#Jon Gray's art will never not be amusing

[robotnikholmescomicblog]

#RHSB post #StH242 #Jon Gray's art will never not be amusing #Aleah Baker did the colours? #Blaze #Sonic #Jon Gray #Ian Flynn #Archie comics

[voiceless-terror]

In which Martin and Gerry help Jon acquire a cat, among other things. 

“Martin, look!”

A phone is shoved in his face; on the screen is a tiny black kitten sprawled on a carpet with the headline “Free to a Good Home!!” Martin knows where this is going.

“Finally time to bite the bullet, eh?”

“We could surprise him!” Gerry’s voice is animated as he waves his phone in the air. Martin loves when he gets like this, unguarded and sweet. “You know how stressed he’s been. Honestly, I’m shocked we haven’t gotten one already.”

“Well, he’s certainly been hinting at it.” Martin gestures broadly at the walls of the bookstore, decorated with various cozy knick knacks and art they’ve picked up at charity shops. There’s no less than three oddly majestic cat paintings along with a shelf of tiny porcelain felines, not to mention the gaudy clock that has cat breeds instead of numbers. Jon has...particular taste. “Not very subtle, is he?”

“Should I message them, then?” Gerry squints at the screen. “We met them at trivia a few months ago - Mara, the one with the-”

“Green hair, yeah.” Martin remembers the night rather fondly. Gerry usually spent most trivia nights scowling in the corner and making snarky commentary with Jon, but on that particular occasion he had a few drinks and was considerably more relaxed. He managed to charm half of the bar with his stories and wit while Jon stared on, adoration clear on his face.  “But you know Jon would kill us if we didn’t let him have a say. You know how he gets, he needs to prepare-”

“-buy ninety toys-”

“-think up a ridiculous name.” They both laugh at that- Jon’s got a penchant for renaming their friend’s pets when he doesn’t think their moniker “suits them.” He’s gotten into more than one fight about it. “Text him so he doesn’t stay late, though. I’m not staying up until midnight again.”

“On it.”

_______

They hear Jon before they see him. 

The door creaks open, alerting them to his presence as Jon lets out his usual long-suffering sigh (Gerry fondly calls this mood ‘The Bouchard Blues.’) His clothes are wrinkled and his eyes are barely open; from the slight indent on his face, Martin reckons he fell asleep at his desk again. Gerry meets him at the door, grabbing his bag and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Rough day, love?”

Another sigh, this one a bit more huffy. “Elias came in at half past four with a box of ninety random documents and wanted them all organized by tomorrow. Impossible, of course, unless I stay the night-”

“But you came home!” Gerry says it with a sort of wonder in his voice; Jon very rarely stands up to his boss, no matter how ridiculous the ask. 

“W-Well, you said it was important,” Jon looks between them with large, worried eyes. Always assuming the worst. “It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“Jon, I thought the twelve reassuring texts and afternoon phone call put that to rest,” Gerry replies as he steers them towards the couch. “Suppose I should’ve just told you. I wanted it to be a surprise.” He unlocks his phone and scrolls until he finds the ad, handing it over to Jon.

His eyes immediately light up, alert and awake. “Cat!”

“Cat,” Martin agrees, settling down beside them. “We were thinking of getting one for the bookstore-”

“Of course,” Jon’s smiling that rare, bright grin and Martin melts just a little. “It’s only logical. And I do like black cats-”

“Damn it!” Gerry groans, startling them both. He throws his phone down on the couch, crossing his arms in a sulk. “Someone just claimed her. I knew I should’ve said something-”

But Jon’s already fishing his phone out, his smile not dimming in the slightest. “There’s a shelter not too far from here- I’ll see if we have to make an appointment. Martin, can you call Georgie? She’s got an excellent carrier for the Admiral, and she can probably recommend other necessities-”

They end up going to bed at midnight anyway.

________

“I still don’t see why we had to order so much,” Martin complains after another confirmation email lights up his phone. The credit card bill’s going to be astronomical this month. “Surely we’re overpreparing. We don’t have room for the deluxe cat tower in the shop, and we certainly don’t need one for the flat as well.”

“I assure you these are all necessities, Martin.” Gerry and Martin are both fairly tall, but even they have trouble keeping up with Jon’s brisk pace, sharing a fond look over his head. Jon managed to find them a Saturday appointment with a rather impressive combination of wheedling and charm. When it came to cats, Jon didn’t pull his punches. They made it to the shelter in record time and Jon burst through the doors, his next words full of self-importance. “We’re expected. Jonathan Sims.”

They’re led back to a large room by an amused assistant, Jon at the front of their little line. Martin watches as his eyes light up upon seeing the many cages that lined the wall; even Gerry seems a bit excited, though he tries to hide it by hanging back. Gerry’s never been much of an animal person; he shares Jon’s distaste of loud and jumpy dogs too unpredictable in their behavior. He only just started getting used to the Admiral, and that was through much prodding on Jon’s part. Jon’s love is surprisingly infectious. 

Jon peers into each cage intently, answering every inquisitive noise with a prim “Pleased to meet you.” One of the first cages contains a fluffy brown cat with curious eyes and Martin stops to poke a finger through the door. “Walnut” (as provided by a helpful nameplate) does not respond, though she seems interested. 

Jon’s already halfway down the row before he stops in his tracks, eyes trained on a large, grumpy ball of gray fur sitting right at the bars of the cage. He’s missing an eye, and he begins to growl as soon as Jon nears him.

“This one.” He declares, staring as if entranced. He hasn’t even touched it or attempted to pet it- they’re locked in some sort of silent standoff. Martin’s reminded of those romantic comedies Jon and Gerry hate, where couples lock eyes across the room and it's love at first sight. He surreptitiously takes a picture. Adorable. 

“Jimmy?” The assistant inquires. Jon scoffs at the plainness of the name. “He’s been here awhile. Not very friendly, I’m afraid.”

“No, not Jimmy.” Jon offers up a hand, and the cat comes closer, sniffing at it with suspicion. After a few moments, he butts his head against Jon’s hand, earning a smile. “Lance Corporal.”

“No.”

Jon swivels around, eyes narrowing at Gerry’s words. It’s the first time he’s spoken and he’s got one eyebrow quirked up in amusement. It’s a good look on him. Jon, however, is having none of it and he puts a hand to his hip. “And why not?”

“It’s such a mouthful.” Martin has to agree; it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “I’m not going to call him that. What about Lance?”

Jon wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

Martin sighs; Gerry and Jon get along like a house on fire but when they bicker, they bicker. He eyes the cat that’s now rubbing against Jon’s hand and purring; he hopes the its sudden geniality will extend to Martin and Gerry. Jon would pick a cat that’s just as prickly as he can be.

Martin gives it a good look, coming up beside Jon at ‘Jimmy’s’ cage. The cat immediately stops its gravely purr, it’s eye now trained on Martin. It’s unnerving, Martin never thought a cat could radiate authority but this one surely managed to. If any animal deserves a title, it’s this one.  “What about the Captain?” he asks in a fit of inspiration.

They both turn to look at him; Gerry amused, Jon thoughtful. “Go on.”

“It’s a title, you always liked the naval ones.” Jon nods in agreement, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “He looks like an old sailor, very distinguished. I dunno, I think it’s cute.”

“The Captain,” Jon whispers in awe as the cat resumes rubbing against his hand. “Martin, that’s perfect. Inspired, even.”

He can’t help preening a bit. “Thank you.” Gerry rolls his eyes.

And then there’s the moment of truth- the assistant opens the cage door and Jon steps forward with all the solemnity of a man about to be knighted. He reaches out his arms and the cat lets itself be picked up, going limp as Jon brings it to his chest. He sighs in contentment, giving himself one more moment of bliss before he perks up and opens his eyes.

“Now pick yours.”

_________

Three. They’ve got three fucking cats.

Martin and Gerry immediately began to refuse, but Jon was insistent. “The Captain is obviously very partial to me, and I think you should have some say in who we adopt. If we each get one it eliminates any favoritism. It’s only logical.”

There was nothing logical about it. Three cats and three people in their tiny flat, or worse, destroying their bookstore. They didn’t have the space, the cats might not get along, it would be too expensive. But Jon wouldn’t hear of it, countering every point in a calmness that was borderline unnerving. Martin shot Gerry a pleading look; he’d gone silent after the initial refusal, content to let Martin do most of the arguing, but he just shook his head in amusement- he knew how this would end, and Martin did too. As the final nail in the coffin, Jon deployed the eyes and that’s how he found himself in the front of a taxi with a lapful of Walnut. She’s a friendly thing, instantly purring on contact and meowing whenever he turned away. Martin hadn’t the heart to turn it away.

Gerry took more time. He slunk around the cages and the cats seemed to sense his reluctance. But soon he came upon a small, sleek black cat, not unlike the one from the Facebook post. It was a tentative thing, barely coming to the edge of its cage to sniff at his fingers, but Gerry was determined, patiently waiting the fifteen minutes it took to get him to warm up. Martin didn’t point out the similarities between it and a certain goth, though he shared a knowing look with Jon.

