she had forgotten her name

independent/selective jeyne poole

[namelesskraken-blog]

    She is poisonous to his identity. R E E K. Reek. You have to remember your name. Except that it was not his name. Just an identity to hide behind, that allowed him to live another day. Once he had believed Ramsay and had accepted that what he was given by the bastard as fact. But Lord Bolton had given him his name back. Jeyne had given him his identity back. He would have liked to say that was because she remember him, and never called him anything other than Theon.

    But that wasn’t entirely true.

    Lord Bolton and the host at Winterfell were things that served to distract Ramsay from his pet. But without Jeyne there to fill up his free time, the bastard would have turned his gaze back to Theon a long time ago. It did not mean that he was free from torment, as long as he was here he never would be. But he didn’t need to be Reek any longer. Not truly. Only enough to convince Ramsay that he still knew his place.

    A part of him feels cruel for being grateful that his lordship prefers the company of his bride. Jeyne suffers from her husband’s needs; cruelty and lust, a temper that was too easily set off. Theon only suffers from it sometimes, and when he does he usually suffers alongside her.

    He knew it was Sour Alyn who guarded the place right now, an easy man to fool. He’d gone up carrying a bundle of cloth– a tapestry with bolton colors meant to decorate the room. Might be that would even serve to brighten the bastard’s mood when he came up there next. The turncloak slips inside quietly enough, closing the door with care. It does not do to spook her. (though he doubts that the closing of a door she could see would.) He only wishes to give her a moment of peace with friendly company.

    It’s the least that he can do, the only thing he can do.

            “Are you doing well today?”

[ofrhymiing]

         Winterfell was full of STORIES and she and           Sansa traded theirs back and forth like DREAMS          of PRINCES and brave knights, in the tales - in           the SONGS they rescued the GIRLS caught in          towers or serpant’s coils, in the SONGS they did.          But in LIFE Jeyne found, nothing was like the           SONGS, the princes all had VENOM fangs and           the KNIGHTS had hands that hurt. But some MEN          forgotten and alone could SAVE you just by knowing          the color of your EYES. 

         She does not think she would have SURVIVED long          not without him. 

         “Well?” It is half gasped and almost frantic, and she           smiles but it is not happy, is not bright, is not pleasant.          Broken and bitter and TRYING to remember what a           TRUE smile was. “I suppose.” She is not DEAD, at           least. “

         She stopped BEGGING for escape long ago, knows           now not to ASK, for he CANNOT or WILL NOT give          it, she knows not which. But he IS an escape from          cruelty and nightmare, he is REAL and knowing and         KNOWN. Yes, she can be WELL, she can TRY to be,         it is the ONLY thing she can do. 

         “And you? Are YOU well?”

[thethreehares]

more Jeyne WIP!

[riblams]

game of thrones █║│♛

send one for my reaction~!

[riblams]

“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not.” ”Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?” ”Fear cuts deeper than swords.” ”Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.” ”When you play a game of thrones you win or you die.” ”Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it.” “The things we love destroy us every time.” ”Nothing burns like the cold.” ”Laughter is poison to fear.” ”Give me honourable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I’ll sleep more easily by night.” ”Once you’ve accepted your flaws, no one can use them against you.” ”A bruise is a lesson… and each lesson makes us better.” ”The man who fears losing has already lost.” ”A lord must learn that sometimes words can accomplish what swords cannot.” ”The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true.” ”A true man does what he will, not what he must.” ”A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.” ”Minds are like swords; the old ones go to rust.” ”He was no dragon. Fire cannot kill a dragon.”  ”Only a man who’s been burned knows what hell is truly like.” ”Do the dead frighten you?” ”In life, the monsters win.” ”Everyone who isn’t us is an enemy.” ”There are things to be learned even from the dead.” ”A lion doesn’t concern itself with the opinion of sheep.” ”How do you fight someone if you can’t hit them?” ”A man who sees nothing has no use for his eyes.” ”We have won a battle, not a war” ”Poison is a coward’s weapon.”

[spiralbones-blog]

Visit Original Link

Ghosts That We Knew || Mumford & Sons

You saw my pain, washed out in the rain Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart And you knelt beside, my hope torn apart But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from you, and we’ll live a long life So, give me hope in the darkness, that I will see the light ‘Cause, Oh, that gave me such a fright But I will hold, as long as you like Just promise me we’ll be alright.

[coffee-crinkled-pages]

The beauty of This battered heart Is its refusal To stop beating.

M.S.

