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Entry tags:
OPEN POST (JANUARY 2013)
 1. give me a prompt (image, song, quote, poem, et cetera) and request a character in the subject line 2. i'll tag witchu 3. this is a no pressure funsies thing so i'll tag when i feel like it 4. this post is open to literally everyone idc if you know me or not 5. I CAN'T BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR MY DIRTY TAGS |
robbbbb
" . . . The hardest part of any battle was just before,
waiting for the carnage to begin. "
that dumb stark kid
that you're gonna find really difficult to forgive
our mother has been absent ever since we founded rome
there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home.
UP THE WOLVES - THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
we knocked the dresser over as we rolled across the floor
i don't mean it when i tell you i don't love you anymore
would you look at that, the way the ceiling starts to swerve
what will i do when i don't have you, when i finally get what i deserve?
THE OCEANOGRAPHER'S CHOICE - THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
cersei can come too
into a white and soundless place
now we see things as in a mirror dimly
then we shall see each other face to face
some things you do for money, some you do for fun
but the things you do for love are gonna come back for you one by one
LOVE LOVE LOVE - THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
heh
it was abrupt but i saw it first
i was in there when it happened
and i was hoping for so much worse
WHEN THE CRASH HAPPENED - TUB RING
theon for that one au
shoulder to shoulder now brother, we carry no arms
the blind man sleeps in the doorway, his home
if only i had a bigger enemy than my apathy i could have won
but you rip it from my hands and you swear it's all gone
and you rip out all i have just to say you've won
well now you've won.
I GAVE YOU ALL - MUMFORD & SONS
no subject
theon would have been a good boy, once, a good son and a good heir, a man to make his father proud. maybe—maybe he'd still be all of those things now, but the truth of the matter is that everything theon has learned in his life he learned not from balon greyjoy or from his own (dead) brothers, but from the starks and from jaime lannister, the kingslayer.
(who was it, after all, who gave him his very first bow? jaime had pushed the heartwood shortbow into his tiny, childish hands, and theon had looked up to him with bright eyes and a flushed face and smiled and smiled and smiled and—)
jaime had been a withering, wistful memory whom theon hadn't thought often of during his years in winterfell, in the north, and then one day the whole of the fucking south came to the north with their banners streaming and their faces pink and tanned from the glowing southern sun. the south came to the north, and jaime rode with them, tall and handsome, a knight gleaming in his kingsguard's armor. he looked right at theon when he passed by, staring at him when eddard stark greeted robert baratheon and staring at him from across the feasting hall, with theon never once meeting his eye.
when theon wakes the next morning, he finds jaime fast asleep on the floor next to his bed with his head tipped back against his mattress. theon's head is heavy, his tongue thick and dry from too much wine, and he reaches out with bleary eyes to lightly touch jaime's temple, his fingers feathering through his hair.
he pulls his hand away and jolts upright when he realizes he isn't dreaming, when jaime doesn't shimmer and fade away like the mirage he's always been in theon's sleep. )
no subject
It's a blur of all his memories, stepping through them in the strange daze of a dream, his first days there when he'd been young and afraid and the Ironborn had looked on him with bitter contempt. Father had sent him to ward here for a reason, but oh at that age it was hard not to feel abandoned and so terribly alone, curling up in his cold bed each night thinking of Cersei and Tyrion. And years later, when he'd started to learn how to make his way on Pyke, when Balon Greyjoy's third son was about the age where he could learn to wield a sword but he just wasn't as good as his brothers ( or even his sister ) and Balon looked on him a quiet but obvious displeasure.
Jaime had taught him how to wield a sword. And young Theon Greyjoy had loved him like a brother, so he loved him like a brother, too. It was years later when Jaime gave him a bow ( bought with gold rather than iron but it'd be their little secret, he'd told him ), when Theon's face had lit up with joy and he'd wrapped his arms around his middle and told him he loved him, that he'd always loved him for this. He took to the bow so much easier than he'd taken to a sword, always working to make his father proud, to make Jaime proud.
Balon still never paid him much mind, but Jaime did. And the years passed further still, the rebellion raging and Theon's blood brothers dead, Theon being sent to North while Jaime was to return home to the Rock, and he promised, he promised he'd come for him. And he has. It's only taken him -- nine years, nine long years in which he's become a knight and a kingsguard and a kingslayer.