“I’ve got it - the Unfathomable Void.”

“Dear God,” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes. So dramatic, the both of them.

Jon snorted. “That’s a bit much.”

“Okay, Lance Corporal.”

“Excuse me-!”

“Settle down, boys,” Martin put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, he looked liable to pounce. “If that’s what you want, go for it. But we’ll call him Void for short.” Gerry nodded, seemingly satisfied. Jon continued to scowl, though without any heat.

The cabbie was definitely not pleased at having to cart around three men and three cats. He muttered the entire drive while Jon bounced in the backseat, cooing at his companion. Gerry sat much more stoically, though Martin didn’t miss the tiny smile as the cat nipped at his fingers. Jon’s insistence on multiple supplies was starting to make sense now. He definitely planned this from the beginning, sneaky thing.

“Oh no,” Jon suddenly said upon entering their flat, struggling with the carrier in his hand.  Martin’s starting to think he shouldn’t have picked such a massive cat. “I forgot this was for the bookstore!” 

“Well, yeah.” Gerry sat his cage on the ground, kneeling down beside it. “I figured mine or Martin’s would do. The Captain’s not very friendly, Jon.”

“But what if they get lonely? We can’t split them up.” Jon’s eyes dart around the room, growing more conflicted by the second. “Perhaps we should keep them all at home.”

“There’s no room, Jon! And no one’s here during the day.” Martin surveys the room- the three carriers already seem to take up an enormous amount of space, not to mention the living creatures inside of them.  And all of those packages, that damn tower…

“You can take them back and forth. Commute.”

“Christ, we did not think this through.” Gerry’s smiling even as he says it, watching as the Unfathomable Void slowly makes his way out, sniffing tentatively at the air. Walnut’s content to stay in her cage, and Martin tucks her in a corner away from the other two. Jon’s already got the Captain out, holding him in his arms and refusing to let him go.

“You’re right, we didn’t.” Jon agrees, tucking his face in the Captain’s fur. “We should’ve gotten four-”

“Fuck’s sake, Jon!”

“Let’s talk about this later, alright?” Gerry takes Martin’s place as the voice of reason, a rare occurrence. “We’ll keep them at home, let them get used to us, and then we’ll figure out the bookstore situation. No sense getting worked up about it now.” Jon sighs, cradling the mass of fur to his chest and plopping down on the couch. Martin’s sure they’ll be at it again tomorrow; Jon sniping as Martin tries and fails to put together a massive cat tower, Gerry groaning about whatever surprises the cats left for them in the morning. The next few weeks were going to be stressful, to say the least.

For now, though, he sits with his partners once again until midnight, watching their new additions roam about the flat and ignore each other. Jon frets, Gerry sighs, and Martin unsuccessfully attempts to steer the conversation towards anything but cats. By the end of the night, only Void manages to feel at home, curling up in Martin’s favorite armchair (much to his chagrin). Could’ve gone worse, Martin cheers himself with. They’ll get used to the flat. And the bookstore. Probably.

Later that night, once their partner’s asleep and snoring softly between the two of them, Martin turns to Gerry, borrowing Jon’s patented sigh. 

“We’re gonna get a fourth cat, aren’t we?”

Gerry’s voice is just as resigned. “Yeah, reckon so.”

“Christ.”

-------

Others in the JGM series:

What We’re Given and What We Make

At the End of the Day

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945809

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #jonmartin #jongerry #gerrymartin #christ this is a lot of tags #pointless fluff honestly #but fun #when i picture jon's smile in this fic its messisauce's art tbh #you know the one

[standbehindhousestark]

The Art of Baking

Hey, y’all! I tried out the OTP Prompt Generator. and got the prompt “Sansa comes back home to see the mess Jon had made in the kitchen trying to cook for her.” Let me know what you think!

Jon had made a mess of things. Which, to be fair, he did quite often, but he had really screwed up this time. He had been planning to surprise Sansa by having one of her favorite lemon cakes ready for her when she got home. But it turned out he was definitely not a baker, and now the only surprise she would come home to was her kitchen looking like a bomb had went off in it.

Today was her first day at a new job and Jon couldn’t be more happy for her. It had been almost 5 months since Sansa showed up at his door with a cut on her cheek and bruises littering her wrists. The only thing that had stopped Jon from stomping that Joffrey prick was Sansa pleading that she needed him to hold her, not go to jail for her. When she’d broken things off with Joffrey, however, she had also lost her job at Lannister Publishing not even a week later. So when Sansa told him she’d found a job at an even bigger publication, Jon wanted to do something to celebrate.

Lyanna Snow and Ned Stark had been dear friends since childhood, and Ned did all he could to ease her struggles with being a single mother. So while the Stark household was practically Jon’s second home growing up, he and Sansa had never been particularly close before that awful night. Now the two were practically inseparable; whenever he went over to Sam and Gilly’s for dinner he would invite Sansa. If there was a new play or romcom that Sansa wanted to see, she would drag Jon along. The two would walk their malamutes, Ghost and Lady, to the park together. And at least twice a week Jon would come home from work to find Sansa had let herself in and cooked him dinner, which is where the idea to bake something for Sansa had came from.

It can’t be that hard, Jon had thought.

Lyanna’s lemon cake was a hit at every big Stark family gathering, and while Jon had never actually baked a cake before, he had watched his mother make this very cake a thousand times growing up. He was feeling confident. He had one of Sansa’s aprons on, he’d gathered all the ingredients he needed, and he began mixing.

Jon learned very quickly that he was not cut out for baking.

As he was pouring the flour into the sifter, he sneezed; the sudden jerk of his arm sent the powder flying everywhere. Everything from Jon’s apron, to Sansa’s very nice hardwood floor and granite countertops received a hearty coating of the substance. No matter, Jon hummed to himself. I can clean that later. So he moved on. And, naturally, once he got to the eggs he had hit the last egg too hard against the outer edge of the mixing bowl. Yolk instantly spilled out of the fractured shell and added to the mess.

Jon groaned and picked up the mixing bowl to move it to the other side of the kitchen so he could clean. But because bad luck comes in threes, Lady had chosen that exact moment to check what Jon was up to. The bump of her snout against his hip startled him, and Jon dropped the bowl full of half-mixed cake batter right onto the floor, narrowly missing the light gray dog.

Lady, however, immediately lost interest in Jon’s misfortune and bounded over to the front door, tail wagging. And that’s when Jon heard the lock turning. Well, shit. I’m dead. Jon cringed and readied himself for his fate. Sansa is the tidiest person I know, and I’ve just covered half her kitchen in cake batter.

Sansa walked through the door and her eyes widened at the scene on the other end of the hallway. Jon was frozen in place, standing in the middle of the kitchen wincing almost painfully.

“Uh, hey Sansa… You’re home early.” Jon managed to stammer out, instantly flushing when he saw her.

Sansa blinked in confusion. “Yeah, today was mostly orientation stuff, they didn’t need me for the full day. What on Earth happened here?” She chuckled, seemingly more amused by Jon’s floundering than concerned about the mess.

“Well, I was baking you a lemon cake, like the ones my mom makes… Trying to at least.” Jon answered more surely now, assured that Sansa wasn’t angry with him.

Sansa arched an eyebrow and hummed in approval. She shrugged her coat off and sauntered towards him. “And was this going to be a ‘will you go out with me?’ cake that you were baking?” Sansa purred once she was half a step in front of him.

Jon gulped.

“No! I mean… uh, not exactly. I just wanted to do something to celebrate your first day.” Jon was getting more and more flustered now. “…Unless you wanted me to ask you on a date?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for a while now.” Sansa was beaming at him now. “I was going to give you to the end of the week before I asked you myself.”

Jon grinned sheepishly. “I think you just did.”

“I guess I did.” Sansa stated matter-of-factly and giggled.

“I just… I know these past few months have been pretty rough. I didn’t want you to feel like I was swooping in, or expecting something from you.”

Sansa smiled softly and lifted Jon’s throughly-floured apron over his head before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I know, Jon.” She said into his shoulder. “Things were bad after him, but you helped me pull myself out of it. You’ve made me so happy, just when I wasn’t sure if I could be again.”

Jon pulled her in tighter. “You’ve made me happy too, Sans.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling away. “I have to get out of my work clothes, and then I’m going to teach you how to actually bake a cake, Mr Snow.”

“Sounds good, Ms Stark.” Jon chuckled, and then looked around him, taking in the mess he had forgotten about. Embarrassing him all over again. “I’ll get all this cleaned up in the meantime.”

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic

[sunfish999]

Types of People, Kpop ver.

tag yourself haha enjoy

BTS

enjoy Starbucks, typically get an Americano. actually like snakes and most animals. read fantasy romance novels, and that goes for movies as well. when gardening, they prefer flowers, and like the aesthetic of a color scheme. “I’m in love with Khalid”. yellow walls, acrylic paints on wood. starry nights and writing fanfiction at 4:30am. can be bossy but is logical and fair when making decisions. screams at the tv during sports games.

