great-bastards

a review of rainbow now that all my thoughts are together
  • bastards: great opening song. a++ gravelly/sorta raw vocals. i feel like this is gonna be an especially good anthem for high schoolers tbh like it's just such a nice "it's gonna be alright" message.
  • let 'em talk: 2010 kesha meets 2017 kesha. play this at the club tbh. but like....a classy club, u feel me?
  • woman: i'm a boy and this makes me wanna scream that i'm a motherfucking woman out the car window at random passerby
  • hymn: if kesha wants to start a church where they play this song i will be at every goddamn sunday mass.
  • praying: what can i say about this that hasn't already been said? i am just sO PROUD OF KESHA ROSE SEBERT
  • learn to let go: this is the ultimate upbeat anthem of recovery. the kind of thing that you dance to in your bedroom to feel better on a shitty day.
  • finding you: um???? did someone say 'sequel to past lives'??? this is just so cute y'all put it on your mixtapes and all that gay shit.
  • rainbow: no wonder this is the mf title track. the way her voice is so genuine and kind of shaky and powerful all at once. the piano. the way it swells and grows stronger just like she's gotten stronger. this is where i died the first time tbh
  • hunt you down: the "boy i'll murder you if you piss me off" anthem all the lady country singers wish they wrote
  • boogie feet: once again, a throwback to old kesha. eagles of death metal are the reason we put eagles on the list of protected animals obvi
  • boots: soundtrack for the female james bond movie we all know we want
  • old flames: DO I NEED TO SAY ANYTHING BESIDES DOLLY PARTON
  • godzilla: this shit is the cutest thing i've ever fuckin heard what the goddamn fuck
  • spaceship: i could fall asleep to her voice in this song but in the best way. what a nice, soft way to end an album. a++. 10/10

anonymous asked:

if they were to make a show about the blackfyre rebellion(s), who would you cast for the great bastards?

Thanks for asking! I’m not sure if you want all the bastards or just the ones involved in the rebellion(s), but I’ll do all.

Daemon Blackfyre: Tom Hopper

Bittersteel (Aegor Rivers): Luke Evans

Bloodraven (Brynden Rivers):  Paul Bettany

Gwenys Rivers: My fancast for Melissa Blackwood is Mallory Jansen, and I imagine the girls as looking more like her. So maybe Janet Montgomery. 

Mya Rivers: Burcu Özberk

Shiera Seastar: Sarah Gadon


A few of these are in the awesome ASOIAF fancasting resource. It comes in handy for those never-ending Targaryens! 

10

Okay. So because it has been specifically requested, an examination of Lotor’s sword. I’m sorry to anyone who was excited for this because it just… isn’t.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a nice solid sword with smooth lines, good visual flow, not gaudy – actually it’s quite plain and practical. Almost militaristically utilitarian. 

Which in and of itself is interesting given all the fandom expectations for Lotor to be a something of a lavish, exceedingly vain, and impractical sort. That sword suggests a personality that runs quite the opposite, unlike the extremely detailed and fanciful swords his father conjures with a bayard. The Blades of Marmora have more detailing going on than Lotor does.

Aside from that though, there’s not much I can glean historically based on the sword. A backswept thick crossguard like that isn’t a terribly common sword design, and is seen more often in animation and video games than reality. 

Indian Khandas and Patissas have backswept crossguards a little similar that, but this sword lacks the telltale markers of the Kanda’s wide, flat-ended blade shape, single edged blade, the arching hook on the pommel butt, or the one-sided basket-hilt-inspired finger guard. The pre-17th century (pre-European influence) Patissas are closer with thier lack of finger guards and often a lack of hook with a short thick backswept crossguard, but it’s only a single point of similarity, and not a strong one since Lotor’s crossguard sweeps back with thick and heavy finger guards on both sides – which would restrict movement strangely on a double edged blade and is why this just isn’t a design that happens in real swords. Lotor’s sword also lacks the distinctive triangular hilt extension running up the center of the blade. It just doesn’t match too many vital key markers.

Similarly, some Chinese Jian/Longsword designs have backswept hilts, but that is the extent of the similarity, again, nothing else about it from blade shape on seems to match.

The apparent two-handed hilt grip also makes it a bad match for most east Asian swords. They’re usually one-handed, sometimes a hand and a half, but Lotor could clearly comfortably fit both hands on it.

In fact, if you ignore the odd crossguard entirely, the sword becomes a very basic, very nice-but-boring-and-generic European Longsword. The large hit and length puts it towards the “bastard” and “great” sword size, as is also suggested by the long ricasso (unsharpened section just above the hilt). The blade cross section seems to be a mix of a diamond and hexagonal form, and the hilt a standard diamond shaped pommel. 

By no means a bad sword design, it’s just, largely uninteresting from a historical and meta commentary perspective.

Catelyn, Smart

Much like her elder daughter, Catelyn Stark is a character whose intelligence is seriously underrated. There’s less of an intellectual arc apparent in her story as compared to Sansa’s, as Catelyn is a grown woman, but that doesn’t mean her thinking is static. It must be said that she is one of the series’ most staggeringly unfortunate characters, as the tragic structure of her arc demands that her decisions and risks to protect her family fail and rebound upon them.

