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berjhawn · 3 years

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Day & Night - Ch. 8 - Contingency Plans

Warnings: Mentions of death, attempted murder, almost sexy scene, etc

(A/N) we’re getting closer to the end!! as usual please do not hesitate to let me know what you guys think.

Day & Night - Master-List

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I find Diana in the kitchen searching for something to eat and smile as I see my friend for the first time in forever. She was the one person I missed the most after leaving. I knew she understood why I did what I did but I still needed to apologize for basically running away.

“You know, Clark hides some Pop-tarts in the raisin bran box.” I say softly causing her to instantly turn toward me a bright smile on her face.

“That’s just bad hiding skills.” She replies a playful smirk filling her lips.

Then before either of us has a chance to say anything else I rush over and wrap my arms around her. She hugs me back and it was like we were back in Themyscira. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss my home. Everything there was nice and simple. The only downside was that no men were allowed there, and I doubt I’d be able to live without Bruce.

“I’ve missed you.” I say as I pull away and hold her at arm’s length.

“I knew you’d be back.” She replies a smile filling her beautiful face.

“I wish I could say that was the reason I was here,” I pause worry filling my eyes.

“But?” She questions her expression mimicking mine.

“I need to ask you some things, about when I was younger.” I say and she motions to the table and chairs.

“Ask away,” She says, and I take a deep breath.

“When I was younger, did I ever have any moments when I would just check out? Like my body would be there, but I wasn’t.” I ask and her eyes widen slightly. “What? What is it?”

“When you were younger my mother gifted you with this beautiful hawk.”

“You mean Artemis?” I ask and she nods.

“You loved her more than anything. There was never a moment when the two of you were apart. Do you remember how she died?” Diana asks and I furrow my brow as I try to remember the incident.

“I think it was a hunting accident. One of the other girls was hunting in the same area I was and accidently shot her.”

“Do you remember what happened after that?” She asks and I clench my jaw as I try to remember.

“No.”

“When you realized that she was dead, your eyes turned black and so did your hair. You attacked the girl and almost killed her. It took the lasso and mother to pull you out of it. After that mother took you into a room and no one else was allowed in there. All I remember was the ground shaking and the sky turning dark.

“Three days later you both emerged but you had no recollection of what had happened, and you were asking for Artemis. It was then that you and I became close friends. Mother believed that I could heal the hurt in your heart from your loss. Since then, we haven’t seen Void since.”

“Void?” I ask my brow furrowing.

“That’s what mother called her. Since you are Light, and you can’t have light without dark.”

“Clark’s met her.” I say making Diana’s eyes widen slightly.

“When?”

“He said when I caught him and Lois together my eyes turned black and it was like I wasn’t there anymore. The room was dark and cold.”

“So, she didn’t completely show herself?” Diana asks confusion on her face. “Somehow, you unconsciously kept her in check.”

“I guess.” I answer shrugging my shoulders.

“I hate to say this, but her showing herself is connected to your mental state. Like if you experience something devastating, she’ll fully show herself, and when that happens, I don’t know what will happen.”

“That thought alone terrifies me. Especially since I now have a danger prone family.” I add making her let out a worried sigh. “And you know for a fact those boys won’t stop putting themselves in danger. Just look who their father is.”

“At least with Connor you don’t have to worry too much.”

I nod in agreement. The Kryptonian part of him basically made him invulnerable.

“Unless it’s someone who knows he’s weak to kryptonite.” Diana adds and I glare at her. “Sorry.”

“Do you think I could control her?” I ask and Diana shrugs her shoulders.

“I’m not sure, but I know you. I know you’d never let someone take over your body and hurt others.” Diana says and I nod.

“Thank you, for telling me. Not gonna lie, I’m a little worried about it but I think I’ll be okay. If anything happens, you’re the only one with the ability to stop me. Please, promise me that you will, even if it means I must go back to Themyscira.”

“Bruce won’t be happy about this.”

“Of course, he won’t, but he’ll understand, eventually.” I confirm and she nods.

“Are you back?” she asks and taking a deep breath I smile softly.

I knew without a doubt now that I had people who cared about me and would be here to help me. I could do this. I could come back and help people. Yeah, it would be difficult at first. Especially with how awkward it would be between me and Clark.