BAP

stealing roses from a neighbors garden. passionate about anything they set their minds to. is sort of basic but in a cute way. lying in bed all day, quilts made by a grandmother. orange lotus soap with a basil scent. writing song lyrics or sheet music, playing the ukelele painted with flowers by your best friend. listens to depressing emo music but somehow it motivates them. cliche daydreams about crushes, can’t get over them even after being rejected. frilly socks and black tights. chipped purple nail polish. 

VIXX 

very sweet, into astrology. carries a picture of their little nephew in a leather wallet. clear phone case with the space gray iphone 8. likes holding hands with family members, friends, and lovers. lives near the ocean and always has sand between their toes. salty hair. a fresh, lemon scent with a hint of lavender. prefers pinterest over tumblr. “Jon Bellion is SO underrated”. very organized but has lots of things. black doc martens with doodles in gel pen. carries unscented chapstick everywhere.  

MONSTA X

tries to be an emo kid but really isn’t. has a lot of money but saves it all for ‘charity’ or ‘college’. aces school but always sleeps in class. mcdonalds all the way. laying in the grass on a sunny day. has some acne but is beautiful anyway. your average alternative music taste. down to earth, grows vegetables for their families. upside down herbs hanging from the kitchen window. is super athletic and most likely plays basketball. really good hearing but can’t see for shit. round glasses that are mismatched. 

EXO

singing in the shower, loudly, along with the music on your ipod. brushing your teeth with kids crest toothpaste. lives in jumpsuits and denim jackets. no one knows but they hate the dark. horror movies ftw. an entire shelf in their bedroom is dedicated to plushies. “yes i have to stand on this chair to take a picture of my food”. family camping trips every summer. plays the clarinet and looks forward to band camp. blasts lofi chill hop music whenever they’re in need of inspiration. pretty hands, no piercings. lives for doing anything with other people, will never hesitate to help out someone in need. 

SHINEE 

super nostalgic, keeps a memory box and still talks to childhood friends. That One Mom Friend. wants to major in psychology. keeps a dream journal and has a tumblr dedicated to psychic research. talks to their dog more than people. huge fluffy white comforter. listens to country music. likes the moments when it’s raining but the sun is out, and most wait for a rainbow but it never appears. doodles on your arms in crayola markers. cheetah print parkas are the way to go in winter. could be in a roller derby or bowling league. 

GOT7 

opening a window during a thunderstorm and just listening. forgetting to write in their diary. pressed wildflowers that are ugly to some but pretty to them. black fountain pens and nothing else. brings a smoothie to class every morning but never forgets fries at lunch. indie music is their jam. covers up the dark circles under their eyes with concealer, since they stay up until 3am. sleeping in super late on weekends and finally feeling refreshed. star of the soccer team and the lead role in the school musical. clumsy but charming. love at first sight. 

NCT 

making pinterest foodie recipes. prints out wikihow pages and keeps them in a notebook with them at all times. could read steven king at night without getting scared. screeches at jump scares but cradles spiders. is the world flat? probably does ballet or works out 24/7. keeps potted plants on their windowsill but can’t figure out why they keep dying. never turns the fan on while showering and then draws figures on the glass. drake is my spirit animal. phone is always at 80% but they never bring a charger anywhere. makes you go on the biggest ride at amusement parks or the biggest slide at waterparks. risk-takers and daredevils. 

BIGBANG 

ironically, watches the big bang theory. and the office. and parks and rec. along with friends. they really enjoy buttery popcorn but skip the salt. listens to 80s music. just above passing grades, hate attention. likes drawing with charcoal on big sketchpads. backhugs for their lover, kisses that send shivers up your spine. silver ring on their middle finger, wears a plaid fannypack everywhere. loves making jokes and is a living meme. lives on a large campus at the uni, works out with friends and is enemies with their roommate. eyebrow piercings and no-makeup makeup. carries a water bottle everywhere. 

DAY6 

works hard in school and their grades reflect that. has social anxiety but no one knows. pretty posters tacked on the walls. graffiti on the bathroom stalls and on train cars. champion chalk artist. always gets ice cream in a dish. two spoons, they love to share. sitting on the roof of a skyscraper and looking at how awake the city is. thrift store shopping. loves reading biographies and watching documentaries. listens to classic rock. 

TWICE

a cat fanatic. watches sherlock, doctor who, and supernatural. is a total geek. makes theories on every tv show ever. can’t fall asleep at night thinking about government conspiracies. gasps when people say they haven’t watched every star wars or read harry potter. “you mean to tell me you don’t know who BILBO BAGGINS is??” stargazing on the roof of your house. spilling tea on your sweater but just shrugging it off. will probably be a best selling author one day. smiles and says ‘have a great day!’ to everyone they see. the guardians of the galaxy soundtrack is everything anyone ever needed.

LOONA 

has a favorite poet. cringes at their freshman year GPA of 3.7. listens to podcasts. carries around an almost ripped rucksack so stuffed with books it’s a miracle it hasn’t burst yet. wants to major in philosophy but minor in math. works in a cafe that sells pastries. studies while perched on cushions that cover the floor of their room. falls asleep in random places. owns a pet bird. sings while baking cookies and played the flute in seventh grade. is fluent in french. 

BLACKPINK 

is into photography. annoys a lot of people but doesn’t let it bother them. smells like sweet perfume. idolizes Audrey Hepburn and owns a book about elegance. it’s on their coffee table. likes vintage hats and wears lace bralettes under everything. owns a record player that continuously plays classic piano records from goodwill. feels like they were born in the wrong generation. tries to capture their emotions with a camera. picks daisies and is an expert at making flower crowns.

RED VELVET 

has a sweet tooth. likes cookies and cakes and candies. desperately wants to travel to london. has an art instagram where they post calligraphy. plays card games every saturday. mornings in the saddle and stroking their horse. collects the eggs from their chickens each morning to make omelets. has quote decals on their walls. dazzling white smile and red lipstick. works as a nanny for the kids down the street. is always tired. listens to slow love songs and teaches ballroom dancing and waltzes. 

F(X)

is cool and they know it. pulls all nighters with ease, handles alcohol well. takes risks only because they have nothing to lose. is dissatisfied with life. predicted their own death and has written their will already. sells old notes and tests to younger students, as well as being an irish literature tutor. likes reading shakespeare. is the heartthrob of the school. stares out the window during class but can answer whatever question the teacher asks. ripped jeans and fishnets is a winning combination. is a black belt in taekwondo. only ever drinks hot chocolate. 

i don’t even know what half of these mean but tag yourself lmao this took years its 3:01am 

#kpop #bts #bap #monsta x #got7 #vixx #exo #shinee #nct #bigbang #day6 #twice #loona #red velvet #fx #blackpink #types of people #i dont even know #tag yourself

[kittensjonsa]

One Night (Part 1)

I’ve been reading a whole f*** lot of smutty Jonsa fics from the awesome Jonsa fandom and it’s SO GOOD I tell ya. And I just can’t get the image of Kit and Sophie getting it on in my head as Jon and Sansa. So here’s a bit of the dream I had watching them both have sexy times. I shit you not, I really did have the dream of them. That’s how much of a Jonsa trash I am. Of course I’m adding a “relatable” story scene to it. It’s a little long, in two parts, sorry I’m a sucker for details! Smut ahead and I hope my smut writing has improved now that I’m gonna use all the tips some of you gave me. I hope to make you proud 😆 Thanks guyyss! ***********

It was past one in the morning when Jon and Sansa came tumbling in through the front door. Well, more like Sansa trying to hobble in with her pump heel broken, from shaking her booty and shimmying to her favourite jam that night at the club. And Jon was there to catch her when her pumps got caught on some gum stuck on the podium floor.

“Shit! Sansa! Are you all right?” Jon tumbled along with her as he tried to catch her and landed on top of her.

Sansa caught a whiff of Jon’s manly cologne mixed with his scent and unconsciously inhaled it deeply. He smelled like sex. Fuck. The kind of scent she would lick all over, dip her fingers in and eat all of it up. He smelled of cigarettes too but that was just from the club. Feeling him moving clumsily on top of her, Jon’s thighs brushed against hers and Sansa felt a stirring in her loins. She almost let out a moan. Damn, it was just not her night tonight. Looking at her cousin as a fuck toy was the last thing on her mind. She wasn’t quite drunk as an excuse for attempting something stupid and far too sober to forget doing anything embarrassing. Caught in the middle and it was the worst. She thought bumping into someone at the club would help scratch her itch but after that embarrassing face-meet-floor moment, she would probably stay away from there for at least a year.

The day wasn’t hers to begin with. She left her car keys in her gym locker when she happily decided to walk back home from spin class. She almost spilled her juice when the cute barista from her favourite cafe flashed his toothy grin. And then Margaery cancelled on their girls’ night out, which Sansa had planned a week before. Damn you, influenza.

