House Lannister. My fanart series for the Great Houses from the ASOIAF. I wanted to make this for the longest time.

cringe ass family ❤

tommen is going to be FINE. don’t even worry.

Young Tommen Baratheon*

An absolute baby. He’s dressed like Robert but in deep reds to match with his Mother and sister. If you want to imagine baby Jaime and Cersei… this would be it.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book \ („• ֊ •„) /

CERSEI LANNISTER AND TOMMEN BARATHEON 2.09 | “Blackwater”

Cersei's children - Les enfants de Cersei

King Tommen Baratheon

“He was a sweet boy, not like his brother.”

Tommen: {About Cersei} It's like she gets off on being withholding.

Joffrey: Whoa, Tommen!

Myrcella: Look who's ragging on the old lady!

Tommen: “I’m Mom and I want to shoot down everything you say so I feel good about myself.”

Tommen: Because I'm an uptight {bleep} {bleep} {bleep} {bleep} {bleep} {bleep}, Tommen {bleep} {bleep} {bleep} you old horny slut!

Myrcella: {stunned} Nobody's going to top

The manner in which Robert’s Rebellion is so praised disgusts me sometimes. Another classic mentality of “Let’s rid the world of the evil Targaryens”.

What the Andals mean by that is “Evil because…they’re not like us. And because they took away the chance for us to do whatever the f*ck we want.”

Aerys II was a mad king who certainly needed to be deposed. But you depose a king, not a dynasty (especially not a dynasty who has managed to do more for Westeros than the idiot Andals would ever acknowledge). Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was more than competent to take over and it was speculated that he was thinking of deposing his father as well.

But then the oh so brave Robert Baratheon, in his jealousy over the whole “Lyanna Stark situation”, gathered the necessary forces to depose a great dynasty only to…sit on his ass, drink and spend money on whores for his entire reign.

And what happened after he died? A succession crisis which brought a whole lot of misery to the Realm.

There hasn’t been a single good king since the Targaryen dynasty ended.

Robert Baratheon = lazy ass drunk

Joffrey Baratheon = psycho

Tommen Baratheon = naive and easily manipulated

So tell me again how “bad” the Targaryens are and what “good” the Andals did for the people. Because if we make a list of the pros and cons of having Targaryens rule the Realm vs having the Andals do it (or worse, go back to having seven independent Kingdoms), the Targaryens would win, no doubts about it.

I hate it when people focus too much on Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella not being Robert’s kids to the point that they deny Baratheon family connections. Stannis is their UNCLE, it doesn’t matter if they’re related. That’s what they grew up with. Renly was their Fun Uncle. Shireen is their cousin. They probably had play dates. Stannis probably came to family dinners. Renly snuck Joffrey his first sip of wine. Myrcella would climb on Stannis’ lap after dinner and fall asleep, while Cersei rolled her eyes. They’re family!!!

King Tommen Baratheon 👑

New poll time!

Does betting your money mean you think your man (or lady) is going to win? No! Sometimes it’s just funny to bet on the person people least expect to win. Do not fight each other, this is not a melee tourney.

POV they caught you chasing cats in the red keep

Selyse is not a "who's this bitch" kind of person but honestly, she should be forgiven for meeting Sansa like this and going "who's this bitch"

Just then there was a call from outside the tent, asking for the king. Davos opened the flap and a young solder ducked inside, bowing low to the king first, then to Lady Melisandre, then to Selyse. "Your Grace," he said, "riders were just spotted on the pass below, making their way up to our camp."

"Spotted on the pass?" snorted Davos. "Are they riding snow bears? Or elks?"

As though in answer, an horn sounded in the distance. The king started, his expression as queer as any Selyse had seen on his face in their near twenty years of marriage. It seemed almost...hopeful. "That call," he said, as though to himself.

Davos shook his head. "I don't recognize it, Your Grace. Do you?"

"Oh, yes," said Stannis softly. "I remember it very well."