Yet lack of success does not equal lack of intelligence. Even in her mistakes and failures, it is more than possible to see that this is not a woman who didn’t think before she acted.

Keep reading

The Great Bastards | Andrej Pejić as Daemon Blackfyre

“The rightful king, Daemon Blackfyre. The King Who Bore the Sword.” The old man’s mustache quivered. “The men of the red dragon call themselves the loyalists, but we who chose the black were just as loyal, once. Though now … all the men who marched beside me to seat Prince Daemon on the Iron Throne have melted away like morning dew.”

10

Aegon’s bastards had been the bane of the Seven Kingdoms ever since the old king died. He had legitimized the lot upon his deathbed; not only the Great Bastards like Bloodraven, Bittersteel, and Daemon Blackfyre, whose mothers had been ladies, but even the lesser ones he’d fathered on whores and tavern wenches, merchant’s daughters, mummer’s maidens, and every pretty peasant girl who chanced to catch his eye. Fire and Blood were the words of House Targaryen, but Dunk once heard Ser Arlan say that Aegon’s should have been Wash Her and Bring Her to My Bed. (The Sworn Sword)

asoiaf meme (minor characters): the great bastards (2/6 families)

Certain as the Sun: VII

Here is the next part to Certain as the Sun. ***WARNING: EXTREME EXPLICIT CONTENT***  I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as it killed my heart to write it. (That’s all the spoilers I’ll give. Please prepare yourselves). Sorry it’s also super long.

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I could think up about a million different possibilities as for why the hell Tamlin had sent for me to be brought to the Spring Court and none of them involved him letting Feyre go so that she could return home with me.

When I had first received the note from none other than the High Lord of the Spring Court himself, Amren had advised me to ignore it.

“It’s a trap,” she’d said, eyes blaring. “What good reason would he have to send for you?” When I’d addressed the rest of the Inner Circle as well, they’d had similar thoughts. There was one thing we all agreed upon, and that was that Tamlin had not invited me to his home for a nice brunch and some polite conversation.

When I’d tried to reach out to Feyre again I had been met with that dark, infinite void. She had not contacted him at all since she’d returned once again to the Spring Court. And although I was certain she must possess some perfectly good explanation unbeknownst to myself, it still struck some sort of chord that she had severed herself from me so thoroughly.

Nevertheless, I had agreed to meet with Tamlin. Morrigan and Amren were both waiting just on the outskirts of the Spring Court should I need their assistance. I’d ordered Azriel to take to the skies and keep watch from there, Cassian flanking my side. Normally, their roles were reversed, but in great thanks to that bastard King of Hybern, we still had not found any cure for Cassian’s ruined wings.

He had not yet come to terms with it, and over these past months, I could tell that there was something that was a bit off about my fellow Illyrian warrior. I could not begin to imagine the pain that came with being without your wings—for Illyrians we’d sooner lose our lives than the one thing that kept us from being fully tethered to the ground. Every day that Cassian chose to continue was another that my respect for him grew.

Even if that did mean getting rip-roaring drunk with him more than usual.

“Well, Tamlin’s certainly got a flair for the extravagant,” Cassian mused upon coming face to face with a ridiculously gaudy table sat decoratively in a corner. It seemed to have no use whatsoever besides showcasing Tamlin’s less than desirable personality traits.

No sooner did the words come from Cassian’s lips did a servant come to take us to wherever Tamlin was hiding out. He was a small, young Fae. Exceedingly pointed ears were a light shade of green at the tips, his eyes wide at the sight of the two warriors before him.

The boy swallowed before speaking. “Master Tamlin has ordered me to fetch you,” he said, fighting to stop his voice from quivering so much. “Please follow me.”

He promptly spun on his heels and walked out of the room, not bothering to ensure we were following him.

As we were led through the utter maze that was the Spring Court dwelling, I was shocked at how many memories were associated with this place that had once been like a home but was now nothing more than a living hell.

Finally, the boy led us to a set of dusty rose-colored double doors. His timid fingers lightly rapped on the door, followed by a, “Come in.”

As one we all filed inside. The room was big and spacious, a single table set with four chairs instead of just three did not escape my notice. This particular room had been peculiarly made with mirrors on three of the four walls, as well as the ceiling, giving it the illusion that you were standing in a pool of Starlight due to the sun that refracted off of them.

And standing at the lone window in the room was none other than the High Bastard himself.

Tamlin turned upon hearing our arrival, a welcoming smile adorning his lips. “Rhysand. Cassian,” he greeted. As he made his way over to us, I noted that his choice in clothing was just as flamboyant as his furniture. He wore a finely tailored red tunic with bright silver trimmings, grey pants, and black boots. His hair graced past his shoulders, and sitting atop his head was the infamous Spring Court crown. It looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“I trust you made it here without any trouble,” he continued.

“Your trust is accurately placed,” Cassian said with more than a hint of malice.

Tamlin just nodded, keeping that pleasant smile on his face. “Well, please sit. We’ve much to discuss.”

Neither Cassian nor I moved.

“I don’t have time for whatever mind tricks you’re trying to pull, Tamlin. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that that is one area—of many— that my performance supersedes yours,” I replied coolly.

That smile drooped ever slightly.