And then Jon decided to join her since he was at home, appearing tired of waiting for Robb to finish his shift. He claimed they both had to finish off LegendGamer27 to reach their target level. And Robb was supposed to finish his shift early at the sports store both of them were working at. Or something. Whatever it was, Sansa tuned out the moment she heard him say ‘LegendGamer27’. Boys.

Sansa giggled as she recalled what a day it had been. And now there she was, broken heel, half drunk half sober, ridiculously horny and falling on her butt in front of her cousin who tried to break her fall, only to fall down himself. Muscle and sex on two legs right on top of her. What could she do but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Jon got up and looked at her puzzled. Sansa erupted in a howl of laughter as she watched Jon’s confused face wondering if she had taken a hard knock to her head. Jon couldn’t help but chuckle. Sansa always had an infectious roaring kind of laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you find this funny dear cousin,” Jon said as he held out his hand to help her up. Sansa kicked off her ruined heels. They weren’t expensive so she would toss them out tomorrow in the trash. Now her feet were hungry for the soft carpeted floor. And her body too, maybe she would just lie down there and be done with the night. The day had been exhausting.

Sansa reluctantly grabbed Jon’s hand and raised herself up. She felt a shiver as Jon’s hands seized her waist as she got up shakily, her legs were slightly jelly, probably from the spin class earlier. Jon must have thought she was a lightweight. Three drinks in and here she was putty in his arms. Sansa smiled a little when she realised that maybe that would help boost Jon’s ego a bit. She had never seen Jon with a girl and last she overheard Robb talking with him about dating, he didn’t seem to have much of input nor clue as to how to approach women. Despite his dark and handsome features, Jon was painfully shy, a soft spoken gentleman who kept to himself mostly. He worked and studied part time and some evenings he would go to the martial arts studio to work out. He seemed easy going enough around Robb and her, visiting them rather frequently at first and then eventually moving in with Robb and Sansa after deciding they needed a flatmate to share a bigger apartment downtown.

It seemed nice to have family around, the apartment bustled daily although Robb was often out, working a lot and had an active social life. It was always Jon and her at home having dinner, Jon and her at the park, Jon and her at the breakfast table and Jon and her watching a TV movie, sharing a bowl of popcorn.

Jon felt almost like a brother to her but his dark eyes and broody demeanor wasn’t something very Stark-like. Jon inherited his dark Stark looks from her Aunt Lyanna but it stopped there. Sansa remembered her complaining to her mother that she sometimes worried that her one and only son wasn’t getting out and meeting people. Uncle Rhaegar was smiley and all kinds of sunshine and enjoyed whistling and singing, so both of Jon’s parents had no idea where his moodiness and quiet intensity came from. Both of them were perfectly relieved when Jon wanted to move out to the city to stay with his cousins, hoping Robb’s charm and Sansa bubbly personality would rub off on him. It’s been two years and Sansa didn’t think it worked. But it was nice having someone to come home to, she had to admit.

“Ugh, Jon you would not believe the day I’ve had, my heel breaking was just symbolic. I think it just sort of gave out. Just not my day, not my night tonight,” Sansa shrugged as she skipped to the fridge, opening a bottle of beer and grabbed one for Jon. Jon smiled in thanks and gulped half of his beer down.

“So tell me, can’t be that bad?”

Sansa sniggered and nodded. She told him of the lousy turn of events that day and even Jon couldn’t resist giggling at her expense. Sansa couldn’t shake off Jon’s gaze at her as she recounted her story but dismissed it. She didn’t get to flirt with any guys at the club earlier so she was probably feeling slightly starved for attention. She blamed her hormones for the spike in her libido. Trust good ol’ ovulation to get her engines revving. Plus, Jon had quite the stare, with his dark eyes and dark curls. He seemed to look right into her, seeing through to her right down to her needs. It made her blush a little.

“So yeah, I’m not really drunk to forget all of that happened and I’m too sober that I’m just cringing at all of it. I just found it funny that’s all. So.. Tell me, see anyone you like at the club? It’s pretty cool huh?” Sansa asked, leaning forward against the kitchen island countertop. Jon leaned forward opposite of her, his forehead creasing, jokingly trying to recall if he had met any. He wasn’t much of a clubbing guy, he’d pick bars any day any time. The girls he’d seen hang out at bars were just as pretty.

“Oh come on Jon! There had to be at least one that caught your eye? I saw loads of chicks I think you would totally go for!” Sansa tapped his forearm playfully as Jon smiled shyly, taking a last gulp of his beer.

“Yeah, there was one. She was absolutely hot, adorable too. Danced like no one was watching. She caught my eye.”

Sansa grinned triumphantly. Finally, the light has come upon the Targaryen household! There was hope yet. Jon was smiling at her but there was something in his voice and eyes that seemed curious to her.

“I would totally go for her. But… I didn’t think she would go for me though,” Jon continued, his eyes and hands focused on playing with his empty bottle.

“Why not? You’re hot, she’s hot why the fuck not? Wait, was I in the way? Oh my God, I’m so sorry if I spoiled tonight! Damn those shoes! I didn’t mean to I swear,” Sansa gasped, believing that perhaps she may have unwittingly ruined Jon’s one shot at his true love at first sight meeting. She really had to stop watching Hallmark movies on weekends.

“Yeah maybe. But don’t worry about it. So… You think I’m hot?”

The question took Sansa by surprise. Sansa took a sip of her beer, her eyes didn’t move from Jon’s face as she tried to read him. Jon’s expression was softer now, she had never seen the puppy eyed look on him before. It was slightly unsettling in the most adorable way.

“Yeah you are. I’m not blind you know. You mean you don’t have girls following you home, trying to get your attention and throwing their panties at you?”

Jon laughed, amused by Sansa’s bewildered expression, certainly glad that she found him attractive by her standards.

“Panties no thank God. But no Sans, no one has ever told me I’m hot. You’re the first.”

It was Sansa’s turn now to gaze at this fine specimen of a man. How any female in her right mind not give any notice to this wonderful, kind and generous soul was beyond her. Sure he was moody and quiet but that was just how he looked. Moody resting face, but a teddy bear underneath, Margaery once described Jon. Sansa put her bottle away and took Jon’s hands in hers. Sansa let out a deep sigh and stared into Jon’s deep gray eyes. He was mesmerising.

“Jon, I really hope you find someone who’ll make you happy. Whoever she is, she is one heck of a lucky woman ‘cause believe me when I say you’re a catch. Not just because you’re my cousin. You’re wonderful and kind. Brave and gentle. And generous and always there when Robb and I needed you. Believe me all that is found under the category of ‘males who are hot as fuck’.”

Jon felt his cheeks blush an angry red as he heard Sansa said ‘fuck’ with her full lips and those pretty blue eyes gazing into his. All it took was Sansa’s sparkling blue eyed smile for him to cup her face in his hands and land a wet and urgent kiss on her lips. He held on to her mouth as long as she would let him. He didn’t care what she thought of him afterwards. He saw the opportunity, he took it. Jon felt Sansa pull away, her face in a slight frown. Jon was ready to be kicked out if it came to it. Her soft lips were worth it.

Sansa absent-mindedly thumbed her lips and looked at Jon again, this time her expression displayed some clarity. The girl he was talking about was her. Sansa thought of all the times they spent together, at home, those times when they hung out. Damn, even tonight he was with her. At a club, where she originally had plans to go out and find someone to fuck and probably leave Jon to go home by himself. She cringed slightly, sure that he knew her reasons for heading out tonight.

Did she miss out on the cues he had given her? The time she was locked out of the house and couldn’t reach Robb and called him instead to try her luck, and who rushed down ten mins after, even though he was smack in the middle of class? She had in her mind to kill time and wait at the cafe where that cute barista guy was working. Even her own brother couldn’t be bothered and texted her back to sit her sorry ass down and wait for him till he finished work and come home.

“Jon… ” Sansa only managed to breathe out his name as she tried to connect the dots. Jon looked down in embarrassment and shame. This was it. He made a mental note to call his friend Sam first thing in the morning and see if he could crash at his place for the time being.

“How long? How long that you… You felt this way? Was that girl….. Me that you were talking about?”

“Sans, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I’ll leave tomorrow morning if you want me to. I swear I will. And to answer your question… Yeah. It’s been 3 years, Sansa. Ever since you and Robb moved and I came over to visit. I really enjoyed coming to see you and Robb and then…. It just became just you and me and I sort of liked it. Then when you guys asked me to move in, I was ecstatic and I don’t know… We just sort of spent a lot of time together, you and me, doing stuff together that I didn’t think any girl like you would want to do with me… And when I don’t see you I miss you badly. So bad that it hurts. So yea… I think I’m in love with you.”

Jon ran a hand through his dark curls nervously, he had the words at the tip of his tongue for a long while, he wasn’t surprised that it sounded better than expected. But obviously it was Sansa’s reaction that worried him the most. He didn’t dare look at Sansa in the eye, for fear that he would pounce on her, especially in that black lace dress, that resembled sexy lingerie, the thin straps seductively slipping off her pale shoulders, her slight cleavage beckoning to him. Or she could slap him. She would probably slap him. Jon winced at the thought.