“I think I am.”

~~~

I found Bruce in the command room messing around with some buttons and switches. Flash and Cyborg were there with him and I take a deep breath before I walk over to them. I needed to talk with Bruce about what I had discussed with Diana. He needed to know that I was coming back and that if something happened to him or the boys, and Void came out, I needed to know that he would be okay with Diana taking me down.

“Who’s this?” Cyborg asks and I smile.

“Geez you leave the league for a few months and everyone forgets who you are.” I joke and their eyes narrow as they try to figure out who I was. Rolling my eyes, I lift a hand and create a ball of bright hot light. Recognition washes over them, and I am unable to stop Flash as he runs over and wraps his arms around me.

“Where the hell have you been?!” He inquires and I hug him back as I reply.

“I needed a break.”

“Are you back?” Cyborg asks and I glance over to Bruce whose hands had paused their movement and clearing my throat I pull away from Flash.

“Can you guys give Batman and me a second alone? Please?” I ask as I look back at them.

“Fine, but we’re catching up later.” Flash says and I smile softly at him.

“Of course.” I reply as I watch Flash leave. Cyborg gives me a supportive smile before he follows Flash leaving Bruce and I alone. When I am sure we are alone I walk over to him and wrapping my arms around him let out a heavy sigh.

“So, you want to come back?” Bruce asks and I nod into his back.

“I want to be where I can protect everyone. Especially you and the boys.” I reply and I feel Bruce tense.

“I understand your want to protect the boys, but I don’t need protecting.” He retorts and I roll my eyes.

“Don’t you though?” I reply raising a brow at him as I pull away and move to stand beside him giving him a knowing look. “You’re the most danger prone one out of all of us.” He doesn’t reply because he knows I’m right. “You have the most dangerous villains, like Joker for one.”

“I won’t put you in danger like that.” He announces as he finally looks at me. “(Name),”

“Don’t, we already talked about that. Joker can’t hurt me, physically or mentally. If anything, I could crush him with my pinky.” I joke and Bruce glares at me and I roll my eyes. “I’m joking, well only kind of.”

“How did your talks go?” he asks changing the subject and I turn to lean against the computer console.

“My talk with Clark went well. He’ll try and talk to Connor.”

“And Diana?”

“That… that one was a little more troubling.” I reply as I quickly tell him what Diana and I had discussed.

“You want to go back to Themyscira?” He inquires and I shake my head.

“No, but if that’s what it comes too, I will.” I answer and I investigate his face for any trace of emotion. I look around to make sure no one is here before I continue. “Bruce, I don’t want to leave you or the boys. I love you and them, but I never want to put you all in danger; and Void… I don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“I understand.” Bruce replies reaching out to gently take my hand in his.

“Which brings me to my next issue.” I start my eyes looking down at our joined hands. “I know you have contingency plans for all the league members... except for me.”

“No,” Bruce starts knowing exactly where I’m going with all this.

“Bruce, I need to know that if Diana cannot stop void, I need you to take me out.” I say and he furrows his brow.

“I can’t do that.” He says his grip tightening on me.

“You can’t, or you won’t?” I inquire and he knows I know the truth. “I’m not saying we’ll have to use it; I just want to be prepared. Hopefully, you’ll never have to use it.”

Bruce looks around for a moment before he pulls me into a tight hug. I knew what this hug was. He was going to do as I asked. He was going to make a contingency plan for me, and if I knew him like I believed I did, he would be the one to execute it. My hands snake around his body holding him tighter.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Bruce whispers into my ear and I smile through my hurting heart.

“I know, I hope you never do.” I say softly as I pull away from him and reaching up gently cup his face with my hands. “Bruce, I love you more than anything in this world. If something happens and Void shows herself, I will do my damnedest to fight her to stay with you. I swear I will.”

“I know you will.” Bruce replies reaching up to clasp my hands in his. Pulling them down his brow furrows and I let out a heavy sigh. I needed to lighten the mood.

“How about we think of something else for a while.” I suggest a flirty smirk filling my lips.

“What do you have in mind?” Bruce questions the tension leaving his body.

“Well, there are many rooms here on the watch tower… or we could, you know…” I smile softly as I lean forward and gently yet passionately place my lips against his in a deep kiss.

Bruce’s hands move to my waist as he pulls me into his waist his kiss turning hungrily. Mine shoot up to wrap around his neck and pull him in closer. Before we could go further, he pulls away breathless and grabbing my hand instantly starts to lead me away from the consoles and toward the crew quarters. I giggle inwardly as we sneak past everyone until we reach a room. A soundproof one.

When we are alone, he removes his cowl and instantly pulls me into his arms lifting me up so that I can wrap my legs around his waist. His hands grip tightly to my ass as he tries to pull me in closer. Wrapping my arms around his neck I lean in and passionately kiss his lips.

Bruce moves over to where the bed lies and turning sits down upon it. His hands move from my hips to slip under my shirt, his fingertips touching all the places he knows that drive me wild. A soft moan escapes my lips as I briefly pull away to grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head tossing it somewhere in the room.

I smile as reach out and start pulling at his bat suit until he starts to remove it. I take the chance to stand up and remove the rest of my clothes until I am naked in front of him and he is bare before me. I smile devilishly as I move forward and straddling his lap say, “You better be glad this room is soundproof.”

Will Continue-

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

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You know what’s weird? The misconception that Arya is only good at physical things like fighting. Before everyone else, only she & Jon figured out the Lannisters, seeing their classism for what it was. She rightfully befriends & defends the smallfolk, can figure out complex situations like the trap for her in King’s Lansing with the fame Stark soldiers, and survive war, hunger, and violence. And in Braavos, she is learning so much from languages, reading people, & even mummery and courtesy.

Right? It’s insane because she’s also not that good at fighting. She has barely trained with Needle and though she can kill a guy, it’s mostly wild and untamed with little form and she has not trained in a long time. But she’s super intuitive. Sure, Robb figured out Joffrey was a little shit, but only when they fought, and it took Bran longer to understand the same about the Frey boys. Meanwhile, Jon and Arya are here understanding their classism from the first. And her friendship with the smallfolk is something that Varys lists as a reason why Aegon should be king, so it’s clearly a wise thing.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers. - Sansa I, AGOT

We all remember this, yeah? Well, it’s just an extension of this:

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories. Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface." - Arya II, AGOT

This is the exact behaviour that seems to constitute a good lord or king, and good kings are wise, and part of wisdom is taking advice from people who know more than you. Chances are, other nobles with the exact same education and class biases will not know more than Arya or any other highborn, so getting to know these people are really how a lord gets to understand the people he rules and become wiser as a result. If you keep to your own class, you will never learn or truly understand anything. Arya understands this from her father’s lessons, and it clearly shows how wise she is. The fact that other characters talk about how good and wise this behaviour is (not talking about Arya, just generally) just confirms this.

"It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?" - Daenerys I, ASOS

Remember this? Same thing. Dany is defending her choice to keep Arstan and Strong Belwas, and if you’ll recall, that was a very good decision in deed. It’s only people like Sansa who view these people as beneath her which is an unwise mentality, and makes her comments about the smallfolk later feel so tone-deaf and ignorant.

And then there’s King’s Landing. For a start, Maegor killed everyone who built the Red Keep so no-one but the Targaryens would ever know the ins and outs, and yet Arya finds a way out by herself. She also sees through the Kingsguard trap with Meryn Trant, finds her way out of the castle, and sees through the thing with the boat which would probably convince most people.

When she saw the guardsmen on the third pier, in grey woolen cloaks trimmed with white satin, her heart almost stopped in her chest. The sight of Winterfell’s colors brought tears to her eyes. Behind them, a sleek three-banked trading galley rocked at her moorings. Arya could not read the name painted on the hull; the words were strange, Myrish, Braavosi, perhaps even High Valyrian. She grabbed a passing longshoreman by the sleeve. “Please,” she said, “what ship is this?” “She’s the Wind Witch, out of Myr,” the man said. “She’s still here,” Arya blurted. The longshoreman gave her a queer look, shrugged, and walked away. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship Father had hired to take her home … still waiting! She’d imagined it had sailed ages ago. Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to rub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did …? Look with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper. Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. “You,” the one walking rounds called out. “What do you want here, boy?” The other two looked up from their dice. It was all Arya could do not to bolt and run, but she knew that if she did, they would be after her at once. She made herself walk closer. They were looking for a girl, but he thought she was a boy. She’d be a boy, then. “Want to buy a pigeon?” She showed him the dead bird. “Get out of here,” the guardsman said. Arya did as he told her. She did not have to pretend to be frightened. Behind her, the men went back to their dice. - Arya V, ASOS

It’s clear Cersei came up with this plan and it almost fools her, so if not for Syrio she might have fallen for it and gotten herself captured. Very clever of her. Also, I didn’t want to bring Sansa into this but it’s always her stans parroting this dumb Arya-is-stupid-and-masculine narrative so let’s be real here: I think Arya absolutely would have survived in King’s Landing based on evidence from the books, but Sansa would not if the roles were reversed, purely because of the simple fact that there is no way Sansa would have escaped King’s Landing to begin with. Sansa, who despises the smallfolk and thinks it’s vulgar to spend time with them and doesn’t care Jory died because his replacement is more handsome, would not have known that they were not Stark men. She would have seen the cloaks and the ship and run up to them telling them her name and she would be captured. Not only is knowing the people who serve you a wise way to rule, it also saved Arya’s life here.

And I can’t believe it still needs to be pointed out that she didn’t survive in the Riverlands because of luck. She didn’t fight her way out of every situation, which would have gotten her killed. She listened, she learned, and she knew how to survive in an environment where even plain silence could mean your death. The way she’s learning in Braavos also speaks for itself. My girl is learning/knows 5 languages!

Arya Stark is really fucking clever guys!

#neve has mail #asoiaf #arya stark #the night wolf #shut up neve #she's so smart #i love her so much #sansa stark #ned stark #jon snow

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jlalafics · 4 years

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“Lesson Learned”-Part 1 of ?

Here I go again--this was supposed to be a one-shot, but now it’s multiple parts...

For @sunflowerslyf who requested a fic based on this post about fanfiction and porn.

I have to say that I kept a little fluff in it though...because I need it.

____

Summary: Sometimes Katniss asks too much of Peeta. This time she’s gone too far. College Everlark. Katniss and Peeta POV’s.

“So, will you do it?” I asked him, my heart pounding. “Will you help me?”

Sitting across from me on my couch, my childhood friend Peeta stares at me in shock. He’s holding my throw pillow against his chest…almost defensively.

If we’re being honest, Peeta has every reason to be wary of me. There wasn’t a day when we were children that I wasn’t coming up with some sort of idea that usually got him hurt or in trouble.

“What idiot suggested that you do this?” he asks immediately.

I look towards the closed bedroom door, where my roommate is sleeping off her hangover, before responding, “Johanna.”

“Figures,” he mutters. “I don’t think so, Katniss.” Peeta smiles gently; it’s the same smile he gives me right before he’s about the lay some truth on me—truth I usually don’t want to hear. “I mean, you’re pretty, but I don’t see you like that.”

My jaw drops at his words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not sexually attracted to you,” he replies calmly.

It’s one step away from patting my head and calling me a ‘good girl’—and my indignation rises.

“What? My breasts aren’t big enough?” I reach over and take his hand, pressing his palm into it. “This does nothing for you?”

“I mean, of course if there’s a tit in your hand, your body is going to react.” Peeta meets my eyes, hand still on my chest. “Why is this so important to you?”

I take a deep breath. “There’s this guy.”

“And here we go…” He stands down under my glare. “Okay, so the guy?”

“He’s beautiful,” I sigh, my thoughts going to dirty blond hair and steel blue eyes. “His name is Cato and I think I’d like him…to be my first.”