“I don’t see your Lady floating about,” I remarked. “Keeping her locked away for fear I may meddle with her mind again, are we?”

“Funny you should mention her, actually,” Tamlin’s eyes glittered with something that had my senses on high alert. “Feyre,” he called, “would you please join us?”

A moment later I heard the doors that we’d entered just a few moments ago open and then shut once more. I forced myself to breathe, not to react, to calm myself as Feyre came into view.

She was wearing a dress similar in fashion to what Tamlin was wearing, a pretty diadem sat upon her head. Feyre did not glance our way as she rushed to Tamlin, her lips meeting his as soon as he was within arm’s length.

Tamlin scooped her into his arms, Feyre leaning into his touch as his hand moved further south than should be permitted in front of an audience.

Cassian was taut as a bow, his hands clenching and unclenching were they were hidden behind his back. It took all my strength not to turn Tamlin’s mind to putty then and there, and I could tell similar thoughts were indeed running through Cassian’s mind as well as we were forced to watch helplessly as our High Lady shoved her tongue down another man’s throat.

“How are you today, my love?” He asked. She smiled broadly, one she had only ever graced me with when she was incandescently happy.

“I’m well, thank you,” she replied, beaming at him. “I got some more paintings done today.”

“Did you?”

She nodded, biting down on her lower lip, eyes sparkling. “I was feeling oddly inspired this morning…perhaps due to—”

“Either we get on with whatever business, or the two of you get a room and we leave,” Cassian interrupted. As much as I wished I could say that I would have been able to stand there for a few moments more and let them go about their business, it was killing me to see her this way.

When Feyre had visited, she’d told me she had to do things to keep up appearances. Things that she was not proud of. She hadn’t specified at the time, but there was no need. I knew exactly the kind of things she probably had to do to keep up the facade that she was hopelessly in love with Tamlin.

And yet, the wrath deafening my ears came as a surprise.

Indeed, it was one thing to be told, and another entirely to experience.

“Feyre, you remember Rhysand, I’m sure. And the other is Cassian. His…advisor.”

I couldn’t help the low chuckle that came as a result of his words. “You think you will anger me by disrespecting not only my title but a member of my court as well. It will take much more than a few insults, princeling, for me to reveal my true self.” His brows rose. “And I assure you, your claws would not like to become acquainted with my talons.”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes calculating.

Finally, he spoke. “You know what? You’re right. So very right, Rhysand. How foolish of me to think I could rile you with belittling you insignificant and, frankly, foolish court of savages anyway?” My teeth set. “It would take something much more…personal, I think.”

It took less than a heartbeat for Cassian to have his swords drawn, me reaching out to strangle Tamlin’s mind as the room was flooded with ten guards. They all immediately came at us, and I was more than prepared to fight our way out of this cursed kingdom with Tamlin tisked.

“Spill a drop of their blood, and your beloved mate loses her head.” It took me a moment to realize what he was saying, an infinitely longer moment for it to process. For when I looked at where Feyre had once been standing like another pretty piece of Tamlin’s furniture, she was now being held by three guards.

I forced my face into a mask of calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy bastard.”

His brows rose in mock surprise. “Oh really? You’ve no clue that Feyre is, indeed, your mate? That she’s been pretending this entire time to love me when really, she had staged everything just to infiltrate the Spring Court. A spy within my own walls, hiding in plain sight.” He paused, as if waiting for me to answer some unspoken question.

“Well then, if you have no feelings whatsoever for our lovely Feyre, here. I suppose you’ll have no problem watching this.” I watched as he snapped his fingers and a table decorated with over a dozen lethal weapons, a whip, and strangely, a bed appeared.

“As you know, the punishment for such treason is death.” He stalked towards Feyre, whose eyes had gone devoid of all emotion. As if she’d shut herself out of her own body. With one finger, he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry for this, Feyre. I really am.” A regretful shake of the head and then, “Get on with it, boys.”

Immediately, Tamlin’s guards began to strip Feyre, yanking at her dress, tearing at the pins and beads in her hair until she was entirely naked before us. Once finished, Tamlin handed a long, black whip to the nearest guard. Something winked at the end of the whip—glass, I realized with unabashed horror.

“You’re going to whip her to death?” I asked, somehow still managing to keep my voice utterly bored.

Tamlin shrugged. “We’ll see how well she holds out.” He nodded at the guard, and I was sure my heart cleaved itself in two as Feyre took in a deep, shuddering breath, preparing herself for the pain that was sure to come.

The guard’s arm reared back, time seeming to slow as his arm came down.

The resounding crack of leather on skin was one that would haunt me for many centuries to come.

Feyre only released a strangled cry, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from calling out. And that was how it went as the guard whipped her again, and again, and again. I lost count sometime after fifty.

I knew that Feyre’s back had stopped healing itself when she finally released a cry so full of agony, it was all I could do to stop from ripping that whip from the guard’s hands and using it myself.

Tamlin allowed the guard to bring down that leather ten more times before he finally said, “Enough. Get her up.”

They heaved her up, Tamlin slowly circling around her like a lion before its prey. When he was once again facing her he murmured, “Get on the bed.”