He wakes the moment he feels something, someone's touch against his temple, achingly comforting and familiar yet so foreign at the same time. He knows it's Theon, but he's afraid to move, like he's dreaming this, too, afraid that Theon would pull away again if he saw him stir, but his heart's in his throat as those fingers ghost through his hair.
Theon pulls away suddenly, and Jaime moves before he can stop himself, catching his wrist effortlessly without even opening his eyes. There's a pause there that feels like it lasts for longer than it really does, a moment when Jaime holds his breath -- and he tips his head back slightly, opening his eyes and looking up at Theon. ]
Theon.
[ Good morning. :( He hasn't left, since the night before. ]
ROBB
B|
elena!!
Amazing how the heart clutches at anything familiar, whimpering, Mine! Mine!
damon!!
I guess I just needed my brother.
klaus.
theon tho.
theon sentinel/guide au moving it over 'cause i want to
The responsibility that weighs on him the most -- is Theon Greyjoy.
They'd grown up together. Theon is as much his brother as Jon is, even if neither of them truly share his blood, as much family as Sansa or Arya or Bran or Rickon. Robb had met him when he was five, the tall boy from Pyke with the crooked smile who already knew how to wield a sword and was too eager to show him and teach him, seemed so proud to be able to -- and later on, when Robb was older and he could disarm Theon himself, sometimes prone to anger. Robb always calmed him down easily, and even small tussles and fights would end in laughter more than anything else.
When Robb was twelve, one morning when they were supposed to be sparring in the yard, Theon wasn't there. Robb knew where to find him, without even thinking about it, somehow knowing where to find him --- and Theon was there, leaning against one wall in his room, wide-eyed and entranced by something Robb couldn't quite see or smell or hear. He seemed so lost in a way that Robb didn't understand, and he'd been so afraid, then, so afraid that something was wrong -- but he'd reached out and taken his hand, looked into his eyes, called his name.
And Theon had come back to him.
They'd always had the bond, but that was the first time they realized it, the first time Theon realized what he was capable of, the first time Robb knew that he could ground him, he could guide him ( though sometimes, gods, he's at a loss as to how ). They've struggled a little, over the years, Theon with his temper and his lack of control and Robb reeling him back the best as he can even with his own temper, Theon always wanting to push himself too much, too far, wanting to be better and stronger while Robb tried to tell him that Greyjoy, please, too much is dangerous, you don't have to prove yourself to anyone, and moments where Theon went more than a little out of control. But -- but they've grown together, too, Theon stronger and Robb stronger for that, too, their bond unbreakable, as brothers, as two fates twined together. Theon had been the first to swear himself to him when Robb was declared king, and of course he would as his protector, always, in all things.
Robb had hated to see him go. But they both knew it was a necessity, and Theon insisted that he could take care of himself, that his father's ships could win them the war and they could not let such an asset go untapped. Robb had watched him ride off in the morning to the harbors to sail for the Iron Islands, and though every day something in him ached desperately, a terrible longing emptiness, he knew that Theon was safe, that Theon was well, that Theon would return to him soon, like he always does. But now, well.
He walks through Winterfell as though it's a dream. Every stone scorched with fire, the walls to the keep collapsed. The sea had come to Winterfell, burned it in it's wake and drowned it's people, his brothers killed and burned, and every step he takes shakes something in him, makes that wound deep in his heart sear wide open, makes a terrible anger and betrayal burn deep in his stomach. But there's still -- that emptiness, a long-reaching sadness, and gods, where did he go wrong. Step by step, his furs wrapped tight around him to protect from the aching cold, he moves into what remains of the castle, into the dungeons deep below where his men had captured the man who was responsible for all of it, spat on him and left him in chains.
He feels so strangely numb, by the time he reaches the iron barred door and murmurs for his guard to leave him after unlocking the door, leaving the key hanging off a ring on the wall -- and finally, Robb sees him again. His brother. His Sentinel. And a traitor. ]
-- Greyjoy.
