ᝰ.ᐟ

lover of the pathetic and whiny

[enaamor]

current interests; asoiaf, doctor who, devil may cry, resident evil, red dead redemption

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── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ my update/upload schedule is really random due to irl responsibilities.

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── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ feel free to drop into the submission box with anything. I love to talk and often will have lengthy replies to the smallest of things lol. Verified yapper

( borders by @cafekitsune )

[theecarcrash]

my cersei my sun my life

+ close up

[nietii]

I don't recognize her

[witchyhagz]

Elia Martell in Sunspear

──done by estelldraw

[halidki]

Aemma Arryn and her daughter Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen

[idkwhattoputbroo]

they hate me cuz I'm based as fuck but I'm also really annoying

[enaamor]

I miss Alysanne Stark. I also really miss writing her and Ned’s interactions that’s her big brother who she loves and idolized </3

[enaamor]

blog rebrand time babes don’t know if I’ll change my user but I am debating it v much

also rolling around some akotsk one shot ideas while I break free of writing block curse…..Lyonel the kids miss you

[enaamor]

respite

pairing; fem!stark!reader x jaime lannister synopsis; after Harrenhal, an uneasy sentiment begins to flourish between stark and lannister authors note; if this looks familiar it’s cause it’s a reupload. Had some issues with the original posting cause it posted private by mistake lolwarnings; animal death, vague suicidal ideation, injury, mentions of amputation and loss limbs, nothing crazy tbh [the unofficial sequel to to wash the filth. and that’s a fine looking high horse]

The smoke from the weak fire curled up towards the sky, like those grand fires that consumed battle fields and the flesh of dying men. The fire felt barely warm nor conforting even from up close, the chill of the night too deep to the bone to be fought off easily.

Jaime recalled once happening among a mangled animal as a boy.

He could not have been more than nine years, ten if his memory was truly slipping. It had been a stray dog — or maybe it had been a small deer. It didn’t matter what it was truthfully. All he could remember was what was wrong with it. It had writhed against the grass, its good legs kicking dirt as it tried to stand but failed.

One of its legs had been mangled, whether by another animal or by misfortune was unknown. It didn’t matter in the end how the small animal had been made lame, only that it had been rendered so. That it had been stripped of its own ability to survive, but had not been granted the kindness of death.

The creatures throat was cut before he could truly think. Just the flick of a blade, the give of flesh, and the quiet gush of rich blood onto dirt and grass.

“Give invalid creatures mercy, boy.” The master at arms over the Rock then had gruffly instructed him then, jerking his blade to the right to sling the blood of off before sheathing it away. “More cruel to watch them writhe about than it is to stick the blade under their chins.”

Hopefully someone would be along shortly to do just so to him. A sharp enough blade, a quick enough kiss of it to his throat would remedy all of this. It would save Jaime the churn of burning humiliation he felt just at the mere motion of returning home like this. Of returning to Cersei like this.

It would be another week before he would have to face this reality at least. He hadn't slept well in over a year, and the exhaustion was weighing on him properly now. The small fire constructed by some of the men travelling with them was dying, and he could do no more than watch it. These nights had been long, and they'd wrought nothing comforting in them.

The only comfort he could be provided with was your presence. It was a queer notion, to be comforted by the presence of a Stark of all creatures, but it was one he took at face and refused to pry further into. The fire reflected off those silver eyes of yours, and you looked entirely different in this light. Your back was braced against the bark of a thick tree, and you'd remained so for hours it felt.

If he looked too long, he saw you in the baths again. Your face softer than he'd seen it before. Perhaps it was that mirage that gave him the courage, or lack of wits, to rise from his position across the fire to around it and plop himself down next to you.

Your head turned to him, nose immediately crinkling as if he smelt foul. Jaime didn't humor nor return the glance. He merely made himself comfortable against the same tree trunk, slouching back. It felt warmer over here then where he had sat previously. Perhaps you were closer to the fire here. Perhaps it was merely you. For once, you spoke first.

“You stare at those flames as if you mean to crawl inside them.”

Your voice cut through the quiet without warning. Jaime glanced sideways at you beneath heavy lids, finding your attention already fixed on him. The firelight painted your face in amber and shadow alike, softening none of it.

“Would that trouble you, Lady Stark?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The answer came plain and immediate.

Jaime blinked at you once, caught enough off guard that he nearly laughed. Most lies announced themselves before they were spoken, but yours had arrived too quickly to be such.

You seemed to realize that a moment later yourself. Your mouth thinned and you turned those grey eyes back to the fire.

Jaime turned then, studying you properly. “How unexpectedly honest.”

Your jaw flexed faintly, as though the answer had escaped before you could cage it. “Don’t make much of it.”

“I make much of very little these days. Humor me.”