Feyre looked at him, her eyes burning like liquid amber. But she did not respond, and she did not move. Only stared at him with a look that promised death in the future.

“Get on the bed, Feyre, or I will instruct my guards to seize your mate’s cousin and bring her back here.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Pretty little thing isn’t she? Bright red lips, beautiful honeyed hair. The only family Rhysand has left if I recall correctly. It’d be a shame for dear Rhys to be the only left of his name, wouldn’t it?”

And then Feyre looked beyond Tamlin, her eyes locking with mine. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” they seemed to say.

“I’m going to kill you.” My voice was quiet, but it was filled with a vow I had every intention to keep.

Tamlin didn’t turn to me as he said. “I don’t believe you’ll have the chance.” He inclined his head toward the waiting bed. “Off you go, Feyre.”

She hesitated for a moment, gaze still locked with mine before she obeyed.

“Now, Rhys, since she is your mate I figured I’d offer. Would you like to have a go? Feyre has…well, not really two choices but two possibilities,” he finally turned to meet my gaze. “Either you join her in that bed and fuck her…or I will, gladly, as you watch. You’ve thirty seconds to decide.”

“Rhys.” I looked over at Feyre to see her shaking her head, her eyes swimming not with tears, but with a sort of determination that only came with acceptance. “Don’t do it. Do not agree to this.”

“Feyre—”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised.

“Feyre—” Cassian tried.

“I will. Be. Fine,” she said, sternly this time.

And I wanted to believe her, I really did.

I wanted to believe that this wouldn’t be the thing that broke her, being raped by the man who had once claimed to love her. I knew he wouldn’t be gentle with her, even after being whipped. The man who had once been thought to be her savior, lover, friend.

But Tamlin was none of those things.

And I couldn’t, not for the life of me, believe that she would still be Feyre after this.

“Alright,” Tamlin sighed, “I guess I’m—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Rhys—”

“Now, now, Feyre. Let him finish.”

Cassian turned to me, anguish in his eyes. “Rhysand, you don’t—”

“I’ll do it,” I repeated, ignoring him. “I’ll sleep with her.”

“Well then,” Tamlin grinned, “I don’t believe you need me to instruct you on how to go about your business.” He gestured towards Feyre, towards the bed, my damnation.

I watched in horror as Feyre fought back tears at my approach, and all I could pray for was that she’d one day forgive me for this, for this sin I was about to commit.

She slid to the side as I rid myself of my clothing, by back to Tamlin’s gathered audience. Her eyes never left mine as I finally joined her on that bed.

“It’s alright,” I whispered my lips at her ear. “It’s just me. It’s just me.”

She couldn’t respond, she was shaking so hard. I’d never seen her shaking so violently. Feyre lifted my chin with her finger, her head shaking.

“Don’t stop looking at me,” she begged. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I won’t.”

Slowly, Tamlin be damned, I made sure to honor her body, despite all of the new scars, worshipping all of her newly inflicted wounds. I wanted Feyre to know it was me, that despite this terrible act we were being forced into, it did not mean that I loved her any less.

When I finally connected our bodies, she let out a slight gasp, her eyes, now swimming with tears, still never leaving mine as I moved, my body cocooning hers, careful of her wounds.

“I’m here,” I whispered down the bond, “I’m here. I won’t leave you. I love you.”

But all I was met with was an infinite void.

6

Lady Shiera was the natural daughter of King Aegon IV by the ninth and last of his mistresses, Lady Serenei of Lys, the last daughter of an ancient but impoverished line of Valyrian nobility. “Sweet Serenei,” Aegon called her, but about his court she was considered cold and haughty, and some said that she was much older than the king, and preserved her beauty by the practice of dark arts. Considered by many the most lovely of Aegon’s mistresses, Sweet Serenei died in childbed, bringing forth the last of the king’s “Great Bastards,” the daughter she named Shiera, Star of the Sea.

(requested by anonymous)

6

The Signs as Pre-’Game of Thrones’ Characters (Part I)

Aries//Theon Stark

Alias: The Hungry Wolf
Title: King in the North
Royal House: House Stark

Theon Stark defended the North from the Andals in the Andal invasion. After he defeated Argos Sevenstar in the Battle of the Weeping Water he sailed across the Narrow Sea to the coast of Andalos with Argos body put up on the prow of his ship for everyone to see. Then he continued his revenge by burning Andal villages, displaying the spiked heads of his victims on the coastline as a warning for future invaders. Theon Stark was a superb conqueror and a wise strategist in times of war. In the crypt of Winterfell he is displayed as thin, with long hair and a skinny beard. 

Taurus//Artys I Arryn

Alias: Winged Knight
Title: King of Mountain and Vale
Royal House: House Arryn

Artys I Arryn is a legendary hero, born of true Andal blood. The moon and the falcon were displayed on his shield and falcon’s wings adorned his silver war helmet. He is known as the greatest warrior of his time, cunning, resourceful and loved as well as trusted by those following him into battles. The Andals found their leader in the Winged Knight and fought under him against Robar II Royce, leader of the First Men. In the Battle of the Seven Stars, he possibly killed Robar himself and after their victory, the Andals made him King of Mountain and Vale and thus the Arryn dynasty was born.

