oh my gods okay where do we even fucking start
>be lesbian asexual and non binary
>go to sleep at 3am last night after cleaning room to game of thrones lore videos
>have a VERY vivid dream about existing in a semi-vaguely-feudal-but-still-modern-ish society supposedly off the west coast of westeros where i'm being forcibly dolled up for a dinner party. nails hair makeup dress everything. except the purpose of this dinner party is for me to be proposed to by the end of it, by a bunch of different men, and i, an asexual lesbian, have to pick one to be married to at the end of the night. i, an asexual non binary lesbian, being put into a dress that i did not pick in a color i do not like even though i as a costumer acknowledge that yea it is a really nice dress but still i want to crawl out of my fucking skin i hate this i hate this i hate this-
>roll up to the dinner party. when i say dinner party i mean this shit starts at six and won't end until like two fucking am. it's at a goddamn mansion georgian style pillars and shit versailles lookin ass architecture and decor with people and nobles pouring out of it dolled up to the fuckin nines. staring at me. because the fucking program that night is me and who i'm going to marry by the end. it's a wedding/engagement party/debutante ball/speed dating all rolled into one, and i don't even fucking know who all of the contestants are. my mother (who is nothing like my mother in real life thank fuck) has briefed me only on the candidates she likes but there's like six of them and all of them are men. imagine my fucking relief when i grab a program and see (under the menu and winelist, a list of potential candidates for my hand along with percentages calculating the fucking probability of me choosing each one that by the grace of the gods includes) a singular woman, by the name of samantha tarly. i nearly collapse in relief (but at the same time want to throw up because i am not choosing this) because tarly, okay, that's a fairly powerful house in the reach (I HAVE NO CONCEPT THAT I AM DREAMING) and also a woman, within my even slightly possible scope of interest, and so i turn to my mom like 'hey can i meet this tarly woman' so maybe i can fucking talk to her first and my mom looks at me all cold and goes
>"she's not an option for you."
>meaning that even if i tried to pick a woman over all these men who would definitely sa me for hope of an heir, my parents would Not Be Pleased. and because i'm a woman (being treated as a woman forced to be a woman) i have no choice but to just sit at one of these lavish dinner tables bite down on my lip and try not to cry because that would mess up my mascara and my parents would kill me for ruining this. and even if i found a man in a location i like in a position that would keep me safe (except from him obv), if he saw me with ruined mascara, he would not want me. these lords sailed all the way over from westeros and want to bring me back with them for whatever goddamn reason and even though my parents are supposed to take care of me and protect me and love me they're putting all this work into selling me off like fucking cattle. apparently the rule of the night is that any lord near my age/who brings a son near my age has some kind of chance of walking off with my hand at the end of the night. there are lords and even princes from this faraway land i've never even set foot in who saw a painting of me dolled up and decided yep, worth a shot, i'll take that for a fancy foreign wife. there's so many of them there that for some reason my dream logic decides there's not enough ships to take them home, and so the host of this event (who has the vibes of that tv guy from the hunger games mixed in with a casino boss and an auctioneer), as he's stopping by our table, mentions that he sent out a last-minute notice of hey, anyone who's got enough ships to get everyone home can stop by! hoping that like, the velaryons or redwynes or some other rich respectable highborn house with a fancy armada would show up. this will be important later.
>cue me trying to catch any sight possible of any of these four to six guys my mom deems appropriate to me, to figure out which might be the best of a bad situation given the *checks program* four hours i have to decide which one i'd like to marry. the program is actually quite helpful, because along with the fucking betting percentages each has a quick profile of each guy and what part of westeros they're from. essentially i am playing the 'what part of westeros would you like to live in?' game because that's the only thing that really appeals to me at the moment. we're at the dinner part of the night, which is helping me to stay calm, because at least i can get a brief lay of the land and try to get a glimpse of these guys before i'm thrown into the dancing portion. part of me wants to get as drunk as possible but more of me is too petrified to touch even a drop of alcohol because i already have so little control of this situation.