[ Robb's voice is hollow more than grim, and honestly, he doesn't know what he's meant to feel. ]
i wish you could use entry cuts for comments
when robb ventures down into the dungeons, into theon's cell, he'll find the turncloak on his knees with his wrists chained above him to the stone wall. his head hangs low, a cold sweat dripping from his temple and across his jaw to splatter to the dirt, and he doesn't look up when robb enters. he doesn't look up when robb speaks, either, though his heart drops to his gut (and burns to ashes, to smoke, to nothing) at the sound of his voice.
here comes robb stark, the king in the north, the young wolf. here comes his king to ask him why, as if it'd make a difference.
as if theon's fate isn't sealed already.
but, gods, he loved this man once, as his brother and as his guide and as something more sometimes. theon laughs, low and raw, his shackles clanging noisily as he lifts his head and blinks the sweat from his lashes. )
Stark. ( he should feel shamed, when he looks into robb's face, into his eyes. and he does feel shamed (and sorry and guilty and angry angry angry), but what's done is done and what's dead is dead, and theon spits blood from his mouth, tonguing over his bloodied teeth. ) Welcome home.
WELL I'M SORRY.
There's a terrible anger stirring in his gut but it's overwhelmed by so much -- sadness. He doesn't understand how someone he loved so much could do something like this, why he would ever turn so foul. he doesn't understand where he'd went wrong, when he'd tried so hard to guide him.
Maybe he'd went wrong when he let him leave.
Theon is on his knees, arms stretched above him, wrists shackled to the wall, and if seeing him wasn't painful enough his laughter sends something spiking through him. They'd laughed so much together, but never like that, never so cold and terrible and hollow, and Robb should hate this man, he knows. This man is not -- and was never, his brother, this man has betrayed every single trust he'd put in him, has forsaken his vows, forsaken his friendship and his love. He should hate him, and maybe he does.
He shouldn't be here alone. And yet, he can't shake a bone-deep instinct, because, no, no. Theon would never. Theon would never hurt him.
( He's seen him go feral dozens of times, pulled him back from that with quiet murmurs of his name. Maybe he could have saved him from this madness, too, except. ) ]
A poor welcome.
[ His voice is a little colder, this time, his fingers digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood if not for the leather of his gloves. ]
ugh that icon is so fucking presh
he doesn't have to say it for theon to know it. he's always been a martyr, always been willing to nail the mistakes of the world to his back even as the world nailed a crown to his head, and maybe that's where he's different from his father, except. except he's not that different, is he, and he'll still have theon's head for his betrayal, for the one mistake he let slip past him.
and now they're both damned.
but theon thinks he likes the taste of damned, and he'd have liked the taste of the wall, once. too late for that. )
I'd welcome you nice and proper like you deserve, but—( he pulls on his chains and cuts a quick glance to the shackles on his wrists. )
isn't it just
[ His voice cuts in above Theon's, hard and bitter, blue eyes narrowed and fingers digging hard into his palms, leaving marks even through the leather of his gloves. And of course Theon dares, he's always been defiant, even with Robb, as his king as his guide. He so rarely backed down from anything and he was always so terribly proud, always ready with a grin and some snide remark even when something goes wrong and far out of his own control.
Things were different, then. And Robb wants to believe that Theon's just -- changed, that this is not the Theon Greyjoy he once knew, that his brother meant his oaths and his vows, that their friendship meant as much to Theon as it did to him. He wants to believe that something else had changed him and driven him to this.
But Theon hasn't changed at all. Still the same man, the same boy. This -- all of this, he'd done it himself. ]
Even in chains before your king. [ So cold, now, and Robb hates how inwardly he feels so terribly distraught, wondering how he went wrong, what he could've done better. ] Maybe I should've ordered that the traitor be killed on sight.
no subject
I'm on my knees for you, aren't I? ( his mouth is thick with blood but as dry as paper. ) Your Grace.
( theon's words come slow and lazy and infuriatingly confident, for as conflicted as he feels. looking robb in the face is like being repeatedly punched in the gut, and from the moment he'd been taken down and wrapped in chains as his sword was forced from his bloodied hands, he'd been preparing for this moment. he'd been preparing for robb.
no amount of preparation would have been enough, it turns out. theon feels as lost as ever, aching for him like he always has. )
no subject
Maybe it just hadn't been enough. Or Theon had lied from the beginning.
( But he couldn't have, that stubborn voice at the back of his mind keeps saying. It couldn't have been a lie, he'd never hurt me, not after everything, not when it all felt so real. ) ]
You aren't here for me to show you mercy.
[ Theon is beyond that now. Beyond any kind of forgiveness that Robb could hope to give. And he shouldn't struggle with that, but he does, maybe a flicker of pain showing in his eyes. ]
You're here because I want you to tell me why.