Gemini//Shiera Seastar

Allegiance: House Targaryen
Culture: Valyrian

Shiera Seastar was the last Great Bastard of Aegon IV Targaryen and known as the most beautiful woman of Westeros. She had long silver-gold hair, a heart-shaped face, two different coloured eyes (one green and the other blue) and was a great seductress. Lady Shiera was a skilled reader, maintaining a huge library and speaking many languages. People even suspected her to master dark arts. Shiera never married but many suitors fought battles in her favour, the most famous amongst them being Brynden Rivers and Aegor Rivers. It was rumoured that she bathed in the blood of maidens to maintin her beauty.

Cancer//Garth Greenhands

Alias: Garth the Green
Title: High King of the First Men
Culture: First Men

Garth Greenhands is a mythical king who supposedly wore a crown of vine and flowers and made the land bloom. Some legends picture him as the High King who led the First Men across the Arm of Dorne. According to other songs, he was the first human in Westeros or a green god that demands blood sacrifices from is worshippers to ensure a fruitful harvest. It is told that he taught men how to farm, giving them seeds and helping with their harvest. In old lore, he carries a canvas full of seeds with him to fill the world with trees, fruits and flowers. And he did not only bring fertility to the land but to women, making barren ones fruitful, gifting mothers with twins or triplets and making young girls flower at his smile.

Leo//Daena Targaryen

Alias: Daena the Defiant
Title: Princess
Royal House: House Targaryen

Daena Targaryen was the eldest daughter of King Aegon III Targaryen and Queen Daenaera Velaryon and the most famous amongst the three daughters. She was widely admired for her fierceness, her daring nature and strong will. With her striking Targaryen looks and her wild and fearless personality she was definitely one of the most attractive women in Westeros. Daena was a refined horsewoman and very skilled in hunting and archery but she was never allowed to take part in a  tourney even though she wanted to desperately. The Princess admired her father and her brother and always wore a three-headed dragon pendant given to her as a present by the king.

Virgo//Nymeria of Ny Sar

Alias: Nymeria of the Royne
Title: Princess, Queen
Allegiance: House Martell

Before the Valyrian Freehold came and conquered the Rhoyne, Nymeria was the ruler of Ny Sar where her palace stood. She led those of her people who had survived into exile from Essos and lived with them for a while on the Summer Islands as refugees. She then decided to take her fleet to Dorne to strike an alliance with the Martells of Sunspear, marrying Mors Martell and burning the Rhoynar ships. She conquered the rest of Dorne together with the Martells and defeated six Dornish kings. Today she is known as the Warrior Queen and widely admired for her bravery and loyalty towards her people. She’s an idol and inspiration for many women, such as young Arya Stark who even named her direwolf after Nymeria.

anonymous asked:

Why do you think that Aegon the unworthy is worse then Viserys I? The Dance seems worse then the blackfyre rebellions even if they lasted over a longer time. Is it because Aegon basically set up to cause a civil war on purpose while Viserys I was just incompetent and willfully blind?

For this reason: I see a purposeful maliciousness in Aegon IV’s reign that I don’t see in Viserys I’s. Both were bad kings, yes, and both left their realms poised for bloody succession crises (Aegon somewhat later than Viserys, but only I think because Daemon Blackfyre and Aegor Rivers were on the younger side), but I think Viserys truly wanted peace between factions (and was simply horribly incompetent at realizing that was impossible) while Aegon really welcomed division and strife. 

That purposeful malicious is demonstrated in Aegon’s willingness, nay eagerness, in allowing his lust to direct his political decisions. Aegon made a point of distributing favors to those lords who shoved daughters and female relations into his bed, with Lord Bracken and Lucas Lothston being named Hand of the King simply for having daughters as royal mistresses and Lord Butterwell receiving a dragon egg for giving the king access to his three maiden daughters.  This political favoritism had two woeful consequences: one, giving the highest executive office to men whose only qualifications were pretty daughters and moral unscrupulousness ensured that the government would not run effectively; two, Aegon’s natural capriciousness - turning out a royal mistress, and/or her family, when he became bored of or displeased with her - led to high turnover of government, which ensured that very little work would - or could - be done to make the country run smoothly. Nor was Aegon afraid to employ royal prerogative to satisfy a lascivious whim: seizing lands claimed by House Bracken and giving them to House Blackwood, simply as a gesture of wit, without any sort of provocation which would justify the king’s redistributing of lands, is tyranny, plain and simply. 

Moreover, in his clashes with his heir, Aegon deliberately damned hope of a smooth reign for his son, and made some terrific blunders along the way. Because Daeron was openly pro-Dornish, Aegon had to be demonstrably anti-Dornish, and lead a successful (unprovoked) invasion of Dorne to show it … an invasion that foundered in, a destroyed a huge chunk of, the kingswood. Because Aegon hated the bookish son whom his despised wife so loved, he had to undermine Daeron’s claim - first by instigating rumors of his alleged bastardy, then by making “barely veiled comments” to the same, then by openly acknowledging and favoring the eldest of the Great Bastards with the royal sword Blackfyre, and finally by legitimizing all his bastards on his deathbed to take away the one aspect that made Daeron dynastically special. These comments, repeated by sycophantic courtiers, would become the backbone of Blackfyre propaganda in later days, and would haunt Daeron during his time as king and long after his death (indeed, Maester Aemon is still repeating the rumor nearly a century after the Great Spring Sickness slew his grandfather). In opposing his son the way he did, Aegon IV set Daeron and his successors up for decades of unnecessary grief and struggle.