(tw suicidal thoughts and fear of sexual assault)
>cue halfway serious consideration of trying to make a break for the nearest window to throw myself into the sea, because i am not just asexual, i am a sex-repulsed asexual. i never want to have sex ever. my parents are not just sending me away to be married, they are sending me away to be sexually assaulted. and keep in mind, i have no fucking clue that i'm dreaming, so my fear is very, very real. this is a nightmare polished with mother-of-pearl, but still very much a nightmare. i am trapped, blindsided, strangled, and i can't fucking run in these shoes. every inch of me is shaking with fear but still having to hold it together because i need to guard every possible chance of somehow having a semblance of a choice. never even mind the scores of people whispering oh i'm so jealous, you're so lucky, everyone making all this fuss over you, so many handsome young men to choose from, look at how much work we're putting into this, you're so lucky, aren't you so thankful. i can't even eat. i am held in place by ropes of words and eyes with the clock ticking down on my life. the chains wait to clamp down, and i can hardly breathe
>when the doors open. in walks a group of people who stick out like sore thumbs among the silk and shine of this place. they are dark haired and scruffy, clad in leather and armor and sailing clothes. at their head is a young woman with short dark hair like a cloud that curls and sharp eyes with a sharper grin. she is dressed like all the others, with a leather breastplate of her own. when the host, baffled, asks who she is among the quieted ballroom, the young woman only smiles wider and announces herself to be she who brought the ships, a fleet large enough for his needs. thus, she is here to accept his invitation to join the party, and become a candidate.
>recognize her: that's fucking asha greyjoy. queen of the iron islands. these people are fucking ironborn. she looks over the assembled people, who now look back at her with abject terror in their eyes, and sees me.
>i started in a silk pink dress, but over the course of the night, my mind changed it to light blue, a color i like better. the dress no longer constricts my neck, and is beaded carefully with pearls in patterns of waves. my hair is still brown and long, but now is done up so it feels shorter, threaded with shells and glossy abalone. earlier i was too depressed to apply too much makeup, and was not allowed to do it in the way i liked, but now i have the sense that my eyes are lined and my lips are pink, with white dots highlighting the top of my cheekbones and my hair out of my face. i no longer feel so cold.
>she looks at me like i remind her how water is supposed to be blue.
>i wanted to jump into the sea, and now more than ever. my heart screams in my chest take me away from here, make me your salt wife, your rock wife, just get me out of here, take me out with you. take me away from here. take me away from these eyes that rake me, these men that stare at me, these voices that whisper and lock me, this world that claims to love me but sells me away to be shattered. get me out of here. take me away from here. the ironborn steal, is that not what they do? i have heard stories of their raids, how women fight alongside men, how they take girls from villages away back to their islands and i want to scream, scream take me, too.
>she looks at me like i remind her how water is supposed to be blue.
>i don't remember the rest of the night. i don't remember if my parents screamed foul play, if we were chased, if the hordes tried to stop us or if they stood back and adhered to their own rules. i only remember running barefoot with one hand holding up my skirts and the other clasped fiercely in hers, running with my heart in my throat, tears in my eyes, and a mix between a sob and a laugh coming from my mouth. i remember that her sailor's fingers were rough and honest as stone, her gray eyes bright and laughing like a thunderstorm and always glancing back to me. i remember the smell of salt and the swinging lanterns on the ship, rough wood under my feet and the catch in my chest as i saw the lights of my home, my prison, grow smaller and smaller. i remember her captain's cabin, her small, almost invisible freckles, her eyes glimmering like fire amongst the gray light of dawn as she held my hand and swore she would not make me do anything i did not want to. she understood, even if she was not like me she understood in a way i never thought was possible, and i did not diminish in her eyes because of it. i told her my true name, and she smiled like moonlight glancing across the water, and we kissed in our shifts with our legs tangled, rocked to tranquility by the sway of the ship and sung the lullaby of creaking wood and the waves.
>dream of being asha greyjoy's trophy wife
>wake up alone at six fucking pm