“Oh Jon… How could I-”

“Sansa, I know this must be weird to you, seeing we’re cousins and all… But I can’t help it. I love you and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve been holding it together for 3 years and seeing you tonight… In that dress. I hate to think of you with someone else tonight. I couldn’t let you go off with some other guy when it could’ve been me. It’s gotten that far, Sansa. I know this may never go anywhere but I just needed you to know… I’ll call Sam tomorrow,” Jon continued, interrupting Sansa before she had the chance to reject him. Sansa was perfect in every way. Cousins or not, the heart wants what the heart wants. And his heart was utterly consumed by his feelings for Sansa. She was all he thought about day and night. He couldn’t call himself a man if he didn’t make his feelings known to her.

“Where… Do you want this…. To go, Jon? ”

Jon’s eyes shot up at Sansa’s as her voice, now low and breathy, drew his attention away from his self pity. Sansa eyes searched his for answers. She felt her itch grow stronger and felt herself feeling warmer. Her dry spell was getting too much. Or had Jon been looking this fantastic all these while that she had been too busy toying with other men’s attention to even notice. It had been an eventful night so far and Jon’s confession just made it a night to remember.

There was a fondness for Jon, a soft spot she had for him, which she realised only now. Growing up, they weren’t very close, he was just the quiet cousin who came to visit with Aunt Lyanna’s during summer and the holidays, who listened to Robb gab all day and played hide and seek with Arya, Bran and Rickon. Sansa didn’t think too much about it, she had her life mapped out, planning what to do and where to go, where she wanted to live, whom she wanted to marry. Sansa liked certainties. Gray areas weren’t something she was good with. And with him, now hopelessly in love with her, a man she had gotten to know as a grown woman, whose qualities were unmatched by her previous past loves. He was a true gem in her eyes. A rare find amongst a sea of trash and disappointment. And here he was pouring his heart out to her. Sansa’s own heart melted at the thought. What a big gray spot she was in now. Sure it would seem weird but it wasn’t wrong. Society had set the rules by which they unconsciously lived by. Cousin relations were common, more so before her time when she learned of one or two from her own Stark family lineage branching from cousin marriages. Sansa vision blurred as she snapped out of her daze. Marriage was something none of her past boyfriends she could see with. And now Jon S Targaryen, her cousin suddenly gave her that vision as clear as day. What had come over her? What was it in the drinks she had? Or was it that Jon had willingly and unconditionally offered her something she had always craved for? Whatever it was she had to stop over thinking it. What the heart says and acts on, is best left to the heart to decide, she figured. And it felt right somehow. “I need to lie down,” Sansa decided it was time to retreat into the comfort of her own room. The heat in her was growing strong. Perhaps from her hormones, or maybe from the slight buzz from the drinks but Jon’s lips on hers and hearing him utter those words made her dizzy. Jon felt something died in him as Sansa slowly stepped away from him. Jon shut his eyes, wanting to kick himself for doing what he did. Brave or not, it was foolish. All he felt coming on were tears in his eyes. Sansa’s mind was against it, legitimately for obvious reasons, but it wasn’t a strong contender for the flutters her heart made. And neither was there guilt nor shame attached to it. The night was not done and maybe she could have a great one yet. No harm in that. If only Jon was willing. She would try. It would take some explaining to Robb later in the morning, perhaps. “So… Are you coming?” ************* Thanks for reading!

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon x sansa fanfiction #long reads #i like details #bear with me #sophie x kit #pardon the mess #thanks guys #jon x sansa fic

[nexttattoos-blog]

New Post has been published on https://nexttattoos.com/best-wave-of-tattoos-youll-ever-see.html

Best Wave of Tattoos You'll Ever See

Formed by gravity and surface tension, the waves of water can be terrifying, amusing, impressive, and even therapeutic. If you’re running to the sea, surfboarding in tow, or just enjoying a romantic walk on the beach while the waves peacefully break in the background, the waves are probably one of the more seductive creations.

The first wave of tattoos, probably native to the Pacific Islands cultures, especially Maori and Samoa tribes. Simple single line designs and minimalist recurring wave patterns were commonplace at this time and still remain to this day. Over the years, as the art of body and technology has evolved, these simple patterns have turned into more elaborate and intricate works of art. With the resources tattoo artists have at their disposal today, if one can imagine, it can be inked. Let’s take a look at some of the best examples of the wave tattoos created today.

This super clean wave glyph

Another incredible triangular glyph. The largest wave ever surfed was over 100 feet tall. Who is as big as a 10 story building!

This great Hokusai tattoo space

Twinkling stars can be found inside these waves.

This cute tattoo calf

Undeniably a lovely design, but it’s a bit too small to make any subtle nuance.

These wave scale

This wandering chest piece begins on the pectoral muscle, before doing so in the way and over the collarbone. The waves are framed with a bit of model work while featuring different textures, including a slight scaling.

This spectacular shore break

Ok, maybe shore break is a bit of a euphemism. This terrifying tsunami is better like this. Traits and waves go together as PB

This beautiful piece of foot

Clean, crisp and clean are the words that come to mind when you see this elegant piece of furniture. But again, what do you want to expect from

Tropical triceps piece

Here, we have a full blown at the tropical beach scene that almost looks like it could be the most complex woodcut ever cutting.

This epic back piece

This relatively large circular back piece consists almost entirely of vague features. This tattoo could almost be mistaken for something else if it was not the only protruding story of a whale.

This black ink at the waves sea

These sectoral lines look like something from an illuminated manuscript.

Hokusai tattoo wave on the back

Epic on so many different levels.

These delicious dotwork ridges

The anatomy of a wave consists of a ridge and a hollow. The distance between the ridges is known as the wavelength.

This blue and white ink medallion chestnut

Although not as much as you think of the vague tattoos with white ink creates a bold and exciting design that is hard to ignore. This beautiful color scheme makes this piece one of our favorites for both is composition and color.

These beats by the waves

A beautiful example made in black and gray ink, which could just as easily be grassy hills as it is a rough sea. Where is this grassy slope?

The Great Wave of Kanagawa tribute

Note the length of the wooden ships are threatened by the ruthless waves.

This piece of thigh

The huge waves crash down in great detail. Fun fact: The biggest wave ever was the result of a landslide triggered by an avalanche. In 1958, an earthquake along the Fairweather Foul in Alaska released apx. 40 million cubic meters of rock along the north shore of Lituya Bay, resulting in a tsunami wave of more than 1720 feet (524 meters) in height. A wave that would have dominated the Empire State Building.

This Hokusai tat side

Other reproduction, of Hokusai wave of fact in the dotwork style low on the rib cage.

These tattoo couple correspondents

Internet loves a good pair of couples, tattoos and us too.

This amazing ankle work

Blackwork blues we will call it. Unbelievable.

These curious peaks

These waves almost look like a package by cobras checking things.

This triangular ankle piece

Another unique interpretation of the vague Hokusai but this time constrained to a diamond-shaped glyph. Triangular, diamond, and circular-shaped borders are pretty popular these days.

This watercolor wave foot, tattoo

Blues and purples decorate this simple design.

This dotwork anchor and tattoo wave

This nautical themed dotwork illustration has the old world of tin type feeling for it.

These beautiful bright waves

The luminescence qualities of this combination of inks are absolutely divine.

This Big Sur-inspired tattoo wave

This California coast coin is inspired from the Big Sur coast

This rectangular Hokusai wave tattoo

Does anyone know what this symbol represents in the upper left corner of the photo?

This simple circle of the forearm

Closed up, open down.

This dynamic of Hokusai forearm piece

The vague Hokusai is a phrase given to the work done in the renowned image, 19th century Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai of engravings of works. Most of these “Hokusai tattoos”, which there are many examples of this list, have been made to the image of Hokusai’s most famous work

This colorful big dot design

Only the blue and red of the ink has been used here to give the viewer a feeling as if they are inside the barrel of a breaking wave.

This Fibonacci wave tattoo

Color meets style in this beautiful example of Fibonacci wave. Adrian always impresses with his keene eye for color.

This tubular sunset

This beautiful realism embodies a user to visualize perfectly. Any regular visitor will appreciate this work for the vague moment of nostalgia that it evokes.

These beautiful whitecaps

FYI, there is a baseball team in Michigan that calls themselves Western Michigan Whitecaps.

This color of the forearm piece

A vague Hokusai in landscape format.

This cute little kite

Playful monochromatic tattoo wave featuring an orange and yellow kite in the wind.

This beautiful watercolor glyph

Cool summer tones make up this brilliant watercolor glyph.

This beautiful glyph

The waves break the lines of this triangular glyph dramatically.

This inner-work of arms

We can never know if Jon Boy’s work is done muted or if it’s just a soft filter. Probably the filter. Here we have a rough sea, with a couple of flying fish doing what they do.