I don’t see the same sort of willful dynastic pettiness, or political capriciousness, with Viserys I. Viserys’ problem was not that he wanted to cause chaos, but that he was too genial and conciliatory to understand that he simply could not give everyone everything they wanted. He did not have the heart to remove his doted-upon daughter as his declared heiress, or to resist marrying the lovely Alicent Hightower, or to refrain from having children with her, or to politically neutralize those children once they were born. He couldn’t understand why everyone couldn’t just be happy as he was happy, especially when he gave them presents and tried to make them happy. There is a generosity to Viserys that I do not see at all in Aegon IV; Viserys would have been the most happy if everyone in his family could be happy, while Aegon only cared about making himself happy (and Daeron and Naerys unhappy). 

That the Dance of the Dragons was more destructive than any single Blackfyre Rebellion is probably accurate, But while Viserys caused the Dance by a well-meaning (if no less huge and criticism-worthy) failure to understand the characters of his family members, Aegon IV deliberately spurred a whole series of wars against House Targaryen by his selfishness and pettiness. One ruled with a desire to please, the other ruled with a desire to be pleased - and to see those he hated humiliated and stripped. 

Ianthony Fic - New Beginnings

Anthony hadn’t been himself lately. To anyone else, he was the same old jolly Anthony but Ian knew better. He noticed the crease between his brows that presented itself a lot more frequently now. He noticed the expression of relief after they were done shooting a video - not the kind that the others had, not out of accomplishment; it was the relief one got after coming out of a strenuous situation. He noticed how his smiles seemed to grow less and less genuine with each passing day.

And then there were other things. Things that didn’t require over a decade of friendship and an eye as keen as Ian’s. Basically, Anthony hadn’t been himself lately and it was obvious to anyone who cared to pay attention.

Ian brought it up one night when they were at his apartment “chilling”. In reality, there was an air of awkwardness and tension around them, as if the night suspected what they were about to discuss and decided to set the mood accordingly. Ian was sure the last time a conversation between them had felt so dreadful was when Anthony had called to announce that he was going to propose in Japan.

Trying (and failing) multiple times to bring up the topic without sounding overly concerned, Ian decided it was best to be direct. Although before he could utter another word, Anthony beat him to The Discussion.

“Ian, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he began in an ominous tone.

And just like that, Ian knew why the night had felt so significant earlier. He had subconsciously picked up on the clues all along and his thoughts had culminated in the realisation mere seconds before Anthony informed him so himself.

“I want to leave Smosh.”

Ian should have prepared himself better, goddammit. Because hearing those words hurt. He grimaced and something like guilt flashed across the other man’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as if to lighten the blow.

Ian hummed but didn’t say much more. They had talked about this once. Years ago. Leaving Smosh. Back then, it was them and a couple other people who assisted them occasionally. They didn’t have dedicated makeup artists back then, unless it was to make a fake wound. They also didn’t have a movie or wax statues to boast of.

Ian didn’t want to continue their conversation that night. He felt too exhausted all of a sudden and the idea of sleep was too enticing. But this was important.

“How long have you been mulling over this?”

“Quite a while…”

“Anthony-”

“Since December.”

“Jesus.”

Silence set in once more. Each man held his breath, anticipating an ugly argument. The tension in the room grew so thick, it was almost like a physical entity.

Ian took a deep breath. “I am not angry,” he enunciated, because it was essential that his best friend knew that much. “I’m not angry but I can’t understand why…”

Anthony sighed and an expression flicked across his face that Ian wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see again. It was gone before he could analyse what it even meant.

Feeling an oncoming headache, Ian massaged his temple gently and thought about what he could say. It was odd because he never had to think before talking to his friend; it was one of the best features of their relationship.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t miss the old days?” He sounded more bitter than nostalgic and Ian hated it.

“I don’t need to look you in the eyes to tell you that. Of course I miss the old days! Everyone misses their old days, nothing new about that.”

“For fuck’s sake, you know that’s not what I mean. I hate this Ian. I hate it! I hate what we have become, I hate that I have no control, I hate that Smosh has become a…a brand,” he spat with no inconsiderable contempt, “and has so many censors on our ideas. This is not what I ever intended it to be and I don’t want to be part of it any longer!”

His chest was heaving and Ian flinched at the last shouted word. Yeah, fights with Anthony, however rare, were always the worst.

“I just really fucking miss when it was the two of us having fun,” he murmured, avoiding Ian’s gaze.

Ian found his annoyance mitigate on hearing that and felt his heart flutter. He pressed his shoulders fondly and smiled sadly at him. “Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong Ian, I love our friends, I love the crew. I just…I don’t like what we’re doing here. This isn’t us. I wish we could go back to when it was just you and me with our silly skits and lunchtime videos. It’s like we hardly hang out any more outside of Smosh related stuff. When was the last time we had lunch together without talking about any new ideas or business projects? I miss you Ian…” he trailed off.