My friend’s eyes soften at my declaration. “Are you sure?”

I nod eagerly. “Yes. What do you think?”

Peeta puts the pillow down, scooting over to me, before holding out his arms. “Get in here.”

Easily, I fall into them, my head going to his chest and my arms going around his lean waist.

“Please, Peeta.”

“I don’t think that he should be your first,” he tells me bluntly. “The first time usually sucks; it’s supposed to be painful and bloody for women…”

Sitting up, I contemplate his words. I know extraordinarily little when it comes to sex; my mom left us when I was ten and Dad tried his hardest, but there are some things that you need a woman for.

That’s when Peeta’s mother stepped in. She was the one who helped me when I got my period, needed my first bra, and even when I caught Peeta’s older brother tongue deep inside some girl’s mouth and I had questions.

Rye still hasn’t forgiven me for busting him out.

However, I neglected to ask her about sex.

On the other hand, asking Melsa about being penetrated is significantly different than asking her tampons versus pads.

I think I can understand why my roommate suggested I talk to Peeta. He’s known me my whole life and is never one to hold back. Neither have I and we can be painfully honest with one another. I’m surprised we’re still friends after everything we’ve shared between each other—both awkward and non-awkward.

Then it comes to me and I can feel my mouth widen into a grin.

“You have a bad idea,” Peeta says immediately. “I can already see it brewing inside that thick skull of yours.”

“You do it,” I say.

“Do what?” My friend looks me over, starting down from my face to the breasts he had been reluctantly fondling, and then down to the leggings—or specifically the V between my thighs. His eyes immediately widen in realization. “No.”

“You said it would be bad,” I argue. “I rather it be bad with someone who’s at least going to tell me honestly how I can make it better the next time around. Also, I won’t cry if it hurts around you.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Because you make me brave,” I tell him. “Every scary moment in my life, you’ve held my hand. When my mom left, you were there. When Prim got sick and ended up having an appendectomy, you were there. Even when I contemplated not going to Panem University, you held my hand as we got on the train to leave.”

“More like forced you to leave.” Peeta eyes me for a moment. “You don’t have to have sex with Cato to make him like you. If he’s a good guy, then he’ll respect your need to wait.”

“It’s not that.” I feel my mouth start to tremble. “I’ve always felt like I was little behind since Mom left. I’m just tired of not knowing anything.”

Peeta sighs. “Okay.”

“You will?” I’m practically bouncing in my seat and Peeta smiles handsomely as he watches me. Launching myself into his arms, I kiss his cheek. “You’re awesome, you know that right?”

“Seriously Katniss, you have no idea of the effect you have on me.”

++++++

Friday night

What am I doing?

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, seeing my usual mussed blond hair and blue eyes—except there’s panic in them.

There’s a buzz on my phone and I find a message from Katniss: I’m ready when you are.

It’s followed by a winky face emoji.

Putting my phone in my back pocket, I step out of the bathroom and am greeted by my roommates, Gale and Finnick, eyes on the television and controllers in their hands. Their stares momentarily catch mine as I head towards the door.

“I’ll see you guys on Sunday night,” I tell them.

“Did you tell us where you were going?” Gale asks, his eyes going back to the screen.

“Home,” I reply quickly.

If home is my friend’s vagina.

“Cool,” Finnick adds distractedly as his player has just been critically hit. “Lock the door on your way out.”

Nodding, I head down the hallway and open the front door just as Gale wins. Finnick is yelling bloody murder as I close it behind me.

Katniss’ apartment is just a few blocks away, so I opt to walk, contemplating why I agreed to do this for her. Besides the fact that I don’t want her first time to be with some douchebag—and Cato is one, based on a few people I know that used to hang with him—I want it to be something she’ll remember.

Because here’s the truth; I’ve always loved her.

As a friend and a confidant at first then sometime around high school, she became the source of many morning erections and moony-eyed stares. I was confused because for a long time I never thought of her as a girl, but as Katniss, my neighbor and friend. It was really my oldest brother Bran who opened that can of worms, remarking on how well she had grown up since the last time he saw her.

It was like a switch had turned on.

Suddenly, I couldn’t stop staring at her.

Was her hair always that shiny? Did her eyes always look so seductively smoky?

Senior year was torture for me, especially watching her go to prom with Marvel—an idiot and a douche (why does she always choose douches?), in my opinion. Though the night did end with her coming over to my house to eat cake before falling asleep during a Harry Potter marathon instead of the usual after party.

Suddenly, I’m in front of her apartment building.

Am I really going to take her virginity?

Then, there’s the other question that looms in my head: am I really going to let her take mine?

For as much bravado as I claim to have, I have no idea what I’m doing.

And, I’m a liar.

Because, despite what I told her, I am sexually attracted to Katniss, I’m attracted to her in every which way.

Taking the elevator up to her floor, I walk to her door and knock.

Katniss answers quickly, wearing nothing but a knee-length black robe.

Hot damn.

She gives me a welcoming smile, widening the door for me.

“Come in.”

#Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #in which Everlark gets brutally honest about each others sex techniques

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yenslilac · 4 years

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Daenerys Targaryen and Ophelia: An Essay

I wrote this a while back, just after Season 8 ended. After a few edits, I decided to share it with you! Disclaimer: I wrote this fueled with rage at 11 at night for two weeks straight. Don’t judge.

Part 1: The Heroine Goes Absolutely Bats**t Crazy

Ophelia. Known throughout time as That Crazy Chick Who Drowned Herself. What a legacy. And Daenerys: She Who Toasted A City Like Marshmallows And Then Was Offed By Her Nephew/Lover. The sad thing is, these are my heroes. What a life. But the ‘Insane Heroine’ trope is prevalent in many forms of media – Dark Phoenix is another example. At first glance, Daenerys and Ophelia have very little in common; Daenerys is a powerful and assertive leader, and Ophelia is a background love interest. The one thing that unites them – they go crazy because of rejected love. While their descent into madness is slightly different; Ophelia is pitiful, Daenerys aggressive, both end up dying indirectly or directly as a result of their lover. Lovely. Let’s talk first about Ophelia – She is rebuffed Hamlet, the original pathetic sad boy, and at the death of her father, goes insane. After several performances of her insanity, she makes her way to a river where she falls (or throws?) herself into the water and drowns. This is witnessed by Gertrude, who then goes on to tell her brother Laertes of her death. It’s a pretty monologue, describing the flowers and plants growing along the riverbank, and how pretty and peaceful she looked as she sank under water and DIED. Remember this. Then my girl Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men etc. etc. Oh boy. Ohhhhhh boy. What can I say except **************** ***** ** **********. Thank you for your time. But she like Ophelia, was scorned by her Boyfriend Who Felt It Was Just A Little Weird That She Was His Aunt. But like, your paternal grandparents and the rest of your great-whatever grandparents were siblings, and your maternal grandparents were cousins so… But I digress. Wait no, this is what it’s all about. I’m back! I un-digress! So, she goes ‘insane’ cause she can’t get laid (don’t we all?) and roasts a whole lot of people and becomes… Hitler for some reason… So, Boyfriend Who Felt It Was Just A Little Weird That She Was His Aunt And Really Wishes He Can Just Catch A Break For Once Is It Really Too Much Too Ask is egged on by Murder Sister™ and Smarty Pants McGee to kill her. Just like my friends! He makes out with her and stabs her (best of both worlds!) and she dies. Very prettily. Remember this. You know. YOU KNOW I’m going to rant about this.

Part 2: Heroic Man Kills The Crazy Lady Like The Feral Dog She Is (But Feels Sad About It)

Trope as old as time… why is this still fine… surely there’s a better plot deviiiiiice. “Duty is the death of love…” Shut up. Shut up. No, it isn’t. There is a thing called multitasking. You should try it. But let’s recap. Woman goes crazy because of lover/hero of the story rebuffing her because he’s got issues of his own that he doesn’t care to share with her, and close friend/family member is killed. This is when the paths of the Hero diverge. Hamlet does not actually kill Ophelia himself, but his careless actions towards her eventually drive her to suicide. Jon, on the other hand, does kill Daenerys, (no, I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed) by a knife to the heart while snogging her. (I’d like to take the opportunity to say that this was ridiculous and yes, I will die mad about it.) What else is similar? Hamlet holds Ophelia’s (or in some adaptations tries to) dead body in his arms as she is about to be buried and Jon holds Daenerys as she dies. They cry and wish it didn’t have to be this way, but really guys, this is Your Fault.

The problem with this trope in particular (and I’m talking about a lot of other examples here, like Dark Phoenix and Wolverine) is that it renders the killer sympathetic. They didn’t want to do this, but it was for the good of humanity, it was a mercy, blah blah blah. Really? Did someone make you kill her? No, a sense of moral justice does not count. Hamlet abuses and humiliates Ophelia then claims he loved her so much that ‘forty thousand brothers could not…” Creepy. I have to say, creepy. And Jon Snow. “Was it right? It doesn’t feel right…” I’m glad you came to that conclusion. I really am. But I knew this from the moment you stuffed that butter knife into her spleen, so honestly you don’t have any business feeling sorry for yourself. If there’s one lesson that Game of Thrones and Shakespeare has taught me, it is:

(not an artist, don’t judge)

Part 3: Someone Died And The Director Said, “Cool But Like… Make It Fashion.”

Do you remember what I told you to remember? Did you? Cause I’m about to RANT.

Throughout time (like 500 years) men have been painting Ophelia’s drowning – the probable suicide of a tormented young woman – and made sure she looked hot while doing it. True, the description of her death is pretty and all, but depictions of her floating just below the surface, a dramatic and lovely pose and flowers strewn around her glamorise her death – something many other people have taken note on – and give her death something of a peaceful, serene departing note, rather than the death of a woman so deranged she did not appear to understand the gravity of her situation as she sank under water. Daenerys suffers a similar case of SDPS (Sexy Dead Person Syndrome). Let’s go through it step by step, shall we? While in an embrace with someone she loves and trusts, she is stabbed in the heart area (I guess?), and she dies. The End. My respect for white men flew off with Drogon. But I haven’t complained properly yet! Compared to other characters, like Myrcella, Joffrey and Catelyn Stark to name a few, her death was very clean. In these other examples, blood runs down their faces or spurts out of their neck in suitably graphic fashion but Daenerys’ case, two thin lines of blood trickle from her nose and mouth. Pretty, pretty. We get a brief shot of a pool of blood on the snow as Drogon picks her up, but blink and you’ll miss it. She looks shocked and confused as she dies, yet the next shot of her face shows her eyes are closed and an almost peaceful expression on her face. Not only this but we don’t actually get any proper Last Words, when she knows she is about to die. She makes no sound at all. She dies prettily and quietly. We also don’t see the knife at all until she is dead, removing any very graphic nature from the scene. A lot of the camera shots are of Jon’s face. This scene is not about Daenerys Targaryen’s death; This is about Jon Snow’s inner turmoil as he selflessly sacrifices the woman he loves to save the rest of the world. Hold up one second I gotta……

I mean, come on. Daenerys is barely mentioned after her death. She, a woman who freed hundreds, no, thousands of slaves and worked hard to reach her goals (albeit a little dragonfire-y) yet she dies without a whisper and is forgotten almost immediately. She becomes less of a central character and more of a catalyst for other men��s rise to power (see Bran the Broken). Wait, what about Sansa, you cry? Well, at this point, she was so out of character I’m striking her from the narrative. Bye bitch 😊 The same goes for most of the other women in the last season. They become plot devices with a little agency and that’s about it. Missandei? Unnecessarily killed to create the “Mad Queen”. Cersei? A compelling villain reduced to a ‘crying girl who wants to be comforted’. Arya? Kills the Night King and then, I dunno. Sansa? Suspicious of Daenerys because of reasons, betrays her brother/cousin because she doesn’t want Daenerys on the throne, then just ‘forgets’ about this whole thing to become Queen in the North. Brienne? Honourable knight left sobbing after her one (k)night stand left her. Another thing that many of these women have in common (the ones who survived to the final episode anyway) is that none of them have romantic endgames despite this being set up. Arya and Gendry have been close friends in Season 2 and 3, then <3 and everyone (i.e. me) thought that you know, they get together and stuff, because that’s what the writers seemed to be setting up. But nope. Arya’s all like ‘I wanna kill the queen’ (which she never does) and throws all that out the window. (But Gendry was totally on that ship at the end). Brienne and Jaime seemed to finally stop eye fricking and then got straight to the actual fricking but nooooo. “I lOvE CeRseI! WE’re bOTh tERrIble PeOple!” And of course, the crowning glory:

And the woman who actually does come out on top is Sansa, a largely unemotional, suspicious woman whose brother is now the king and made her a queen because she’s his sister. Riiiight. That’s totally not nepotism or anything.

The End: But Boy, Am I Just Beginning

To conclude, the ending of Daenerys Targaryen was largely misogynistic as it painted a brutal and dishonourable murder as an act of mercy and gave the killer (sorry man, I feel like I’m throwing you under the bus here, but it must be said) a sympathetic angle as a heartbroken martyr sacrificing for the greater good. I had high expectations, I really did, but you just took it anD THREW IT IN THE DIRT. Good god. But it’s fine, I have fanfiction anyway.

Thank you for reading this, if you stuck around this far!

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys defense squad #daenerys death tw #ophelia #shakespeare #anti d and d #anti got

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chrysalispen · 4 years

Text

xxv. the summer in their veins

second verse same as the first, i’ll reblog when this is up on AO3!

chapter below the cut as always <3

EDIT: chapter is now up on AO3 HERE

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The vague sense of disquiet and its physical effect -- levin and static sending fiery prickles along her arms -- did not fade. It persisted as she splashed into the waters and across the bank, as she approached the gate, as it swung shut at her back, and did not fade even when Keveh’to joined her on a silent and hurried return to the cabin. Her heart pounded and her throat felt tight with an anxiety which had neither a name nor a focus.

This forest has eyes.

“Right,” Keveh’to said without preamble as the front door shut behind them, “now would you like to tell me what in hells that was all about? You said you met her at the ruins?”

“Yes.”

“And you just gave half Ewain’s supply to her without a word to him?” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder at you, Aurelia. I really do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that for someone who often seems so worldly, you are remarkably quick to take the people here at their word. She was hiding something, and not doing that great a job of it.”

Aurelia threw up her hands. “She’s naught but a child, and we have more than enough of the things I gave to her to spare. That disaster last summer didn’t just hurt Gridania.”

“Did she get a look at -- you know.”

“No, my third eye was covered. You might at least trust in my discretion.”

Keveh’to exhaled. She unslung her packs and draped them over the hooks by the door.

“Now,” she said, “you can tell me what’s got you so excited it couldn’t wait until the other two got back-- what are they doing down the Millers’, anyroad?”

“I’m getting to it, trust me. I’ll make some tea while you wash your face- are you quite certain you’re all right? You don’t need the Hearer or Trevantioux to take a look at it?”

“Hells forbid,” the Garlean snorted. “Trevantioux would have me drink some awful concoction for his own amusement. No, it’ll be fine; scalp cuts nearly always look worse than they are in truth. It stopped bleeding a while ago.”

“Well, I’d wash it anyway.”

“I’m well ahead of you.” It wouldn’t do to have the other two men alarmed and asking inconvenient questions. Aurelia made her way to the small standing washbasin near the bath partition. The hempen covering was probably ruined. Maybe, she thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to wash bloodstains out of clothing; perhaps she would try one of Ewain’s smelly lye soaps and see if that didn’t take some of the stains out.

She filed it away for later consideration. Washing her laundry could wait until after she found out what had her companion so excited.

By the time she had cleaned her face and returned to the sitting area the tea was ready. Keveh’to handed her one of the earthenware mugs, filled near to the brim with chamomile. “We’ve not much time to talk,” he said. “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

She sat. “Go on. I’m listening.”

At length, he said, “You know Whiterock, right? That little spot where the children play?”

“The one in that birch copse near the walls? Of course.” Aurelia smiled into her tea. “Little Bran Miller was in a fine spate of ill temper when his mother told him he had to help me with gathering her moko grass; he told me in no uncertain terms he’d much rather be playing with his brothers. Their games get quite intense, so I’m told.”

“Aye, well, ‘tis just as well the lad wasn’t there to see what the rest of them did today. There was a corse half-buried under deadfall -- an Ixal scout, by all appearances. Blood and rot everywhere. One of the other children all but tripped over it.”

She inhaled sharply.

“Yes, I think it was good Bran didn’t see that. Did one of the village watch get careless?”

“They didn’t know it was there. He had been dead long enough for the forest to start getting at him.” Keveh’to set his mug on the low-slung table between them, then strode towards the door to rummage for something inside the pockets of his gambeson. “But something’s off about the entire thing- here, let me show you.”

As he frowned and muttered and searched his belongings Aurelia let her mind wander for a few moments. She was tired and sore and only half-registering his words, and her thoughts still lay with the young Miqo’te girl somewhere in the forest by herself. Hearing that a body had been found nearby did little to ease her worries; the disaster had left people bereft and desperate, and it was known that there were bandits in the wood.

I hope Vahne made it back all right to wherever it is she lives. I’d not forgive myself if-

“Ah,” the Miqo’te said triumphantly, tugging a hemp-wrapped bundle loose from the pile of armor. “Here we are. We collected this from the site where the boy found the body.”

She set aside her tea cup and stood, then made her way to the door as he removed the hastily wrapped item, then winced at the sight. It was an arrow of somewhat simplistic make, the iron head and ash shaft stained a coppery brown. Old blood.

“Ewain will not take well to finding something like this under his roof.”

“What the old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Keveh’to’s eyes gleamed almost amber. “Look at it. Can you tell me what doesn’t match here? You can touch it, it’s long dry by now.”

“I’m not certain what good my opinion will do. I’m hardly an inspector.”

“Well, what of it? You’re used to looking at these sorts of things when you’re trying to figure out why someone’s injured, aren’t you?”

Aurelia squinted at him, then held her hand out to take the implement from him. Gingerly she lifted the arrow by the shaft and examined it with a critical eye. At first glance nothing looked strange; the head was solid, albeit caked in dried blood, and the shaft and its fletching pristine. Were it not for the stains, she mused, one would have thought it to be--

Her lips pursed.

“One would expect to see the target’s blood in the fletching had it struck its mark, or some other sign of use had it not. This arrow isn’t a crossbow bolt, mind, but still. It looks…”

“Go on,” Keveh’to encouraged when she trailed off mid sentence, though by his tone it was clear he already had an answer in mind. Aurelia tilted the arrow over and over in her fingers, the knitted furrow in her brow deepening by the second.

“...This rather looks as though it is not what killed your dead man.”

He looked pleased. “Aye. ‘Twould seem we agree.”

Aurelia studied him in turn, her gaze appraising.

“You do realize,” she said, “that this would be considered official evidence? You shouldn’t even have this on your person, much less show it to me; last I checked, I’m supposed to be serving out a prison sentence.”

“That lot out there doesn’t give a damn because they think one dead Ixal only benefits them. You may be a prisoner,” Keveh’to replied, “but you’re the closest thing I have to a partner at the minute - and frankly I’m bored out of my bloody mind on wall duty. This gives us both something to do-”

“Implying I’ve not been run ragged on Ewain’s morning rounds.”

“Hang the rounds. Let Trevantioux do them.” Aurelia made a face. Ewain’s assistant had proven to somehow be even more insular than the old man, and the Elezen had made little secret of his distaste for Gridania’s choice of assignment in sending Willowsbend a foreign adventurer as a conjurer novitiate. “I’ll make up some reason for you to come along with me.”

“He’ll complain that I’m shirking my duties, no doubt.”

“He can complain all he likes and so can the Hearer. This is important.”

“Well, put that away before the two of them get back.” She handed him the arrow. “You said Whiterock, right?”

“Aye. It’s not far from the wall. Nearest the Quarrymill road.”

Aurelia nodded thoughtfully. “Meet me there at midday.”

~*~

The next morning was sweltering -- hot and humid and still. Other than the reedy noises of tree frogs and the odd bird call, little seemed to stir with the sunrise, and Aurelia was only an hour into the morning rounds before she’d sweat through her smallclothes and into her robes.

A glance at the sour-faced Trevantioux showed that the Elezen man fared little better in the oppressive heat, though he was stoic as ever where it came to any indication of his feelings - at least in her presence. Many of the Elezen who dwelt in the Shroud seemed little inclined to bear the presence of outsiders in the first place, but he seemed to harbor a particular rancor.

Any hopes Aurelia might have harbored that Ewain’s assistant might warm to her had been quickly laid to rest. The wedding originally set for the close of the winter months had been delayed until the summer, and rather than train her on his own and allow Trevantioux the freedom to court his bride and tend to his own affairs, the Hearer had insisted that his assistant stick to his usual routine - and, adding insult to injury by all appearances, he was compelled to allow Aurelia to attend him and observe him on his morning rounds.

Internally she ground her teeth every time the man spoke to her - at least most of old Ewain’s saltiness seemed to owe to age and weariness - and reminded herself that this was an internship, one that was not like to last indefinitely, and that once Trevantioux and his betrothed were wed he would be reassigned by the guild.

It was small enough recompense, all things considered.

Her final stop this morning before joining Keveh’to was the Millers’ cottage: one of the few places in town where Aurelia nearly always enjoyed some degree of respite from the veteran conjurer’s constant criticism. Trevantioux didn’t particularly get along with its sunny-natured and wry-tongued mistress, and was all too glad to leave Aurelia to tend to her while he saw to other house calls.

Aurelia for her part found instant appeal in Frieda’s quick wit and irreverent humor, and the sparrow-framed Midlander weaver had - despite her initial wariness of the outsider - likewise warmed to Ewain’s novice quickly. In the ensuing months she had gone from polite civility to voicing her frequent appreciation for E-Sumi-Yan’s wisdom. Frieda liked Ewain well enough for all that she found Trevantioux incurably stuffy, but she seemed well pleased the guild in Gridania had finally seen fit to send a woman to Willowsbend.

“Goodness, Aurelia, do you fare well?” she asked the novice conjurer now, frowning. “You look about to melt into a puddle right before my bed.”

Breaking from her brief reverie as she removed the herbs from her satchel and dabbed the sweat from her brow with the corner of one hem, Aurelia offered the older woman a rueful smile. “I might well be, at that. One could break a sweat simply stepping outdoors today.”

“Summer’s come upon us fast this year.” She shifted somewhat awkwardly in the bedclothes. “If you let me get up I can fetch you some water from the kitchen. Rauffe’s still working on the well, but I’ll not see a guest in my home go without-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Aurelia denied, the stern note of her response brooking no argument. “Never you mind a bit of sweat; I’ve a waterskin and plenty of shards to refill it. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh really now, Aurelia-”

“No.”

Frieda let out a thwarted groan. “I can’t simply be ordered to lie abed for the next two moons! There’s so much work to be done-”

“Well, you most certainly can, when needs must,” Aurelia replied briskly. “There’s hardly any need for all this fuss and bother, surely? It’s only until the baby arrives. Once you’ve recovered from the birth you can go traipsing about the forest all day if you like.”

A gusty and exasperated sigh tossed a puff of sweaty red curls from the Hyur’s brow. “I shall have you know I’ve done this plenty of times before,” Frieda complained. “And I’m perfectly healthy-”

“Healthy enough to complain, most certainly.”

“You know full well what I mean, Mistress Laskaris. I don’t see why I should have to be confined to bed for so long over some puffy ankles.”

“I told you already. ‘Tis naught but a precaution given your history-”

“A ridiculous precaution.”

“You're free to think whatever you like,” Aurelia countered, with the somewhat exaggerated patience L'haiya had so often used when talking to her childhood self in a fit of stubbornness, “but you are not just my friend. You are also my patient and as I have the care of you and yours, I bear responsibility for your well-being. As such, I would see you remain healthy and deliver a living child.”

“Aye, I know. But still-”

“I’m aware there’s plenty of work to be done. I’ve seen enough of your routine to know. But you’re hardly alone. Bran knows how to collect and dry the grasses for the spindle, you’ve two other sons of a goodly age to be helping about the house, and there’s Rauffe besides-”

“Rauffe? Rauffe won’t even mend his own smallclothes, never mind help with the spinning,” Frieda snorted. “If he gets a rip he’s like to just cut a hole in the arse end of his breeches and let in a stiff breeze - or out, depending on how much cabbage he had the night previous.”