[gentlestagarchive-deactivated20]

“ Who are you?” 

There was a bottomless pit in her stomach, dropping more and more, never ending. Eyeing the ‘ghost’ that stood before her, dressed in rags and raspy voiced, people had told her there were ghosts here - was this one of them? biting her lower lip she reaches forward, grabbing at the sheet. 

“ Who are you!”

She had never heard of ghosts insulting people, although the insult did not hurt - it startled her. Flinging the sheet that covered her away she took in the badly beaten girl, anger melting away as quickly as it come, this was no ghost - this was a prisoner. But not just any prisoner - she knew this girl - she did! Sansa’s little friends, Lana forgot a face, never. 

“ I know you….” 

Small hands reach out slowly, half expecting for it to fade through her, she was so thin and frail looking, almost like a glass doll, heart falling into that bottomless pit in her belly, eye watering as fingers grazed her horribly scarred cheek, she had been so pretty, her and Sansa both. 

                     “ Jeyne….” 

[ofrhymiing]

WHO ARE YOU, oh that  question which haunted  every moment she spent  AWAKE and some of the  SLEEPING time too, WHO are you, who ARE you, who are YOU? (ARYA I  am ARYA, though the name  does not taste right on my  tongue).

She makes no answer, makes no SOUND, she is a GHOST now, she need not SPEAK if she doesn’t WANT to, and she DOESN’T want to, not yet. 

Not even when her COVER, her VEIL is tossed away, even when her THIN face is exposed, she  does not SPEAK, her expression does not change, she simply WAITS, waits and WATCHES. 

(I know you, yes, you do, you DID, once, when we were young, when  I was a GIRL and no GHOST at all) 

“Jeyne, Jeyne, it rhymes with PAIN,” she whispers, and it is an ECHO of  something she once heard whispered.  “Do not use that name!”  She lurches forward, thin fingers  scrambling for grasp of the SMALL girl’s shoulders (SO small, how will she live, how will she ever SURVIVE)  “I am ARYA, do you understand? JEYNE was the STEWARD’S daughter, she DIED  in King’s Landing. Do not use that name!” 

[ofrhymiing]

✂ ✤

a vivid memory

They are LAUGHING and snow is fallinglike lace drops, like MUSIC, so soft and so STEADY and sweet. She and Sansadance through the courtyard, with eyesSHINING, hair FLYING, and soft whiteflakes that CATCH on hair and lash andFUR cloaks. They are so in love with the WORLD and the SNOW and the feelof their dancing feet on the ground that they do not see the BOYS until it is too late, they do not hear Robb and Jon andTheon and Bran (and Arya is there too,somewhere, she remembers, little horseface, more BOYISH than the littleladies she and Sansa try so hard to be)armed with balls of snow. 

Who throws the first? She cannot remember,does not know, but soon they are LAUGHINGand shrieking and RUNNING, snowballs flyingfrom gloved hands, Jeyne ducking behind a wall only to find Theon waiting there with an ARMFUL of snow dumped over her head, running out again with snow caked in herhair like sugar-frosting, to find Arya with a SNOWBALL aimed directly for her. 

Who wins this little battle, and who loses?Did they ever keep track at all? No, no, only LAUGHTER, only SNOW, only the few small moments they were allowed of a CHILDHOOD so pure and strong and happy. 

a memory that involves romance/love

There are NIGHTMARES, always and always, and she wakes herself with SCREAMS in the night until she realizesthey are not hers at all, no, the sound is wrong (she knows the sound of her OWN screams well enough, oh, she knows them well). These are DIFFERENT. 

But she knows them, too. 

She does not STOP to clad her feet in more than the SKIN they came in, doesnot THINK to cover the long night-shirtthey had given her with anything to keep out the CHILL, only runs, onlymoves on QUIET feet with catchingbreath to the door that is his. They have done this, before, they have been here before - he has FOUND her tangled in blankets and SCREAMINGshe has found him WANDERING lost and confused until she says his name his TRUE name as reminder. 

Back and forth, again and again, WAKINGthe other, calling them BACK, away from nightmare and memory and back to what SAFETY they have found.

“Theon?” 

He has FALLEN from the bed and is CURLED on the floor, and he is SHAKING and her heart twists in sympathy and in PAIN. So LOSTin nightmares he does not wakeat her sleep-soft voice so she moves to his SIDE, catches his THRASHING arms in her fingers,holds them gently until he STILLS, whispering his name like a mantra,like a PRAYER: “Theon, Theon, THEON, wake up, it is only a DREAM, Theon, wake up.” until his eyes openWIDE with terror until they catch on to hers and SETTLE again, the muscles in his arms RELAXING, therest of him following until he slumpsback against the floor. 

