10:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)