The party climbing up the pass was small — a hundred men at most — in two long rows, the banners of all of Stark's promised houses unfurled. They were mounted on the great lumbering beasts that passed for horses in the North. In the pearl-grey of dawn, Selyse could see the front pair dragging behind them a curious leather-and plate device. It was shaped for all the world like the prow of a ship and it cut through the snow with ease. The party moved only slightly slower than a full canter; even as she watched, the two horses affixed to the contraption slowed and stopped, their riders giving them full rein to blow out great puffs of air into the snow. The whole party halted in an orderly queue behind them, and the two mounted soldiers directly behind circled round to unhook the lead pair (without bothering to dismount) and attaching their own horses. The party then resumed its swift pace up the mountain pass. The two who had been in the lead rejoined smoothly at the end, where the snow been packed down to a tidy path.

"Ingenious," remarked Davos. Lady Melisandre said nothing, only quirked an eyebrow. Shireen asked some imbecilic question about something, and the king made a patient response.

"Perhaps these men of the North will bring you the miracle you seek, Your Grace," said Lady Melisandre, as the riders at last drew level.

"Certainly they seem to have performed the miracle of moving in this snow," Stannis observed.

Most of the riders remained at the foot of the camp, but a small group began to make their way toward them, their behemoth horses even more ridiculous as they drew closer, with their hoofs near as wide as platters and their tails cut short as a broomstick. As they halted before their king, the riders dismounted. Despite the bitter cold, not one of them showed any sign of discomfort, their thick boots and cloaks making them appear almost as outsized as their horses.

The king took a breath, as if to ask for their leader, when a hooded figure on a great chestnut beast came out from the midst of them. Her cloak and skirts were dirty from the road and snows, her copper-bright hair in a simple peasant's braid as she pushed back her hood. A half-dozen young men surged forward to hand her from her horse, but it was a giantess in armor who helped her down and followed closely behind as she approached them.

It took Selyse a long moment to realize who the girl was: Sansa, Catelyn's eldest daughter. (Eldest child, now that the usurper Robb Stark was dead — and Catelyn too, and Lord Stark before them.) She had more of her mother's look to her than her father's, which must have pleased the Imp when he married her; Tyrion had always liked his whores pretty and clever. There was something in the way that she carried herself, however, that made Selyse suspect Sansa might be rather too clever.

The girl made no move to bow to the king, merely drew within a length as her retinue fanned out behind her. "Your Grace," she greeted Stannis. At least she had the good sense to recognize her rightful king. "I am Lady Sansa, of House Stark."

"Lady Stark," the king replied, or began to, because at that moment the damned direwolf, that unnatural creature the Lord Commander had foisted upon them, came hurtling in from wherever the devils he'd been and lunged for the girl, sending her sprawling to the ground with a scream more chilling than Shireen's, horrifyingly cut off as she—

As she laughed, the creature licking frantically at her face with its great tail wagging. The girl brought her arms around its monstrous neck and hugged it closer to her, burying her face in its fur, unconcerned entirely by the spectacle. Her Northern lords looked well pleased, in fact, nodding and smiling at one another in shared understanding. He'll recognize her, Jon had told Shireen when she'd asked how Ghost would know who Sansa was. The pack knows its own. It seemed the whole of the North knew.

The king's people were nearly as susceptible. Davos was smiling like a dolt and Shireen looked as though she wanted nothing more than to join in the undignified affair. Lady Melisandre, at least, showed little sign of being moved; she was watching with an air of interest but no warmth. Only the king was truly inscrutable, as he stared down at the tangle of girl and dog with another expression she had never seen before. This time, she could not guess as to what it meant.

At long last, the beast allowed Sansa Stark to rise, once again accepting help only from her giantess. "My apologies, Your Grace," she said. Her smile was broad and bright even as she wiped at a streak of mud across her nose. "But as you might guess, Stark reunions are rare these days."

Natalie Dormer as Margaery Tyrell in Game of Thrones

You raised me to be strong... and I wasn't. But I want to be. Help me. Always.