This little island

This composition without borders has a beautiful sun that exceeded some fluffy clouds.

This granular dotwork piece

Perhaps the most realistic tattoo wave (proportionally speaking) we still have to see. The entanglement of gaps up the room, as if the subject was leaning over it before being stamped with a tattoo wave.

This bluish green watercolor wave tattoo

Here we have only one wave on the list made exclusively in watercolor. No outlines or fancy features here.

This sky and sea tattoo yin and yang

C ‘!!!

This whale-under-the-tattoo wave

A large humpback whale is visible below a boiling wave.

This dotwork / tattoo wave features

Both styles work well together, but are not considered as often as you think. Resident Bang Bang tattooist Joice Wang is eclectic in style, always succeeds in producing magnificent works of art, no matter what the challenge.

This single line continues

Our tattoo wave shot on the list. The Iranian artist Mo Ganji quit his business work to create these one of the minimalist aspect of tattoos made using a single continuous line.

This design woodcut

Katsushika Hokusai had no idea that he would inspire so many vague tattoos.

This wave tattoo minimum

Demonstrating how beautiful simplicity can be.

This nasty-watercolor work

These geometric waves

Wicked cool.

These beautiful lines

Beautiful lines ending in a cold break of the pac.

These watercolor waves

This freshly tattooed rib cage work done in the image of the wave Hokusai.

This beautiful display lines

Some seriously heavy features are on display in this diamond shaped tattoo glyph.

This linear network piece of chest

As close to perfection as you can get.

This circular piece back

Several waves crashing in fact in a unique style.

This brilliant of vague tattoo features

Here we have a devastating display of lines with a negative sun space placed in the background.

This black ink glyph thigh

Sound familiar? This is obviously one of the most popular designs on the list.

Hokusai tattoo wave on the calf

Here we can see Mt. Fuji in the background behind these crashing waves. Hokusai is The Great Wave off Kanagawa, this tattoo represents, is his most famous work as well as arguably the most recognizable piece of Japanese works of art in the world.

This infinite wave of tattoo

Two sets of waves, one vertical and one inverted occupy the inner loops of a symbol of infinity. Cool and creative.

This circular wave of tattoo

This beautiful woodcut tattoo wave

“Wrinkles are smoothed out of the soul,” reads this gorgeous superior ankle tattoo.

This minimalist wave of tattoo

Another continuous single of the tattoo wave line undoubtedly influenced by the work of the Iranian artist Mo Ganji.

#tattoos

[starringemiliaclarke]

Press/Gallery: Emilia Clarke Solo Flight

  VANITY FAIR – It may be another year before Daenerys Targaryen appears on HBO, but Emilia Clarke has wrapped up shooting for the final season of Game of Thrones and is prepared for the big screen.

  On a rainy April afternoon, Emilia Clarke enters the bright, airy Egyptian galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art the way so many movie-lovers before her have: quoting Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally. Adopting the unsourceable accent Crystal uses opposite Meg Ryan in a famously improvised scene filmed in this very room, Clarke starts stuttering, “Pah-pah-paprikash.” Our amused if bewildered guide, too young to get the reference, adds the 1989 rom-com to her list of movie recommendations from Clarke, who has already gushed about the 2017 religious drama Novitiate. Chuckling over this unlikely double feature, Clarke assures her, “You have two incredible movies coming your way.”

  One reference the guide does get: Game of Thrones, the HBO juggernaut which stars Clarke as its most unstoppable heroine, Daenerys Targaryen. In fact, the very tour we’re taking, put together by a company called Museum Hack, is based on the series, and offers a fan-friendly survey of the sometimes inscrutable displays of the Met. You don’t have to be an art historian (our guide is an aspiring actress) to understand what Greek fire, Damascus blades, heraldry, mutilated men, samurai kamon, the dragon-born St. Margaret of Antioch, and an early female pharaoh have to do with wildfire, Valyrian steel, house words, and Clarke’s world-famous alter ego.

And yet, despite her fame, Clarke has managed to spend a full half-hour in the museum sponging up our guide’s trivia without being spotted. For years, Clarke’s brown hair let her hide in plain sight, but she recently bleached it an icy Targaryen blond. So, why the invisibility? Maybe it’s her height. “We both have a thing about our stature not quite being what people expect,” says her co-star Kit Harington, who, at five feet eight, has six inches on Clarke. Maybe it’s her outfit—the gray overcoat, cream sweater, and jeans are a far cry from the cloaks and armor of Thrones. Or maybe it’s her bright, decidedly non-intimidating personality. “When I’m goofing around with my pals, I’m unrecognizable,” she says. Harington calls Clarke’s humor “naughty,” and it’s certainly true that her informal, expletive-laced banter is a far cry from Daenerys’s imperious tones. “Sometimes, if I’m in a really bad mood,” Clarke notes, “people are like, ‘Khaleesi!’ ”

  Finally, the spell of anonymity breaks, thanks to a display of competitiveness worthy of Game of Thrones. Our guide has challenged us to photograph as many birds and dragons as we can find in the paintings and sculptures on the tour, and Clarke is approaching the task with her usual effervescent zeal. Standing in the shadow of a stone Hatshepsut, one of patriarchal Egypt’s first female pharaohs, she triumphantly displays one of the winged targets she has captured on her phone. “This little birdie: Boom!” she shouts, her voice ricocheting off the stone walls. A pair of young men look over, then descend, and, in thick French accents, ask for a photo. Clarke’s triumphant grin tightens into a polite, distant smile.

  There it is: the face of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, who, over the course of seven seasons, has climbed from powerless pawn to resolute conqueror, forcing one rival after another to “bend the knee” or burn. As Daenerys has risen, so has Clarke, morphing from a struggling actress and part-time cater waiter to an international superstar and symbol of feminine fierceness. That journey is “important and inspiring—particularly now, in our climate,” says her close friend Rose Leslie, who played the wildling warrior Ygritte in early seasons of Game of Thrones. “She’s at the forefront of representing independent women.”

  We still don’t know if, as many expect, Daenerys Targaryen will win the right to rule the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, but we can be assured that Emilia Clarke will hang up her platinum wig for good when Game of Thrones ends its eight-season run, in 2019. There’s still a lot of filming and post-production work to be done, but Clarke has already shot her character’s final on-screen moments. “It fucked me up,” she says. “Knowing that is going to be a lasting flavor in someone’s mouth of what Daenerys is . . .”

  Clarke has good reason to feel unsettled. Letting go of a culture-defining television role can be liberating, to be sure, but it can also be deflating—or worse. Jon Hamm may always be seen as Don Draper; Sarah Michelle Gellar is forever Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Jennifer Aniston will never not be Rachel. Fortunately, Clarke approaches this pivotal transition with a stubborn insistence on behaving like a normal, grounded human being. And her upcoming credits suggest that she’s greatly in demand beyond Westeros.

  This month, Clarke, a self-described “achievement junkie,” joins the rapidly expanding Star Wars universe in Solo, a highly scrutinized origin story for Harrison Ford’s Han Solo. Her well-honed gift for concealing every detail about her work—“Everything in my life is a spoiler,” she says—helped her get into character. Director Ron Howard, a Game of Thrones fan, explains that Qi’ra, Han Solo’s childhood friend turned unreliable ally, is secretive, slippery, and morally questionable—“a much different sort of a character” from Daenerys.

  If Solo becomes a major hit, it will give Clarke a rare chance to leap cleanly from one spectacularly successful genre franchise to another. But even if it doesn’t, she has no shortage of options. An active participant in Time’s Up, she has ambitious plans to write and produce her own material—and create new opportunities for other women in the industry. Discussing those issues, she begins to sound more like the fiery Daenerys. “It becomes harder to separate you from the role when you’ve been with it so long,” she admits.

  Eight years ago, Dan Weiss and David Benioff were in trouble. Their pilot for Game of Thrones, an adaptation of George R. R. Martin’s popular A Song of Ice and Fire book series, was a disaster. Along with re-shoots, the pair were looking to re-cast a few key roles, including the pivotal part of Daenerys Targaryen. Tall, willowy, and fair-haired, Tamzin Merchant, the actress originally cast as Khaleesi, was a far more conventional match for the character on the page. The second time around, Weiss and Benioff took a fresh look at the character.

  “Emilia was the only person we saw—and we saw hundreds—who could carry the full range that Daenerys required,” the pair explained in tandem via e-mail. “Young actors aren’t often asked to play a combination of Joan of Arc, Lawrence of Arabia, and Napoleon.”

  When Clarke started on the series, Daenerys was downtrodden, occasionally objectified, and stranded in a subplot that kept the character geographically distant from the main story and the actress isolated from most of her co-stars. “I was cut off from the rest of the cast,” Clarke says. Over the years, as the famously cutthroat Thrones has thinned its sprawling ensemble, Clarke has risen in the ranks, snagging the show’s flashiest, most empowering moments.