Despite herself Aurelia let out an extremely unladylike cackle.

Frieda offered a triumphant grin and relaxed at last, lacing her callused fingers over the curve of her swelling belly. “And what of Conjurer Trevantioux? I thought he was to be checking on me this morning, but I mark he’s dumped you on my doorstep again. It’s getting to be something of a habit, that.”

“He is as anxious to be shut of me as I am of him.” Aurelia reached for her waterskin. “Here’s hoping the bride's father doesn’t take ill again and delay their wedding a third time.”

“Is old Darien really doing all that poorly, I wonder,” Frieda mused aloud, “or is Noline just stalling?”

“I hardly know her well enough to have an opinion. But both Trevantioux and Ewain have been frequent guests at her home since my own arrival and the old man’s little other reason to visit as often as he does, so I can only guess is that there’s some truth in it.”

“Well, I had to ask. She’s his only child, after all,” Frieda continued. Aurelia shrugged as she uncorked the skin. She wasn’t really one to spread idle village chatter, feeling it somewhat beneath her and out of the scope of her duties besides. “Between you and me I suspect he’s having rather a difficult time letting go.”

“Mm.” She raised the waterskin to her lips for a draught.

“And what of you and that handsome Sergeant Epocan?”

Taken by surprise at the probing question, Aurelia sputtered mid-sip, coughing. By some miracle water didn’t go everywhere, though it was a near thing. “What- Heaven forbid! The Sergeant and I aren’t like that at all!”

“That’s not the word ‘round town.” The Midlander woman’s smile was quite shrewd. “They say you’re on a first name basis with him. Keeper folk don’t let just anyone talk to them in such a familiar way, you know.”

Aurelia uttered a short, sharp laugh and set the skin aside, then tipped the rest of the ground medicinal blend from her mortar into the small glass bottle on the bed’s side table.

“You really ought to tell the old women in the marketplace to mind their own business and stop asking such personal questions,” she said in a voice far more dismissive than she felt as she reached for a stopper. “I don’t suppose that’s asking for very much, is it?”

“Oh, sod those old crones! I’m asking for my own self, love."

"So the impertinence is your own? My, that certainly makes a difference, I suppose."

"Imper- well, it’s not as though I’ve aught else to do these days other than laze abed and keep my hands busy with stitching."

"Excuses."

"Aye, some fancy pants big-city chirurgeon gave me mad orders to rest and won’t let me break them. Mayhap you’re passing familiar with her.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes, smiling all the while. “Right, I see how it is. Blame the outsider for your gossipmongering.”

“Only until I’m able to be up and about again,” Frieda retorted with a tart smile, one that lingered before fading somewhat. “...But what is he to you then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m… not really at liberty to discuss that.” Her face felt warm from more than just the day’s heat. “I’m sorry. If I could tell you I would.”

“Oh, very well.”

If only you could know the truth. “One of these days, perhaps.”

“No, no. Keep your secrets, if it please you, Miss Conjurer. By all means.” Frieda’s bright hazel eyes danced with mischief and amusement in equal measure. “But you know I’ll pry them out of you yet. Best be on your guard.”

~*~

Aurelia had taken the opportunity to bathe and find a change of clothing, thinking it would give Keveh’to ample time to finish his own obligations for the morning. He wasn’t at their meeting spot when she arrived, however. The clearing and the outcropping of bared stone was deserted, a barest breeze shifting listlessly through heat-curled leaves; even the birds seemed to have decided the day was too hot for their calls.

A first glance showed nothing that seemed to be particularly out of the ordinary; there were no indications that anyone else had returned to the scene since the body was discovered, although she would have been very much surprised had that been the case.

She lingered at the base of the rocks and examined the favored playground of the village children. The white outcroppings were partially covered in moss and lichen, but the rock was sturdy granite and she could see where the children had carved themselves footholds into the rocks for climbing. Signs of recent scuff marks from their shoes could be seen in the moss and dirt scrapes, and piles of leaves had been hastily raked together to act as a soft landing should one of them fall.

A place like this would have appealed greatly to her younger self- to say naught of her best friend. Aurelia’s slight smile turned faintly rueful. It would have been far safer than climbing the low-hanging zelkova trees that were native to Gyr Abania, certainly. (Although, she thought with an internal snicker, L’haiya would still have scolded her for getting dirt in her pinafore and leaves in her hair. She was not near fool enough to think that would have changed.)

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted what looked like an old basket someone had fashioned into a crude child-sized helm, lying a fulm or two away - something one of the children had dropped during their last game, no doubt. Slowly she picked it up, turning it this way and that-

“Aurelia!”

The call startled her, even though the voice was one she knew.

The basket fell from her hands to the ground as Keveh’to, trotting towards her, blinked in a sort of mild surprise. “Can’t believe I finally took you unawares,” he began, then frowned, “Is aught amiss? Did you find something?”

“Just one of their toys, I think.” She picked up the basket by its well-patched handle and passed it to him. “Lying in that pile over there. The children might want it back.”

“I’ll return it once we’re done having a look about. Follow me - and watch your step.” Keveh’to pointed to a depression not far from the base of the rocks, one she hadn’t noticed until then. “That’s where we found him.”

“Any sign the body was moved?”

“None, but it was very late in the day before I had the chance to properly look. There’s always a chance, I suppose.”

Something about his tone stopped her in her tracks. “You didn’t tell the Wood Wailers you were bringing me out here.”

“Of course I bloody didn’t,” Keveh’to scoffed. “They’d have never allowed it - and nor would the Twin Adder have done if I’d told them. But this lot won’t do anything no matter how suspicious it all is, and I know you’re as bored out of your mind as I am, else you’d never have agreed to come with me.”

“Mind you, I’m not saying I disapprove, but you are wagering what little trust the locals have in you to investigate a matter you were told to leave to the Wailers. ‘Tis rather risky, you must admit.” Aurelia quirked a brow at him. “And with the likes of me, no less.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He paused to thread the basket into his belt.” You’ve all the demeanor of a harpy when it takes you and you’re stubborn as a goobbue, but as a partner? You’re not half bad, Garlean.”

Recalling her earlier conversation with Frieda, she could only laugh.

“At any rate,” she said, “let’s get this done before we’re missed.”

They left the rocks behind and ventured a few fulms beyond, into the tree line, before the Miqo’te came to an abrupt stop. His tail thumped a slow rhythm against her calf as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“This is the place." He paused. "I think."

"You think?"

“The way they acted I doubt Aubaints or Daye looked further afield than this for that arrow. They found it so quickly, but there was little enough time to look over the scene before night fell. If there’s others out here, I’m sure we’ll- here now, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That bit of soil over there. Something’s kicked up the leaves.” He pointed, and Aurelia followed the line of sight. The mark in the forest soil was half-covered by remnants of fallen detritus from the overhanging trees, but it was visible enough to have caught a hunter’s keen eye. “Wonder if maybe that’s where he found it?”

“This far away from the body? I doubt it, but let’s have a look.”

Aurelia approached and knelt to examine the area, her knee sinking into moist soil and old leaves. Light from the sun only faintly dappled the forest floor even in the early hours of the afternoon- this far into the Shroud, most of the wood was shielded by the upper canopy- and she had to adjust her position so that she did not cast so much of a shadow she could not examine what little evidence might still remained. It was passing odd she hadn’t found the shape of an arrowhead by now; the indentation in the soil was quite a bit less shallow than she had-

Her index fingertip struck something rounded and smooth.

“Found something,” she called.

Carefully she slid her finger deeper into the soil, curled it around the object until she could get purchase, and drew it out of the shallow hole in the ground until it rolled into her dirt-caked palm, the sheen of it winking in the dim sunlight. It was a small, slender piece of steel- one that her companion thought looked somewhat familiar, but it was strangely cylindrical and marked with soot on its flattened base.

“There’s your arrow, Sergeant,” she said.

Keveh’to frowned. How odd, he thought. It almost looked like the sort of thing he’d seen the Maelstrom’s volunteer privateers use in their flintlocks, but-

“Twelve, that can’t possibly be a musket ball, could it?”

“So you have seen a gun before.”

“Once or twice fighting the Empire. Some of the folk in the Foreign Levy were pirates sailing with letters of marque from the thalassocracy and a few of them kept sidearms.” He scratched at an idly flickering ear. “What I don't understand is the why of it. There’s no need for such weapons around here - might be one could use them for hunting, but if you ask me it’s not near as practical for that purpose as a good bow and arrow. I know I wouldn’t bother with it unless I were desperate. And I’ve never seen musket balls that looked like that.”

“Well, for one thing, this isn’t a musket ball.” She rolled it to and fro between her fingers. “It’s not even Eorzean.”

“But it couldn’t have come from anything else, surely?”

“Eorzean firearms discharge using aetheric means of combustion. The weapon that fired this used black powder. Look, you can see the scorch marks.” Aurelia poked the side of the casing. Steel glimmered dully beneath the patina of dirt that covered it. “This came from a gunblade.”

“...Imperial arms in this part of the Twelveswood? But we're malms from the nearest castrum. Are you absolutely certain?"

She gave him a very tired glance over one shoulder.

“You asked me for my opinion as a chirurgeon earlier and I’m giving it now. I daresay I’ve dug out enough musket balls and gunblade bullets in operating theatres to know the difference.” Keveh’to blinked at her, clearly taken aback. With a soft grunt she clambered to her feet, dropping the spent casing in his hand before he could protest and dusting dirt from the backs of her legs.

“Here, hold this. I’m going to look about for something.”

“What are-”

“There won’t have been just the one-- no. There, look.” It was difficult to see but there was a small ring of discoloration in the bark of a nearby elm sapling, one that became more visible as Aurelia drew closer. She scraped her finger against the border of bark and bared trunk where a round had impacted and embedded itself. “Another one. Whoever it was, they fired at their target multiple times.”

He stared down at the dirt-caked metal in his hand, brow deeply furrowed.

“...So as it stands we have a dead birdman with a bloody great hole in his chest, an arrow that was supposed to have been what killed him except there’s blood on it and naught in the fletching-”

“And at least two shots from a weapon that shouldn’t be here. And no other arrows save the one the lieutenant told you he found.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d have got a look at the body before the Wailers disposed of it. That would have been very telling.”

“Is that your professional opinion, then? So what’s the arrow doing here?”

“Either it was meant to be found, or the arrow is a red herring and has naught to do with anything at all, or we’ve a witness lurking about the woods.”

“I think we had better take this back to the Wailers immediately.”

“Agreed,” she said. “They will wish to impose a curfew until the matter is laid to rest.”

Keveh’to opened a small pouch on his belt and dropped the casing inside. “They won’t take that notion kindly coming from us. But if the killer is willing to risk discovery so close to the village, they’ll likely not trifle to harm its people.”

Aurelia’s lips had tightened into a flat, grim line.

“Also,” she said, “it would not be taken amiss to check with the night watch and ask if they heard any strange noises. Gunblades are not quiet things. It’s quite likely someone heard something. If we can figure out when-”

“Sergeant Epocan! Miss Aurelia!”

“Sergeant Epocan!”

A boy and a girl - both bedraggled and half-soaked - came crashing through the brush with all the grace of a bull griffin, Aurelia thought with an internal grimace. She recognized their faces on sight, as she did most folk these days. One was Cecilie Aubaints, the Wood Wailer lieutenant’s daughter. The other was Bran Miller’s older brother Hugh.

“Sergeant Epocan,” Cecilie shouted, “there’s a Keeper girl outside the village-”

“Silence, you silly girl,” barked a familiar voice, “lest the entire forest know your business!”

The pair blinked at the children, then at the sight of a very exasperated Elezen man bringing up the rear in his conjurer’s whites. Trevantioux Roulemet was a Wildwood man of six and thirty summers and had been Ewain’s assistant for the past five of them. Despite his relative youth he bore a perpetually sullen countenance, and what Aurelia’s father would have called ‘a certain inflexibility of thought’ where it came to any sort of change to his personal routine.

No doubt he was displeased that he had been pulled away from said routine to fetch Aurelia from wherever it was she had gone, and her assumption was confirmed when he drew close enough for her to see the storm in his grey eyes.

“The Hearer found my note, I see,” she said blandly. “How does Noline fare?”