After a heartwarming speech like this, the only logical option was to engulf him in a bear hug. Which Ian did. And they stayed like that for several moments, breathing in the comfort of familiar arms. Secure. Warm.

“I am such a sentimental ass,” Anthony huffed, his breath tickling Ian’s neck.

“It’s okay. You get to be a sentimental ass once in a while.”

“Mhmm.”

“Look,” Ian pulled away gently, but didn’t place much distance between them. “I won’t lie and tell you I’m okay with you leaving. Because I’ve never done this alone and I don’t know how to. But know one thing, I will always be there to support you, no mater what. I don’t think I want to leave yet. But I trust you and if you’re sure leaving will make you happier, go ahead. And just in case you feel like it isn’t working out-”

“That’d be embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you feel like coming back, I’ll be right here to welcome you.”

They shared fond smiles and breathed synchronised sighs of relief. The argument was handled much more maturely than either of them anticipated.

Ian suddenly became aware of their proximity and stood up abruptly.

“I assume you won’t be joining us for the summer games then?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Oh well. It will be a tough job explaining this to the rest of them. Anyway, I’m tired as hell,” he nodded towards his bedroom. “You might as well stay the night, it’s already past two.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I have it in me to drive after having this talk.” He fiddled with a thread on his ripped jeans. Ian knew he was holding back on something else he needed to ask but wasn’t sure about Ian’s reaction.

Before he could prompt him to continue, Anthony looked up at him with dazzling eyes and an uncertain expression.

“Do you remember the other thing we never tried because of Smosh?” He asked tentatively.

Ian froze. “You mean…”

“Yes.”

Silence again. They stared at each other with contemplating eyes for who knows how long. It wasn’t common for Ian to have to look down at his friend, but he was grateful for the height difference that Anthony being seated lended him. He felt like he was in control here, the one who could decide whether or not they were about to discuss something they’d avoided talking about seriously for years now.

“We’re both in relationships, you know that right?” Ian said at last.

“And are you happy with her? Because I know I’m not.”

That was a revelation. He had never talked about being dissatisfied in his relationship before. Ian took a moment to process the new data.

“Anthony,” he began, his voice shaking.

“No Ian, please. Yes or no? Are you happy with her? Your girlfriend who just happens to look a lot like me and have the same interests as me?” His words were made worse by the accompanying cold and mocking tone.

“What the fuck man?!” Ian’s temper was rising steadily. “You’re one to talk. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Dog person. Remind you of someone?”

And to his great annoyance, the bastard smiled. Smiled! “Point proven. We’ve both settled for the next best thing we could find after each other.”

Ian was at a loss for words. He knew that, of course. He had accepted the fact that he and Anthony were never going to be a thing and so had given up waiting long ago. But to hear it out loud from another person made him feel pathetic. And guilty. The girls deserved better than this.

“I’m not leaving just because I’m tired of having no control. It’s been years and I’m still crazy about you Ian. I want you. I want so much more than what we’ve got going on now, and knowing that you feel the same way hurts so much because we could have everything if we just tried.”

Ian didn’t ask how Anthony could be so sure Ian still felt for him the same way he did so many years ago. But then again, he was Anthony. Of course he knew.

“I know you’d never agree to be together as long as we were business partners because somehow you found this reasoning by 20 year old me really sensible. God knows why I even suggested that.”

“We were 23 and at the peak of our career. Of course I found it sensible. It’d have been stupid to risk our careers for what could just have been hormones and a little crush. You’ve never been good at relationships, admit it. I didn’t want everything we had achieved to go down the drain because we couldn’t handle a break up.”

“But it isn’t just a crush though, we know that now…right?”

Ian found it very endearing, the hope and uncertainty lurking behind his seemingly confident guise. Anthony rarely looked vulnerable. Ian couldn’t believe this was happening after years of pining. Despite himself, he started crying.

Maybe he should have felt ridiculous. He was almost 30 for god’s sake! He just couldn’t find it in himself to care when Anthony was looking at him like that and strong hands were guiding him to the couch, enveloping him, grounding him, comforting him.

“I’m sorry but you look adorable when you cry,” Anthony chuckled next to his ear. And wrapped himself more tightly around his smaller frame. “I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he said in a rumbling voice.

“But you can’t. I’m not cheating on her.”

Anthony hummed and they stayed embracing each other. Ian found himself drifting off and was soon dead to the world, content in the warmth of loving arms and dexterous fingers stroking his hair, oh so gently. He didn’t hear the soft “I love you” murmured against his forehead.

The coming days would be testing for them both. But right now, they were in the safe space where anything was possible.

2

One of the most overlooked aspects of Prometheus is its deep connection to the David Lean film Lawrence of Arabia. Sure, Peter Weyland name drops T.E. Lawrence in his cornerstone TED talk. Lines like “big things have small beginnings” and “there is nothing in the desert and no man needs nothing” are direct quotes from the film. And David is seen watching the film while the rest of the crew sleep away the journey in cryo-sleep but really this only just scratches the surface.