You looked away first, back toward the dark woods beyond the camp. “You are miserable enough without dramatics.”

“Miserable?” Jaime echoed with a dry laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What would you prefer? Bitter? Self-destructive? Pathetic?”

“That last one sounded heartfelt.”

“It was.”

He smiled despite himself. Strange that you remained the only person alive who could still provoke genuine amusement from him. Stranger still that he sought you out for it now.

“I’ve spent the better part of a year dragging you from one miserable fate to another. It would be vexing to have all that effort wasted because you decided to roast yourself on a campfire.” You tilted your head ever so slightly towards the side he rested on.

You had then tilted head back ever so slightly to look at him properly. You found him already fixated on you.

“This is for my nieces.” You reminded him when his silence made you uncomfortable. Perhaps reminding yourself too. “Enduring your well-being is for my nieces. Had they already been in my arms safe, I would have let the bath waters take you.” The lie slipped from you with ease.

You’d held him like a frightened child with her broken toy, terrified to hand him over when they’d came to take him. You don’t know why, but your arms had refused to release him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Jaime said quietly, almost to himself, “You screamed louder than Brienne did.”

Your brows furrowed faintly. “What?” You wondered if he meant it to mock you.

“In the pit.” His gaze remained fixed on the flames. “When the bear charged.” A pause. “I heard you before I saw you.”

The confession landed strangely in your chest.

You remembered that moment too well — the stink of blood and wet fur, Brienne’s sword shaking in her hands, the roar of the crowd overhead. And then Jaime appearing at the top of the pit like some mad golden fool come to die beside you.

The crowd of jeering men had been loud though. Loud, shouting down at you both and the bear alike— eat the big bitch first! Tear the wolf girls dress first, I wanna see her teats!

You hadn’t even heard your self scream. The bears claw had caught your calf, and the pain was white hot. The deep cuts still throbbed under your bandaged leg, and you could only begin to imagine how Brienne felt when the claws caught where her neck and shoulder joined. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. The crowd had been so loud, you hadn’t hardly heard yourself make that sound above it. You only knew your mouth had opened and something had come out. How had he managed to pick out your scream above the roar of the crowd?

You looked back at the flames. Your throat bobbed with unsaid questions, each more confusing than the last. The Kingslayer had been a man wrapped in arrogance, shielded by his own privilege, and made infamous by the story that was larger than he truly could ever be to bear it comfortably. He was cold and entirely untouchable.

Jaime, however, was within grasp. Jaime, you’d found, was warm. Jaime had saved your life now far too many times for you to properly make sense of. And now he sat aside you, letting you slump against his side as you had let him against your back when you’d been rode into Harrenhal as the mummers prisoners. You did not know where this man came from.

“Why did you come back at all?” Your voice was weak. “You could be closing in on the Crownlands now. You could be within a week’s time of your family, your home. Why turn back?”

“You and the wench.” He replied. He sounded bitter, as if somehow you and Brienne being there meant you two had cruelly yanked at a leash around his neck and drug him there. You saw his jaw tighten, release, and tighten again. As if trying to clack shut and stop the words. “You were there.”

He sounded frustrated in truth. Like he couldn’t refute the idea, like it were as true as needing breath. You were there, so I turned back.

There was not much more that could be said beyond that. Your throat grew tight. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he had said — nor could he make sense of why he had said it.

At some point, sleep claimed you. It wouldn’t be as gracious to visit him that night. You fell asleep with your side against his, and your head lolled towards him. It would settle on his shoulder. Jaime glanced once, twice at your sleeping face. All those creases in it — the ones between your brows, or near your nose from your frowning and scowling were gone. He believed it was the first he’d seen you as anything other than bitter or grieving since Winterfell.

Jaime made no effort to move you. In fact, he made no effort to move from your side at all. You didn’t deserve disruption. One of you deserved the rest.

[asoiaf-art]

By anmenmai on X

[vekharious]

of gold

[enaamor]

prisoner Jaime canonically smells like weewee and caca and I’m still going head first in idgaf

[thelaughingtree]

everyone's favourite sheep-stealing plucky dragonrider, the wonderful nettles, by the even more wonderful @ellemnopie!!! she's gone from our screens but not from our hearts <3

thank you so much for the comm!

[archamion]

Day 4 | What Could Have Been | Elia with the Mountain’s Head

— for @eliaweek done by dana_delion

[wingedhistories-deactivated2026]

Sansa and Jeyne slaying Littlefinger by Cj_KhalifP

[mukuroom]

Oh boy, a complex character who's a woman! I love messy characters who hurt everyone around them and continue the cycles that hurt them!! Can't wait to share this joy with fellow fans– why's everyone calling her a bitch

[enaamor]

Broke my hand while moving I better get some damn good karma soon typing with my left hand is a bitch