“Well enough, for all I’ve been dragged away from my visit to deal with this foolishness. What are you doing out here? The Wailers said this place was strictly off limits even for us.”

“Never mind all that,” Hugh said a trifle impatiently. “There’s a girl who came looking for you while me and Bran and Cecilie were playing in the creek, and-”

“Hugh,” Cecilie hissed, and the boy flushed.

“Well, they were going to find out eventually!”

“All right, all right,” Aurelia said, “let’s not all get ruffled feathers over it. Where is she, Hugh? Is she at the Hearer’s house?”

“No, Miss Aurelia. I told Keeper Ewain she could go to my house with Bran and stay with Mama while we looked for you. She said she’d only talk to you and no one else, and Mama knows how to handle crying girls better than anyone I know.”

Crying. Anxiety lanced through her chest like a gut punch. She didn’t know Vahne well enough to say for sure, but she knew enough of Keepers from talking to Keveh’to to know if the self-assured young huntress had been rattled enough to cry in front of strangers, then something very grave must have happened to cause it.

“I’m going back,” she said. “Hugh, you come with me and the Sergeant. Trevantioux, take Cecilie home. We’ll go to the Millers’ first and meet you back at the cottage.”

“We were swimming,” Cecilie protested, but faltered under the older Elezen’s withering glare.

“In the creek,” he said acidly, “where you knew you weren’t supposed to be by yourselves?”

“We were just-”

“Come now, along with you. You can make your excuses to your father.”

She watched Trevantioux march the protesting girl back towards the village, looking rather like a disgruntled hound shepherding a wet kitten. Under different circumstances the thought might have amused her, but she knew she must have looked as worried as she felt when she caught Keveh’to’s quizzical expression.

“I thought you just met that girl yesterday.” “So I did.”

“What do you think brought her here?”

“No idea,” she said. “Hopefully something minor.”

#reborn by fire #chapter 25 #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light

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targaryen-stronghold · 5 years

Note

As a Jonerys fan, one of the reasons S8 was so shitty is it made Dany/Jon's relationship look very ... uneven or one sided. S7 ended very clearly with Dany and Jon, both as equally powerful allies and rulers. Then S8 basically has Daenerys doing all the work while getting shit on by the North and the Stark sisters and Jon is just ... there? He at least upholds his word to go with her and lead Northern forces to KL but that's basically it?

They had some good moments in Episode 1 but then it went down the hill from there. Even then, Dany letting Jon riding Rhaegal was complete nonsense. It was total fanservice and nothing more. Dany had a hard time training her dragons and even flying them (remember Drogon refusing to fly back to Meereen?), but Jon due to his “cock power” not only flies Rhaegal like a pro, he actually goes into battle on dragonback on his second ride. What a bunch of bullshit. Also, the waterfall scene doesn’t make any sense with Season 8 plot: so Dany is this “power-hungry tyrant” but she wouldn’t mind leave everything behind to live with Jon in the wilderness? What? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this is why Season 8 failed and the narrative is utter nonsense. They needed Dany and her resources to save the North but they wanted to turn her into a villain, and these two don’t add up. You can’t have a queen honoring her word and doing her part of the bargain and then calling her a tyrant. You can’t have her tolerating the Starks openly disrespecting her in front of her subjects and calling her a tyrant. Whoever wrote or even agrees with this bullshit never pick up a History book. I’m a History major and I had some good laughs at this fandom stupidity when it comes to Medieval History. In real life, people were executed for less than talking shit to a monarch and these kings aren’t even remembered as tyrants. Remember when Grey Wind basically eat Lord Umber’s hand because he disrespected Robb? Yeah, I don’t recall anyone calling Robb a tyrant because he threatened his subjects with his direwolf to assure his leadership over them. You see: when a man does it, it’s cool and awesome but when a woman does it, it’s “madness” and tyrannical.

When we look at the overall story, Jon and Dany relationship leaves a sour taste in my mouth and doesn’t add up with what was previously established in Season 7. In Season 8, Jon never tells others that he willingly bent the knee to Dany because she proved herself worthy by being willing to sacrifice herself for her people (rescue mission beyond the Wall), nor that Dany pledged herself to the Northern cause of defeating the Night King and his army before he bent the knee. Whenever others attack Dany, his only response is “she’s my queen” or whatever: he never reveals the things she did to prove herself worthy of his allegiance and love. By vilifying Dany, Jon was basically turned into a horny buffoon in Season 8: he only wants her because she’s hot, he’s thinking with his dick - that’s basically what the narrative is saying. But we watched Season 7, we know that’s some bullshit right there. Jon and Dany both care deeply about their people and they were chosen as leaders. They were equals: a King and Queen. They also fell in love in the worst of times but their love was supposed to represent a beacon of hope in the darkness to come. And don’t even bring up the incest part when the ultimate love story of this crap was Cersei and Jaime’s. All the talk about Dany and children in Season 7 apparently didn’t mean anything. Also, Jon basically taking credit for Dany’s accomplishments (riding a dragon, facing the Night King on dragonback, etc.) and never praising her is some disgusting whole level of sexism. Dany is never praised for her role in the Battle of Winterfell: her armies were slaughtered, she rode Drogon and faced the Night King, she picked up a dragonglass sword and fought, and she lost Jorah. But her efforts are never acknowledged. Actually, when she was out there fighting and risking her life, the Lady of the House was hiding inside and talking shit about her.

Dany has every right to be pissed at the feast when Jon is right there being congratulated for doing the same shit as she did. Varys looks at her suspiciously like she’s wrong in reacting this way (and later he tells Tyrion he worries about her state of mind). This bullshit was so obviously written by men: women everywhere know what is like to have a man taking credit for their deeds. After the feast, Jon is drunk and wants to kiss and have sex with Dany but stops himself. She just lost Jorah but he never bothers to ask how she’s doing. She asks him to keep his parentage a secret because hell would break lose. Dany is absolutely right and all her fears come true: people actually go on their way to conspire to kill her and place Jon in the throne instead. You aren’t paranoid or mentally instable if your instincts are right and people are out there to get you. And don’t even get me started about how awful this story is towards mentally ill people by representing them as “evil” and “monsters”. This so wrong and fucked up, I can’t even find the words to express my disgust. Then, Dany loses both Rhaegal and Missandei and she’s mourning them. In some repulsive fashion, they show us Dany with bags under her eyes and her hair unkempt: this was supposed to be an indicator she was mentally instable (yikes). Jon arrives at Dragonstone but does he care in comforting her? No. He shallowly says he loves her and pushes her away. But where the fuck is this love he’s talking about? When I first saw this scene, I immediately recalled this scene from “Closer” (2004):

This is Jon’s love for Dany in Season 8 in a nutshell. The narrative says Jon does love Dany. But this “love” is shallow and meaningless concerning his actions towards her: he doesn’t support her, he doesn’t stand up for her and he isn’t even there when she needs him the most. She is going through a harsh time and he gives her the side-eye when she rightfully executes Varys for treason (he was trying to kill her): apparently Jon kind of forgot he executed a child who killed him because he befriended the wildings (who, you know, murdered and eaten Olly’s family and forced him to watch). This is emotional abuse in my book. Have you ever watched “Midsommar” (2019)? Season 8 Jon is like the protagonist’s abusive boyfriend, This goes full circle when Jon murders Dany because he wants to protect himself and Arya, Sansa and Bran. But does he try to understand Dany or her motifs? No, she’s a tyrant, period. She wants to kill everyone even tho she never says this. I already talked about how OCC it was for Dany to burn down King’s Landing. She wants to break the wheel and the masters of Westeros are the feudal lords. Of course Dany is threat to every Lord in Westeros because she wants to give power to the people, the smalfolk. The people would then decide who they wanted to rule them. The Northern people might still choose a Stark to lead them… or not. That’s a treat to the Stark dominion over the North.

Either way: all of it was bullshit and offensive and these writers can go fuck themselves for even thinking this was okay.

#daenerys targaryen #anti game of thrones season 8 #jonerys

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somerpmemes · 4 years

Text

Victorious S1 Starters

Change as needed

“Oh, nice piano.”

“A performer needs to feel the part to be the part.”

“I thought we talked about you not tapping my nose anymore.”

“My tongue feels huge.”

“There's nothing wrong with being average.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“Whatever it takes, cupcake.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I was sucking the milk out of this coconut.”

“You know, you’re actually not terrible.”

“You ever thought about coming in through the window?”

“Something just bit my toe!”

“Very immature of you to say that!”

“Lousy animals, kangaroos. They’re awkward and dirty.”

“No one talks to me like that.”

“Please run in front of a bus!”

“Zero is what you are on a scale of one to ten.”

“As if I care what you think”

“Better watch yourself.”

“Eat your pants!”

“Did you not see me fall down in the parking lot?”

“Don’t spill that!”

“Why are you always ripping on tofu?”

“You know where I can buy a pair of ballet slippers?”

“These things squeeze me in a bad way.”

“Before we begin, I’d like you to have these two large coconuts.”

“Hey! Watch where you throw your props!”

“Ah, there it is: the ulterior motive.”

“You don’t know what I got!”

“You see the bird too, right?”

“Why does she hate me?”

“Walk faster!”

“I wonder if mirrors work in outer space.”

“I’m too pretty to be on a submarine.”

“So, in life, just because we may not like someone doesn’t mean it’s okay to hit them with a cane.”

“You can’t be nice to me when I’ve been mean to you, that’s not how it works.”

“I’ve never been stung by a bee, not once in my whole life.”

“You know, it’s great that you’re so open with your bitterness.”

“What did you do to my pants?”

“Any mentally stable person puts on a sock and a sock, and then a shoe and a shoe.”

“Look at this cookie.”

“Wait, what’s my cue?”

“One, two… don’t let me get to three.”

“Why can’t you admit that you’re in love with me?”

“I don’t love you because you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful because I love you.”

“If I don’t cram a turkey sandwich down my throat I’m gonna fail not starving to death.”

“Maybe you should talk less.”

“What’s your favorite tropical fruit?”

“...you want me to fix your kite?”

“Um, not to be mean but why are you coming to me for help?”

“Dogs don’t know how to blow their nose.”

“I love old people! It’s so cute how they shake when they pour their juice.”

“I can’t believe you hit me in the head…”

“My hair color has nothing to do with my psychological problems!”

“I told you global warming is bogus!”

“You’re the embarrassment in our relationship.”

“I use an appropriate amount of ketchup!”

“Why chew what you can drink?”

“Do you want me to juice your bagel?”

“Who are you and why is your number blocked?”

“I love mass texting!”

“Stop embarrassing me or I’m gonna embarrass you.”

“Talk shows are for tourists and Canadians.”

“I get paid up front.”

“I’m not following your cool guy logic.”

“I’m about to open up a cloud and rain all over you!”

“Sometimes, I have trouble not crying.”

“Where is my coconut milk!?”

“It’s your job to entertain them, no matter what.”

“Okay, does anyone else think this is bizarre? Come on, it can’t just be me.”

“Well, I’m not missing this.”

“Maybe this happened for a reason.”

“Uh, why are you here?”

“What in the name a’Nancy’s going on here?!”

“Wait! ___, will you stay?”

“I’ll give you this dollar to get to the point.”

“We’re not doing that!”

“Okay, don’t talk about it.”

“Don’t you have any respect for yourself?”

“I’m a very good beggar.”

“No, no keep talking, you’re doing great.”

“So, who’s that?”

“Man, get me out of this house.”

“Everyone likes brownies.”

“Y’all are serious?”

“You wanna get slapped with a sausage?”

“You got cheese in our hair!”

“This is what happens when you mix teenagers and hot cheese!”

“Why would you be mean to me?”

“I think my nose may be broken.”

“Will you take me to the hospital now?”

“I bought some illegal pooka fish from a guy in a van.”

“Look at the red dot I drew on this index card.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your little amateur feelings.”

“I’d rather slam my tongue in a car door.”

“Would you like some Raisin Bran?”

“Do you have anything sharp and/or pointy in your pockets that could injure me.”

“Just believe in your dreams and you can sit in any chair, anywhere.”

“I can see your belly button.”

“I spy a fly with my little thigh.”

“Well, that’s a dilly if a pickle.”

“Well, lookie there, my skin’s starting to blister.”

“Oh, she’ll be dead in minutes.”

“I thought I killed that thing.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“Yeah, you know, I like shirts with green stripes.”

“I’ve never seen any pink lemons.”

“Everyone likes having their tummy tickled!”

“Almost nothing is real in reality shows.”

“Be more dramatic.”