Jeyne stands without a WORD, crossesto the bed and pulls a blanket from it, returning to kneel beside him. “Come on,” she urges, “Sit up, it’s COLD.” He does, SLOWLY, and rests against thebed behind him as Jeyne wraps theblanket around his shoulders AND hers, draws his head gently down to REST onher shoulder. 

(You SAVED me, YOU saved me,you saved ME, let me SAVE you, over and over in circles and CIRCLESof saving, the only two in the WORLDwho know - who TRULY know - whatthe NIGHTMARES and the PAIN and the SADNESS are like) 

“Go to sleep,” she says, a WHISPER, “Go to sleep, now, it’s over. I won’t LEAVE you.” 

[decortico-deactivated20151204]

&

 My muse is sick with fever. Send me & for a delirious confession or thought.

His wife is standing before him. He really shouldn’t be up. The Maester said it would pass. He moves to face his wife, ignoring the shivers and the cold sweat passing over his body.    “I’m cold, I bet your skin would      make a nice blanket.” 

[sansalayned]

“All singers were half-mad. In songs, the hero always saved the maiden from the monster’s castle, but life was not a song, no more than Jeyne was Arya Stark.”

“You saved me,” Jeyne had whispered, as he was carrying her through the snow.  She was pale with pain, but she had brushed one hand across his cheek and smiled. 

                                                                     (requested by bericdondarrion)

[xxmoved-blog]

memory meme.

[ofrhymiing]

past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories. 

❥ — a childhood memory ♣ — a fading memory ✂ — a vivid memory ✖ — a repressed memory ✈ — an eye-opening memory ✤ — a memory that involves romance/love ☤ — a memory of death/loss ✍ — a memory of their mother ☽ — a memory of their father ♘ -- a memory of their sibling(s) ✌ — a memory of a relative ↕ — a memory that may or may not have happened ♚ — a memory of something paranormal ✓ — a sexual memory ♬ — a friend/best friend memory

[nationalsweetheart]

Visit Original Link

Pan’s Labyrinth Lullaby (music box)

[ofrhymiing]

gentlestag

They said she was BARREN, no sons, no heirs would come from her, no children at all, another thing STOLEN from her, another thing GONE.  She is not surprised, for when have the gods ever remembered to be kind to her? She is  only surprised when her HUSBAND does not KILL her, keeps her living, keeps her BREATHING but tells the world she DIED of childbed fever, in  his strange and WICKER sense of humor. 

He keeps her as PLAYTHING, along with his pet, and takes ANOTHER wife instead, a PRINCESS. Through the bitter-cold NUMBNESS she almost remembers to feel SORRY for the little thing, so small and so alone and far from home. 

SHADOWS keep her veiled, the shawl over her head adds more, and her feet are SILENT on  the cold, cold stone. 

“He has changed his MIND, I think,” she rasps, her harsh husk of a voice startling even to HER in the silent hallway, “You are not so PRETTY.  It will be better for you in the end, I think, but  do not make him ANGRY. He will make you no PRETTIER, I promise, I PROMISE.” 

[gilberthelena-blog]

[ofrhymiing]

make me choose » anonymous asked Lady Kenna or Lady Lola

[unfluencer-deactivated20250119]

Some nightmares don’t end when we open our eyes.

gg (via necro-mance)

[buffystark]

For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.

[ofrhymiing]

deceptionisms

SLEEP was rare and precious, dear and  eggshell frail. Dear and PRECIOUS and  FRIGHTENING too because NIGHTMARES came with sleep always, always. 

Her FATHER’s blood, the STAIRS in King’s Landing, LITTLEFINGER’S face, the faces of the MEN, the sound of the place she had LIVED (no: survived), the lash of the whip on skin that had known only FURS only  SOFT, only COLD none of this sharp-hot pain. And now HIS face too, Ramsay Bolton’s, swimming in dreams until she cannot escape him even in SLEEP. 

A sleep now BROKEN by the slightest  noise, feet on the stairs, hand on the door.

SCRAMBLES upright, shakes away SLEEP  (do not be caught off guard, that is BAD, that is WORSE, it is better to face and be READY, not caught ASLEEP) so that when the door  finally opens, she is awake and STANDING. 

     “..m-my lord?” 

[mxrphytrash]

the starks of winterfell