  In an era when network and streaming platforms alike are struggling to get anyone to tune in, Game of Thrones has become one of the last surviving holdovers from the must-see TV era. For a handful of weeks every year, HBO owns Sunday nights, with devotees watching live to avoid spoilers at the office Monday morning. Clearing its own very high ratings bar, Thrones commanded an average of 32.8 million viewers in its 2017 season. Its 38 wins make it the most-awarded scripted-TV series in Emmy history.

  That glaring spotlight has made Daenerys a cultural touchstone—not to mention a costume-party staple, with Madonna, Katy Perry, Khloé Kardashian, and Kristen Bell among her many famous impersonators. At a recent charity auction, Brad Pitt offered six figures to spend an evening with Clarke and Harington, only to be outbid. Last year, Daenerys finally powered into the heart of the series, earning long-awaited screen time with Harington and the rest of the surviving stars. Clarke, who has been nominated three times for best supporting actress at the Emmys, may soon be gunning for lead honors. “Everything in my life is a spoiler,” Clarke says.

  Clarke’s upbringing in the bucolic countryside an hour outside of London couldn’t be farther from the dysfunctional family dynamics that forged the orphaned Daenerys. Emilia’s mother, Jennifer, is a businesswoman who currently runs the Anima Foundation, a charity aimed at raising awareness of specialty brain-injury care, and her father, Peter, was a theatrical sound engineer who prized education above all else. “Your bookshelf should be bigger than your TV,” he liked to remind Emilia and her older brother, Bennett. “My mum, my brother, my dad, and I would sit around a table, and my happiest place was just discussing stuff,” Emilia says. “I really value intelligence. I’m one of the very fortunate few people who really likes their family. I just like hanging out with them.”

  Clarke isn’t the first woman in her family to engage in high-stakes identity juggling. Her maternal grandmother wore light makeup to disguise the fact that she was half Indian, owing to her mother’s very secret affair with a mysterious man from the colonial subcontinent. “The fact that [my grandmother] had to hide her skin color, essentially, and try desperately to fit in with everyone else must’ve been incredibly difficult,” Clarke says. “So, yeah: history of fighters.”

  Emilia’s parents saved up to send her to a pair of upper-crust boarding schools—Rye St. Antony and St. Edward’s, both in Oxford—but she never felt at home with her much wealthier classmates. “I didn’t really fit in, like everybody who ever went to school ever.” So she channeled her energy into performing. She was rejected the first time she applied to acting school, but eventually Drama Centre London claimed her from the waiting list when another student broke her leg and dropped out. There, she finally found the “artistically inclined” friends who would keep her grounded amid the circus of international fame.

  The jet-setting Clarke clings tightly to her roots even as her life and career take her ever farther from the Home Counties. For one thing, she recently got her brother a gig in the Thrones camera department. “This job can be so alienating,” she says. “You’re in a trailer by yourself. You’re in a car by yourself. You’re in a plane. You’re in a plane. You’re in a plane. That’s what success looks like if you’re an actor. Success looks like being alone.” Clarke stays sharp by devouring “nerdy” podcasts on a range of topics from politics to science. “She’s so informed,” says Rose Leslie. “She has an opinion on every topic.”

  Clarke’s father passed away in 2016 after a long battle with cancer. At the time, Emilia was in the U.S. shooting the upcoming thriller Above Suspicion and couldn’t break away to say her final good-byes. “It still sucks. Grief sucks. He doesn’t know what I’m doing now,” she says. “That’s it before I start crying.” After a couple of romances with famous men—first, Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane, then, reportedly, actor Jai Courtney, a brief souvenir from her Terminator Genisys shoot—Clarke swore off dating actors. In fact, she hasn’t been romantically linked in some time. When Solo premiered at Cannes, in May, she had hoped to walk the red carpet with her brother, and her goal in general is to keep her relationships out of the news. “The guys that I’ve met in my life that are dicks, I voluntarily walk the fuck away from them,” she says. “That’s just bad taste. People shouldn’t know about those choices.”

  Clarke usually appears in public with various non-famous “mates” from her drama-school days. Her “perma-plus-one” is Lola Frears, daughter of director Stephen Frears. “I ain’t got me no celebrity friends,” Clarke says. “My squad? They don’t let me get away with anything. There’s not a lot of actors I relate to.” Leslie, a rare exception to Emilia’s rule, confirms that Clarke’s longtime friends keep her in check: “There would be a ticking off or a bollocking if they felt she was no longer the lovely lady that they have always known.”

  The Star Wars tradition of featuring morally upright heroines, among them Carrie Fisher’s General Leia, Daisy Ridley’s Rey, and Felicity Jones’s Jyn Erso, was part of what drew Emilia Clarke to the role of Qi’ra in Solo, but it was the chance to break the mold that really sold her. “We’re going to hit you with a character that could very easily well be a dude, because you question her motives,” she says, sitting in a back corner of the Met’s no-frills cafeteria snacking on a pear and sipping English-breakfast tea from a paper cup. “That’s really fucking exciting in the Star Wars universe, because that has never happened.”

  Before accepting the Solo role, Clarke had to ask Game of Thrones show-runners Weiss and Benioff for permission to complicate their plans for a final season by adding a demanding Star Wars filming schedule to the mix. They didn’t hesitate. “Solo felt like a great fit that would let her show off her versatility,” Weiss and Benioff explained. “Also, we figured she’d probably get to shoot a ray gun. Ray guns are something we just can’t offer, unfortunately.”

  Swapping dragons for ray guns, Emilia Clarke was eager to prove her mettle in a whole new galaxy. But that plan hit a snag when the Solo production fell spectacularly and publicly apart. “I’m not gonna lie,” Clarke says. “I struggled with Qi’ra quite a lot. I was like: ‘Y’all need to stop telling me that she’s “film noir,” because that ain’t a note.’ ” Frustrated by the lack of direction, she turned to Solo’s father-and-son screenwriters, Lawrence and Jon Kasdan, for support. Then, four and a half months into shooting, co-directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller exited the project, citing “creative differences.” Production was put on hold until they were replaced by Ron Howard, a longtime friend of franchise creator George Lucas’s. With a brand-new director and an ambitious re-shoot schedule—Clarke reluctantly agrees when I call those first months “a high-budget dress rehearsal”—Solo still had to hit its opening date, in May of the following year.

  Clarke says Howard’s arrival “saved” the movie: “All hail to [Lucasfilm president] Kathy [Kennedy] for hiring Ron.” Slipping into a mocking impression of herself, Clarke re-enacts a self-pitying therapy session with Howard over a private meal they shared before resuming production. “He even feigned enthusiasm!” she says. “I know for a fact he had that discussion with everybody. I think we all came to set feeling like his favorite. It makes for a really happy load of actors, with our egos.”

  Howard recalls that dinner a bit differently. The former child star of The Andy Griffith Show saw in Clarke “the kind of pragmatism and a can-do spirit that often comes from people who have cut their teeth doing television.”

  “I know some of how tough it was for her,” Harington says. “But she’s pretty tough as well.”

  Clarke wasn’t privy to everything that led up to the director swap, but she wasn’t entirely surprised, either. “When it comes to that amount of money, you’re almost waiting for that to happen. Money fucks us all up, doesn’t it? There’s so much pressure. Han Solo is a really beloved character. This is a really important movie for the franchise as a whole. It’s a shit ton of money. A shit ton of people. A shit ton of expectations.”

  Solo wasn’t the first troubled blockbuster to test Clarke’s resilience. If anything, the production of 2015’s Terminator Genisys was more chaotic. She watched frequent Thrones director Alan Taylor get “eaten and chewed up on Terminator. He was not the director I remembered. He didn’t have a good time. No one had a good time.” When the film underperformed at the box office, she was “relieved” to not have to return for any sequels. News of the rocky production traveled, and Clarke says the crew on the famously disastrous Fantastic Four, which was filming nearby, even had jackets made that read, AT LEAST WE’RE NOT ON TERMINATOR. “Just to give you a summary,” she says, laughing.

  Rumors spreading between film sets is one thing, but the Solo tumult was covered exhaustively in the trades and on fan sites, adding another layer of pressure to an already pressurized project. “I hope we did it good, then, because people have all this gossip,” Clarke says. “I don’t want people to go, ‘That’s the bit where it all went wrong. That’s the bit, I know it.’ I just really hope that people have a good time, that it’s good, and, you know, selfishly, that I’m not shit and that people don’t write reviews going, ‘Oh my God, that’s, like, the worst acting I’ve ever seen in my life. Wow. How did they give her the part?’ ”

  For all her anxieties about how her performance will go over, Clarke and I are both energized by the Solo footage we’ve seen. Clarke’s easy chemistry with Donald Glover, who plays fan favorite Lando Calrissian, is evident from their very first on-screen meeting. And though her shifting allegiances mean she has to play a range of emotions opposite Alden Ehrenreich’s Han Solo, she endows every twist with an undercurrent of romantic possibility. Tonally closer to the Indiana Jones movies than to, say, Rogue One, Solo marks the franchise’s return to lighthearted, fast-paced capers.