“We abused the wrong car.”

“I’m not going away, and you can’t just say no.”

“Oh my god this is exactly how I dreamed it would happen.”

“Don’t talk, you’ll ruin it.”

“Here comes that feeling.”

“Alright, who put me in the soda machine!?”

“Give me your dress.”

“”Huh? Love me, love me now? Yeah you do!”

“More power!”

“I don’t like this game, I wanna play bingo.”

“I was getting into costume and I dropped my bra into the toilet.”

“Just drag her body out by the dumpster and don’t say nothing to nobody!”

“Sweating is gross, so I don’t do it.”

“Who’s ready for beach fun?”

“There’s parts of me sweating that I didn’t know could sweat.”

“If I shared it I wouldn’t have had as much for me.”

“I’ve never been this thirsty.”

“Did you just kick my feet again?”

“I live next-door to a one-legged old man who throws lemons at me.”

“Cause shrimp are self-centered.”

“Do you know what cheerleaders have? Pep.”

“So far we have nothing.”

“When did I become the mature one?”

“You just kicked my door open!”

“Talent has nothing to do with being famous.”

“Don’t be such a gank.”

“First time here?”

“You know, you might want to be shutting your face there.”

“Yeah, we’re clapping because it’s over!”

“Did you just swing on me?”

“You know, frozen yogurt doesn’t solve all the world’s problems.”

“Oh, look who’s back. I thought I smelled failure.”

“Don’t make that face.”

#long post #victorious #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #rp starters #rp #rp meme #ask meme

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donttellpeterparker · 4 years

Text

HSMTMTS Part 4

Summary: Coming into Junior Year things were going to be different. With my handsome and sweet Senior boyfriend on my arm, I could do and be anything I wanted, nothing was going to stop me... except... of course... maybe him.

Requested: Yes xx You must be hating how long this is getting xo

Word Count: 3k+

Warning(s)?: god fiNALLY SOME FLUFF BUt like with a lil angst whoops (Italics in quotation are lyrics), Written in third and first person which is something different, Yes this is following the script from the show so please no comments about how it's exactly like it because... that's kinda the point :)

Taglist: Open

MERRY CHRISTMAS BABES! HAPPY HOLIDAYS (And if you don't celebrate Christmas HAVE A BEAUTIFUL DAY <3)

masterlist

——————————————————

HSMTMTS

''Can I get you to move a little closer to each other?'' Mrs Jen smiled, directing both EJ and I closer as the other cast members looked on with questioning glances. I could tell what they where thinking. What's wrong with them? They're a couple, why is it so awkward? Aren't they together?

Answer, no we weren't anymore, not that it was anyone's business. I was so tried of being lied to and left with nothing, nothing but my own wild guesses. EJ tried explaining but I couldn't hear it, everything was lie. The play during the summer, the lead part I got, a lie. The last school musical part, also a lie. Even a present he gave me was a lie, a used lie by his ex-girlfriend. Annoyance didn't even cover what I was feeling towards him.

''Come on, guys, we are blocking this as a love story, not a SARS epidemic'' Mrs Jen tried to joke through the tension. I stepped closer towards him, EJ doing the same though trying to get my attention while doing so.

''Troy, once the intro begins, cross downstage and plant yourself at the piano. Gabriella, you slowly approach the piano, and rest an arm on it, naturally. Okie dokie! Now, Let's take it from 'Wow, now that's really nice''' Mrs Jen instructs. As per usual, Peter wasn't here so EJ filled in as his understudy. I was almost tempted to get Gina, my understudy who had been trying to steal my spot take this one.

''Wow, now that's really nice'' EJ states awkwardly, his enthusiasm stiff. I grimace as the piano softly began to play. This was going to be a long rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*

''How do people like that live with themselves? How do they sleep at night?'' I babbled on, holding the cup of coffee in my cold hands. My best friend sat across from me, holding her own beverage inside our favorite little cafe.

''Like a shark. Eyes open'' If I wasn't so down I'd probably laugh.

''We've been dating for, like, three months and I don't even know this person'' I exclaimed, throwing my hands to the side before returning them back to my cup, taking a sip.

''Sweetie, it's called a blind spot. Everybody's got 'em. Why do you think I flunked my driving test?'' She folded her hands forward now, smiling a little which caused me to smile softly.

''If he's willing to do that to somebody, how long before he tries to poison me?'' Again, asking aloud but was very grateful for the ears my best friend was lending me in my time of need.

''I'm gonna get us some food'' She stood up, sighing to herself as I was lost deep in thought. A few moments later she came back, snapping me out of it.

''These are your choices, a very sad-looking bran muffin or some really shriveled-up carrots'' I scrunch my nose up, not liking either. I glanced down at them, picking up the muffin packet.

''Don't look now, but you're shark's cousin is here'' I glanced back up and then pivoted my head around, spotting Ashlyn. I smiled softly towards her. Hoping for a smile back, she gave me a timid look instead, quickly retreating. I hop up fast, chasing after her.

''Hey! Ashlyn! You don't have to avoid me'' I call out, noticing her pick up her helmet from her bike.

''No. I'm not avoiding, I just decided to make a half-caff mocha frappe at home'' She faked a smile.

''Look, Ashlyn, no matter what happens between me and EJ, there's no bad blood between us. I mean, you might have some because you're related to him, but that's not your fault'' I chuckled, getting off track.

''Y/N, I really don't want to be in the middle''

''Wait, you're not. It's not like you knew what he did'' She instantly frowned. My awkward smile fell a little, realising.

''Oh. You knew what he did, and you knew about the hot egg? His ex-girlfriend?'' I asked.

''Not till today'' She responded, frowning herself at her stupid cousin. I sighed in relief.

''But, I'm not totally surprised''

''Are you totally disgusted?'' I asked a little incredulously.

''A little, but he's EJ. He tends to do the wrong things for the right reasons''

''No, you cannot possibly defend him'' I began, growing slightly annoyed.

''No, I'm not. I'm not. Look, I know what he did sucks, but he loves you... and he's hurting right now and...'' Ashlyn tried reasoning, feeling a little silly for even backing up her cousin in the first place.

''Yeah, and what? What am I supposed to do with that?''

''Find some way to forgive him?'' As much as I hated to say it, she did have a point. But it was not going to be that easy, he did a lot of unforgivable things. Why does he deserve a second chance?

~*~*~*~*

My thoughts consumed me again once I got home. I went straight up to my room and stayed in there, even missed dinner because I wasn't feeling very well. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about everything, I wish I could turn my brain off and stop. The only thing that usually calmed me down wasn't here anymore.

I didn't even bother checking my phone once I heard it go off.

''Hey hot stuff'' I answered with a smile. My best friend laughed through the phone, sending a greeting back.

''Just checking to make sure you're okay'' She was honestly the best.

''Yeah, I'm fine'' I lied smoothly, walking over towards my bed.

''You sure?'' She asked in a disbelieving tone.

''Uh, yeah. It happened, it's over, life goes on. Plus, I just blocked EJ's number, so... Problem solved!'' Sometimes she was the only person who could see through the mask.

''You know it's okay to be sad, too, right?'' I bit my lip, not wanting to cry.

''Yeah, I know''

''Y/N, it's okay to be sad'' I looked up towards my window, smiling sadly.

''Yeah. Okay, thanks hun''

''Call me anytime, okay?'' A genuine smile now coated my lips.

''I will. You're the best. Mwah bye-bye'' I sing-songed at the end before hanging up the phone. I soon found myself frowning again, my thoughts immediately rushing back in. My body fell backwards, landing on the soft pile of cushions underneath. I let my eyes wander the star-covered ceiling, humming to myself. A few seconds later I sat back up again, reaching out towards the end of my bed for my electronic keyboard.

My fingertips were already dancing across the keys, a melody softly beginning to form. It wasn't hard to find the lyrics to how I was feeling, using my heart as the words and my hands as the melody, everything fell into place.

''I found a boy, told me I was a star... Held the door, held my hand in the dark... And he's perfect on paper, but he's lying to my face... Does he think that I'm the kinda girl that needs to be saved?...'' I stopped myself once I heard the upstairs bathroom door open and close loudly, a voice echoing.

''Thanks Carol!'' I recognised the voice. My hands stilled. I quickly hopped off of my bed and walked over towards my closed bedroom door, opening it to leave the room. I closed it behind me and made my way down the stairs.

''Uh... hey mum?'' My words formed more of a question once I saw her prepping the sofa with pillows and a blanket.

''Hi, there'' She smiled, looking up to face me.

''Whose are those?'' I asked, gesturing down towards the boy-style sneaks near the bottom of the stairs. They looked like-

''Peter's''

''Why are they here?'' Teeth were biting my bottom lip.

''Because the rest of him is in the bathroom changing into pajamas, or whatever else I gave him to wear''

''Mum'' A soft whine left my throat.

''Hold on, hold on. There's something going on at home. It has something to do with his Aunty... Her and Happy are back in town, engaged. I already called her to let them know he was spending the night here'' She finished.

''Spending the night?'' My eyes widen. We both hear the door open from upstairs, our heads turning for a moment.

''Mum, I can't deal with any more drama today. Please...'' I begged. My mum stepped forward.

''Sweetheart...''

''I have had the worst day ever'' The words tumbled out. I hadn't even wanted to tell them anything.

''Sweetie, I'm guessing not as bad as his'' I glanced down, biting my lip.

''Yeah'' Soft footsteps tracked down the stairs. I turned around once my mum glanced up behind me with a warm smile.

''Hey'' Peter greeted my, eyes a little wide. I scrunched my lips together and nodded back at him.

''Well, I gotta say, that looks better on you than it does on me'' Mum jokes, pointing towards the shirt he was wearing. Even I smiled a little.

''Uh, It's kinda comfy'' Peter responds, chuckling.

''Well, so are my birkenstocks, but let's draw the line here'' The both of them chuckle. My lips only pursed in response.

''Yeah. Well... sleep tight'' Mum said softly.

''Hey, thanks again for letting me stay. Thank you'' Peter stumbled over his words, a small blush on his cheeks due to slight embarrassment. Mum just shook her head.

''Anytime'' She said before walking up the stairs.

''I probably should've called you, and asked how you feel about me being here. I didn't...'' He began once mum was out of sight.

''It's okay. You wouldn't have reached me. I turned my phone off'' I stayed still, rocking slowly on my spot. My feet stopped once Peter walked past me, looking completely exhausted. He headed straight for the couch but stayed standing, his eye looking distant.

''So, what's going on at home?'' I asked cautiously.

''I don't...'' Peter stammered, turning around.

''Well, if things ever get really tense, you know you can always hang here'' I threw my hands to the side with a soft laugh, trying to ease him a little. He sat down, eyes still looking straight ahead.

''I'm really scared'' Peter smacked his lips.

''I'm really scared this time'' Peter knew that his Aunt and Happy were getting close, dating even. But he thought she'd never look into marriage ever again, not since Uncle Ben... He was even a little mad that she would consider it, marrying someone else. Her and Uncle Ben were perfect, they raised him perfectly and in a loving home. When he died, he watched his Aunt fall into depression, barely showing any emotions for at least a year afterwards. The funeral was the second hardest day of his life, the first being saying goodbye to his parents without even realising.

Uncle Ben was his entire support system, his role model in life. He grew into a father figure, someone irreplaceable. The thought of his Aunt May going through all of that again scared the hell out of him. Peter never felt like he was going to accept Happy into the family, the spot was already taken and he couldn't see why May would want to add another.

He couldn't see her lose another person she loved, a person Peter may even love himself one day. Losing three parental figures was enough for a lifetime.

''It feels different already'' And they weren't even married yet.

''Oh, But... I mean, that's all it is right? Different? Doesn't necessarily mean that it's bad'' I tried to soothe, walking over to sit next to him. He turns to face me, eyes and face slightly red and blotchy. He had been crying.

''It's really hard to talk about it, you know? N-not with you, but anyone else, it's like...'' He trails off, glancing at me then straight ahead again.

''Well, you can always talk to me about anything anytime, okay?'' My heart was breaking for him. I know how much it hurt him to lose Uncle Ben, I didn't know him at the time but he spoke about him a lot, especially when we first started dating.

''I know, things are kinda weird between us, but, um, we're friends, right?''

''Yep'' Peter nodded, his eyes still on me. It was hard not to get lost in them. Every second passing I could feel myself being pulled back in, the thumping in my chest growing and growing. A warmth had settled in my stomach.

''You know that'' My voice broke near the end, softening. My eyes fell to his lips before meeting his eyes again. A breath hitched in my throat, the softest gasp leaving my parted lips. My chest was growing warm, heart beginning to beat a little faster. I still couldn't look away. Not when he was looking at me with a soft expression, his own eyes darting towards my lips then my eyes.

''Uh, do you need a pillow?'' I bounced up, glancing behind me then back towards him, trying to shake the overwhelming feelings. Peter sniffled, snapping himself out of it as well.