Weyland himself identifies heavily with T.E. Lawrence implicitly and explicitly labeling himself as “superior” in both his first and last appearances in the film. He is a man set on changing the world in spite of the “rules, restrictions, laws, [and] ethical guidelines” of the existing rulers. Lawrence himself was wont to buck authority, conventional wisdom, direct orders, and even what was commonly understood to be physically possible. Weyland declares “we are the gods now” with the same fervor and commitment as when Lawrence, after bringing Gasim out of the dessert, looks Ali in the eye and says, “Nothing is written.” They are men who understand that it is up to humans to change humanity and if you indulge them they are willing to change the world.

Of course, however, the main parallel with Lawrence of Arabia comes to us through the lens of David. The android played so brilliantly by Michael Fassbender has almost religiously patterned his person and appearance after Peter O’Toole in the epic film. We see him watching Lawrence of Arabia while bleaching and parting his hair to reach as close to Peter O’Toole’s infamous visage as he can. David has developed not only his image but also his mannerisms and speaking patterns around the character of T.E. Lawrence. While he works he sits and recites to himself Lawrence’s famous line about how he handles the pain of extinguishing a match between his fingers: “The trick, Willam Potter, is not minding that it hurts.” This is where the connections begin to burrow even deeper.

One of Lawrence’s defining characteristics in the film is his ability to endure inhuman amounts of physical discomfort, social humiliation, and even bodily torture. His refusal of water and rest until the Bedu are willing to take them for themselves leads his initial companion to ask “Are you certain you are not Bedu?” He is a stranger in a strange land but he suffers his indignities and powers on with his agenda.

David is very much the same. He is an outsider in a world of flesh and blood humans. He suffers the indignity of being treated as a servant or an appliance despite his contributions to the missions – contributions which he no doubt views as superior to those provided by others. Many people would attribute his general lack of affect to his nature and limitations as an android but I truly believe that this is a conscious choice by David. He views himself as special: a purpose built creation much like Lawrence was a man with a destiny. He speaks with Holloway about how disappointed Holloway would be if humanity’s creators had the same justification humans had for creating him: “Because we can.” This scene (which is visually analogous to a scene in Lawrence of Arabia where Lawrence discusses his purpose in the Army while bouncing billiard balls around a pool table) gives us an insight into David’s actual psyche. To me this scene makes it clear that David DOES feel on some level and is merely being the good soldier, forging on to his objectives all the while not minding that it hurts.

David’s relationship to Lawrence of Arabia is even more personal than all this however. Both David and Lawrence are essentially bastard children of famous fathers. They are seeking approval and validation for an existence that is proving to be less than their promise. David is seeking the love and praise of Weyland as much or more than Lawrence is for that of the Arabian people as well as his surrogate father figure Mr. Dryden. While Lawrence is somewhat betrayed by Mr. Dryden claiming there have always been plans to take Arabia from the Arabs, David is betrayed by Weyland as he is reduced to a mere demonstration of human ability to the Engineers. David so deeply wants to be praised and appreciated for his achievement that as the Engineer reaches down and caresses his face we can see the moment of pure ecstasy proving once and for all that David does in fact feel. Of course this is immediately followed by the Engineer ripping his head from his body and using it to kill Weyland. This is an echo of the moment when Lawrence takes Damascus in a great victory for the Arabs only to have their rule disintegrate to infighting and luddism.

David and Lawrence both sought greatness only to be reduced to ruin. They both endured inhumanities and displayed great strength. These bastard sons of greater men did amazing things only to let their hubris and pride turn their victories to ashes in their mouths. David’s deliberate replication of the lifestyle and living image of Lawrence of Arabia is truly a powerful and sadly ironic statement. Perhaps both David and his father should have paid closer attention to the end of the film to see what really happens to great mean with limitless ambition.

-Andrew

Broken Crown

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

RequestsHello :) could you maybe do a Jon Snow imagine where y/n is the Queen of the 7 Kingdoms instead of Cersei and she goes North to Winterfell because she heard about the White Walkers coming and she wants to stop them. & there she meets the Starks. Jon already knows who he really is and y/n and him fall for each other so they marry. & when they are back in Queens Landing Daenerys comes & she wants to attack but because the King is related to her she is fine with an agreement?

A/N: I loved this request so I dropped everything and started writing it. I promise that eventually, everyone’s requests will be done at some point. You just have to be very patient. In the meantime, you can read the rest of my stories here

Part 2 / Part 3/ Part 4  

Masterlist 

They called her the Black Queen; a queen with death in her bones and ghosts who haunted the towns she traveled through. How she took the throne from Cersei Lannister had become a secret only those in the Great Hall that night could answer and they held their tongue whenever they were asked. People started to whisper about her in the brothels and taverns around the city. 

“I hear she is related to the Great Bastard Shiera Seastar, her great-granddaughter or something like that”.

“Did you know she practices the dark arts and bathes in the blood of young maidens to retain her beauty and youth? It is said that she poured wildfire down the Mad Queen Cersei’s throat while shouting a spell that would curse her to the Seven Hells”. 

“Well I heard she is the daughter of the lady Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark. A babe who was pronounced dead at child birth for protection against the Mad King Aerys”. 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. She’s not their daughter nor is she a great-granddaughter; she is the native love goddess of Lys. The naked woman on the Lysene coins”. 

“I don’t care who she is, as long as she is a better Queen than our last”.

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