  Clarke—who spends most Thrones battles on the backs of her C.G.I. dragons—was eager to jump into the fray with some hand-to-hand combat. “She had to deal with quite a large sword and some pretty elaborate fight choreography, and she made it look easy,” Ehrenreich says. With all the re-shoots and reconfigured plotting, she also had to fight to keep some of her favorite moments in. “That is going to be badass as fuck,” she told the filmmakers of a showstopping Qi’ra moment that made the cut. “Don’t forget your audience.”

  Long before they shared a scene together, Clarke and Harington had become friends thanks to their time on the Game of Thrones promotional circuit. It was through Harington that Clarke met Rose Leslie. An adept mimic, Clarke impersonates a “smitten” Harington mooning over his on-screen lover and future real-life fiancée in the early days of the show: “There’s the best human in the world. She’s called Rose.”

  Clarke has a teasing relationship with Harington. “I’ll tell him, ‘Kit, stop being a dick—stop being so grumpy.’ Like I would with my brother.” And as the two transition in these final seasons from real-life friends to partners in TV’s biggest romance (albeit one complicated by incest), the ribbing has only increased. “If you’ve known someone for six years, and they’re best friends with your girlfriend, and you’re best friends with them,” Harington says, “there is something unnatural and strange about doing a love scene. We’ll end up kissing and then we’re just pissing ourselves with laughter because it’s so ridiculous.”

  “She’s goofy,” Weiss and Benioff confirm. “We have tried to let some of Emilia’s humor and light seep into Daenerys whenever possible. Who says conquerors can’t be funny?” A memorable Season Four conversation between Daenerys and her right-hand woman, Missandei, concerning a eunuch’s “pillar and stones,” for instance, is much more Clarke than Targaryen. Sadly, it’s unclear how much space there will be in the show’s climactic final season for bawdy, Clarke-ish humor. “I’m doing all this weird shit,” Clarke says. “You’ll know what I mean when you see it.”

  In the final episodes of a show with a body count as high as Game of Thrones’, Clarke never really knows when she might be filming her last moments with a member of the cast. She’s also shooting for the first time with several of the show’s top stars, including Sophie Turner and Maisie Williams, who play the formidable Stark sisters.

  Clarke is well aware that the strong women of the series are leaving some kind of imprint on the culture, but she’s saving up all her big-picture reflections on Daenerys for later: “This is going to be a Band-Aid that I’m going to rip off.” To help with that process, she started keeping a daily journal of her last season. With cell phones banned from the set due to security concerns, it’s her best hope of chronicling the final days of Daenerys. Selfies are off limits, but Clarke has asked set photographer Helen Sloan to snap the occasional behind-the-scenes photo. Both the journal and the photos, Clarke hints, may be available to the show’s fans someday.

  Clarke is unsurprisingly, and contractually, evasive when it comes to specifics of the concluding six episodes. Heavy hints in the most recent season indicate that, in addition to contending with the usual climactic end-of-the-world crises, Daenerys will also be grappling with more intimate parenthood and family issues. Here, Clarke and her on-screen alter ego may have something in common. Friends like Leslie and Harington are settling down to build their own families (“Their wedding is going to be siiiiick,” Clarke says), and an old schoolmate recently made Clarke godmother to a highly photogenic baby boy who makes regular appearances on her Instagram account. She lights up when talking about him.

  Talking about her own parents evokes other emotions. The wounds from the loss of her father are still fresh, but her mother remains an inspiration. If all goes according to plan, it’s Jennifer Clarke who will provide the map for Clarke’s very first post-Thrones steps. After the show ends, Clarke plans to re-create a road trip her mother took in 1972 to Yosemite and the redwoods of Northern California. With best friend and scriptwriter Lola Frears by her side, Clarke intends to spend part of the trip working on ideas for new projects. Her agents offered to take these ideas to “guys” with writing experience, but her answer to that was pure Daenerys: “No, I’m going to take it to me.”

  Citing Reese Witherspoon, Greta Gerwig, and other actresses turned creators as inspiration, Clarke says she wants to work with as many female filmmakers as she can. As for the conventional industry wisdom that women can’t work together without infighting? “It’s fucking bullshit. It’s so annoying.” An active member of Time’s Up, Clarke negotiated with Weiss and Benioff in 2014 to ensure she maintained parity with her male counterparts. She and four co-stars—Harington, Lena Headey (Cersei Lannister), Peter Dinklage (Tyrion Lannister), and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (Jaime Lannister)—reportedly each landed $300,000 per episode, a dazzling figure that skyrocketed to half a million per episode for the final two seasons. “I get fucking paid the same as my guy friends,” Clarke says. “We made sure of that.”

  And while Clarke would be thrilled to have her own Lady Bird or Big Little Lies, that’s not all she’s after. She says she’s “desperate” to make documentaries and shine a light on underserved causes. “That’s the shit that gets me going personally.” Inspired by her father’s cancer ordeal, Clarke is especially passionate about the risks Brexit poses to the U.K.’s National Health Service, and she was recently named ambassador to the Royal College of Nursing. “That’s something I have in common with Dae-nerys,” she says suddenly, after several hours of explaining all the reasons she and her character are nothing alike. “I really feel for people and I want to help them. Not to sound too much like Oprah Winfrey.” She pauses, and thinks again. “Fuck that, I’m gonna sound like Oprah and I’m going to be proud of it.”

  In the midst of the twin tornadoes of Star Wars and Game of Thrones, Clarke acknowledges that most of her choices these days are “studio choices.” And if Solo is a hit, Clarke could be working for Lucasfilm for years to come. But Harington sees something else in her future: “She’s done, far more than me or most people in the cast, these very high-budget, big-hitting blockbusters. Hopefully Star Wars continues for her and she does more of them. But I think she’s an incredibly talented actor, and I would love to see her do something which is a more focused character piece, because the ones she’s done are brilliant.” Clarke’s effervescent performance in 2016’s romantic weepy Me Before You—a surprise hit at the box office—hints at what she’s capable of.

  Clarke wants to stretch herself, and explore a new-media landscape where creators no longer have to rely on large companies in order to get their projects made. “Everyone can. Get your iPhone out. Let’s do something. You know what I mean?” And with 17 million followers on Instagram, Clarke has the power to make and launch her own projects. Her recent Thrones-themed fund-raising Instagram video for the Royal College of Nursing Foundation racked up more than seven million views in just three days.

  All that takes some of the heat off Clarke as she decides how to follow up roles in two of entertainment’s biggest franchises. She doesn’t necessarily need another monster hit. She can afford to take her time, listen to herself, and do something that feels true to who she is—whoever that may be.

  The most obvious evidence of the blur between Daenerys and Clarke is the relatively new shock of blond hair on her head. “I did this, which was frigging stupid,” she says, fingering the blunt-cut ends of her bleached hair.

  When Kit Harington trimmed his famous curls in 2015, fans were led to believe his character, presumed dead, wouldn’t be returning to the show the following season. (He did.) But Clarke swears her decision to go blonde has nothing at all to do with Daenerys’s fate. “I got to a point where I said I just want to look in the mirror and see something different. So I was just like, ‘Fuck it, it’s the last season. I’m going to dye my hair blond.’ ” Clarke jokes that she immediately felt remorse and bought nine baseball caps online. “But they don’t go with your outfit, so I don’t wear them.”

  Clarke’s brown hair had always been her shield. The blond hair makes it harder to slip back into her pre-fame life. Partying with her old friends is tricky because their friends get “weird” about it, and she misses the mundane pleasures of, say, running errands for her mother. “What I get most heartbroken about is that those opportunities are almost completely gone.” Then she catches herself, and apologizes for moaning about the “champagne problems” of fame. “If I were reading this, I’d be like, ‘Cheer the fuck up, love.’ ”

  Back underneath that statue at the Met, Emilia Clarke cranes her neck up to get a closer look at the ancient pharaoh’s smooth granite face. Hatshepsut wears a false beard that allowed her to pass more easily through the male-dominated world. Our guide points out a faint piece of carved string running up the pharaoh’s jawline holding the disguise in place. Thinking about it later, Clarke, who knows a thing or two about disguises, passing, alter egos, and powerful women, shakes her head in astonishment. “That is some fascinating shit right there.”

  A towering granite Daenerys statue may never find its way into the hallowed halls of the Met, but it’s not clear Emilia Clarke wants that anyway. As we duck out of the Met a bit behind schedule, only to find that it’s raining and our sleek hired car is nowhere in sight, Clarke gamely suggests we rush out into the downpour and dive into the back of a yellow cab. Our driver doesn’t recognize Clarke, either, which puts her at ease. Unsure how to get to where we’re going, he passes his smartphone to her so she can type the hotel’s address into his G.P.S. “Don’t worry, mate,” she announces. “Your little app will get us there!” A satisfied smile plays on her face as the taxi twists, turns, and bumps along. She looks happier than she ever has riding a dragon.

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