''Or... yeah'' Peter had to force his eyes away from her lips.

''Or no. No that's great'' He failed miserably. The feelings he had been pushing down for months rushing to the surface, spilling over.

''Yeah, thank you'' He was stumbling over his words, growing nervous.

''Okay. No problem'' My words sounded stiff and awkward but I tried to smile anyway. We just stopped and stared at each other for a second, not knowing what to do.

''Good night, Peter'' I spoke up, breaking the silence first. Without thinking, I lent forwards and wrapped my arms around him. It was a huge mistake, and I immediately tried to lean away once I felt the rush of tingles and the warmth spreading around me, enveloping me like a blanket. His arms circled around me before I could move.

Peter's features softened again, thankful for the comfort he was so desperately seeking. I exhaled, letting myself lose a battle with my self control. I hugged him a little tighter, almost needing it for myself. It was uncanny, the way my body was still responding to his touch so easily, becoming putty in his hands. With my self control dwindling by the second, I needed to retreat soon before I ended up doing something I'd regret.

But he was so warm and inviting and... intoxicating. I couldn't get enough.

My brain soon switched back on, pulling my body away slowly. I could feel my heart beating loudly in my chest, ringing in my ears. My mind forced me to look down, my self control slowly coming back.

But I made the deadly mistake of looking up, meeting his chocolaty, brown eyes. I was already done for. Peter must have felt it too, looking down at me as if I was the most gorgeous and fragile thing he ever saw. He instinctively bought a hand up to cup my cheek, swooping down quickly to close the small gap between our parted lips.

My heart was wanting to burst out of my chest, warmth radiating from his soft lips to my own, trembling ones. He held my cheek still, his other hand still on my waist not letting me go. Peter could feel it too, his heart almost leaping out painfully. His emotions are terribly heightened by his spidey-senses.

My eyes drifted close on their own, my heart winning a losing battle for the tiniest of moments. Self control what?

I pulled away swiftly, my eyes quickly opening to gaze into his. The same aww expression mirroring my own.

''You can't do that'' The tone was a little hoarse, it was even breaking a little.

''I know... I'm sorry'' His hand was still cupping my face. I needed to remove myself from here before I pulled him back in for another swee-

''I'll grab you some more pillows, these ones are quite flat'' I lept away as if I was just burned, my eyes going glassy as I bounded up the stairs towards my bedroom. My hand shut the door so fast, my breathing becoming irregular and slightly strained.

A lone tear left my eye and fell down, another one soon followed, then another. Before I knew it I was crying, crying over how painfully fast my heart was beating. Crying over the tingling warmth still dancing across my lips. Crying over the boy just meters away who had somehow broken my heart all over again.

After 10 minutes I managed to calm myself down enough to stop crying, my heart going back to it's original rhythm. I gathered the pillows and slowly walked back down the stairs, leaving me bedroom door open.

The pillows, blanket and my mum's clothes were neatly folded on top of the lounge, Peter nowhere in sight. My eyes were tearing up again, a pillow falling from my grip.

Again, I returned to my bedroom, willing myself not to cry. The keyboard was still on my bed, my mouth humming the tune again as I sat down, playing as I let my heart sing the words.

youtube

''And there's one more boy, he's from my past... We fell in love but it didn't last... 'Cause the second I figured it out, he pushes me away... I won't fight for love if you won't meet me halfway... And I say that I'm through but this song is still for you... All I want is love that lasts.... Is all I want too much to ask?... Is it something wrong with me?... All I want is a good guy... Are my expectations far too high?... Try my best but what can I say?... All I have is myself at the end of the day... But shouldn't that be enough for me?......''

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Wowzie up to 4! Here was an action-packed part! There was angst and softness and sweetness and tenderness and- you get the point xx Heart and comment what you think lovelies xx And please let me know if you guys are liking this, if not I'll stop writing parts xo

#HSMTMTS #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland imagines #spider-man #spider-man imagine #donttellpeterparker

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ansheofthevalley · 4 years

Text

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said - Chapter 2 “The ‘Jon Situation’”

The party's time of death was 12:42 am.

Sansa and Margaery were sitting on the steps leading to the entrance of the house, bored and tired.

"So... why did you say that you didn't want Robb to see you like this?" Sansa ventured. Almost instantly, Margaery's cheeks flushed in a shade of pink oh so lovely. She knew that she would regret teasing her friend, especially when it was Jon, out of all people, who was coming to get them home safely. But she teases me endlessly, she thought. Now I can tease her.

"No reason" she muttered. She wouldn't meet her eyes. So unlike her confident (and normal) self. It only made Sansa smile. "I can't have him saying that I'm not a goddess 24/7. I got a reputation to look after" she elaborated, but her words didn't quite match her semblance. Sansa's smile morphed into a grin. Oh, she would have her time on the sun. Or on this case, the moon.

"You like him!" she gushed. Margaery tried to cut her off but it was of no use. "You do! You like him!". Sansa started laughing, a strange exhilaration taking over her. Gods, I am drunk.

"It's not my fault your hot brother dropped by the other day, all flushed and sweaty from running" her friend blurted. "I'm still a woman, Sansa. A human being".

"First off, ew" she started. Margaery threw her hands in the air as she mumbled something to herself in response. "Secondly, he dropped by? When?" she asked her. Their parents and younger siblings would be coming down to King's Landing to spend the holidays with them. Sansa knew her brother Bran wanted to check out Jaehaerys' Philosophy School. He still hasn't made his mind about which college to choose: King's Landing College or Oldtown University.

"He said it was about your parents. Apparently, they rented a house just outside the city" Margaery told her. "He wanted to let you know that you could bring a friend over if you wanted. Which is a godsdamn tragedy, since I'll in Pentos for the holidays" she pouted.

"And he couldn't tell me that over the phone?" Sansa wondered out loud. Her friend just shrugged and realisation hit her hard in the face.

Gods, he's pulling a Sporty Robb, Sansa thought, becoming exasperated in a second. Sporty Robb was the absolute worst. When she was a freshman in high school, Robb was the guy all the girls were mooning over. She had to endure the helpless sighs the girls would make each time they'd arrive, or leave, or just walked from classroom to classroom. Obviously, all that attention got into his head, in part thanks to one Theon Greyjoy, a new student from Pyke. Every time he would finish his rugby practice, he would go straight to where the cheerleaders were, trying to make idle conversation and flirt with a new girl each week. He would do that, every. single. week. And that's how Sporty Robb came to be.

She couldn't believe her 20-year-old-brother was behaving like a teenager again. She'll have to talk to him about Marge. She wouldn't let him ruin one of the few friendships she has in the South.

Though I hardly believe True Love is what Marge feels for him, she thought.

She spares her friend a look; she's resting against one of the marble columns, looking up at the sky, mesmerized by the stars.

Gods, we're both so drunk.

*******************************************************

"How long till your darling Jon comes? It's not like we're in up in the Vale" Margaery complained.

Your darling Jon

Sansa can feel her face redden. "He was sleeping when I called him" she said all too fast, her voice too high. "He lives near the Iron Gate and we're practically in Rosby". She hoped that her reasonable explanation would be enough for her friend to shut up. "Besides..." Don't do it, screams the voice in her head. Don't you dare do it. "He's not 'my darling Jon'".

And then, there's that look in Marge's face. That 'bitch-please-you-can-try-to-fool-yourself-all-you-want-but-you-won't-fool-me' look. I walked right into that one, she half thought, half chastised herself.

"Really?" her friends said, lifting a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "We're gonna do this again?"

"He's not 'my darling'" she basically shouted. Get a fucking grip, that same annoying, yet reasonable voice inside her head told her. "He isn't" she said, once she gained some semblance of composure.

"Then why is it that since your arrival" she started "you haven't been out in a single date, hm?" she was looking at her as if she were a police detective fishing for answers from a criminal.

Sansa would've laughed, if only she didn't have the impulse to scream at her in exasperation.

"Because not all of us think about dating all the time" she retorted.

"But you do think about Jon all the time" she pressed on. Gods, she was relentless.

"I do not think about him all the time" she said, outraged.

"Yes, you do" Margaery teased in a sing-song tone.

"No, I don't!" she denied, feeling her cheeks starting to redden once again.

"You do!"

"I don't"

"Yes, Sans, you d-"

"Would I have secured a date with one of the boys from the rugby team if I was thinking about Jon all the time?" she retorted, in hopes to make her shut up, but as soon as she said it, she regretted it.

"You naughty, naughty girl" she said, all too amused. "Dating one of your brother's teammates". Oh, she was delighted. "Does he have a name?"

"Dickon" she replied through gritted teeth.

"The Tarly boy?" she gasped, bringing her perfectly manicured hand to her chest. Sansa could only roll her eyes at her. "Girl, you got your she-wolf paws on a hottie. Let me tell you. One time, I went to the running tracks after our Political Theory class to meet Loras. I don't remember what for... but that's not the point. The point is that I arrived just after rugby practice had ended, and I saw your Dickon along with Robb, cooling off near the benches-"

She had to stop her. Or else she would be like this during the whole ride home and Sansa simply wouldn't survive that. It was too much. "We just agreed to go out someday, it's not like we're having a full-blown love affair" she interjected, grabbing her friend by the shoulders, begging her to stop her drunken rambling. But Marge could only flash her that beautiful smile of hers. That infuriating smile of hers.

Just as she finished talking, she heard a car pulling over. A black Camaro SS. And suddenly, she felt her whole body redden at what was going to happen. She didn't know what would happen exactly, but she knew nothing good would come out of this. Nothing good can happen in car ride with me, Jon and a drunk Margaery, she thought somberly.

"Jon, the Dark Knight, to the rescue" Margaery shrieked, full of glee, and stood up as soon as she saw him. Sansa didn't need a mirror to know she was as red as a Dornish Camellia. She chanced a glance of Jon; a beautiful shade of pink starting to cover his cheeks. He always looked so cute when he'd flush. She didn't notice she was staring, at least not until she saw him standing right before her.

Shit

"So, I guess you had a great night" he offered with that gorgeous half smile of his. The one that would make her heart skip a beat or two. She saw that half smile transform into a full-blown smile and Sansa could swear she felt weak in the knees. You. Are. Staring, the -apparently sober- voice in her head told her.

"'Twas alright" she said, trying to appear nonchalant. "It was pretty snobby, actually. Marge and I tried to save it, but it was of no use".

Margaery, upon hearing her name, snapped out of her own world to correct her. "More like I tried to save it. I danced my ass off trying to revive the party and what did you do" she complained. "You know what she did, Jon?" her friend asked him, her voice full of hurt and wearing the most endearing (and hilarious) version of her "little rose" face. "You know what she did?" Seven Hells. Drunk Margaery had even more of a flair for the dramatics than sober Margaery... and she was pretty dramatic while sober. "She ditched me" she finally said, voice and face equally hurt. "For a handsome, tall stranger. Can you believe?". The astonishment in her face and the whole clutching-my-pearls pose would've been hilarious to Sansa... if it weren't for the tiny fact that she was telling Jon fucking Snow she flirted with Dickon, as in Dickon, his and Robb's teammate. "She's even gonna go on a date with him" she whispered to him, giggling like a child, because of fucking course, Margaery was having a field day with this.

Jon turned to look at her, his cheeks turning pink again, and Sansa wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow her right there in that exact moment. She was about to say something when she heard Margaery's playful and oh-so-innocent voice. "So, it looks like you might have some competition now, Dragonknight" she added while walking towards Jon's car. Sansa could just feel the smirk in her friend's voice.

The Stranger take me.

*******************************************************

The one-hour ride from Harry's mansion to her and Margaery's flat was the longest hour in Sansa's life.

They spent the first fifteen minutes in silence: Margaery fast asleep in the backseat, Sansa staring out the window and Jon focused on the road.

With each minute, the silence grew stronger and stronger. It's was deafening and unbearable. She was desperately looking for something to say, but didn't trust herself in her drunken state. And in the trance Jon puts me in every time I'm close to him, her thoughts reminded her, proving her point.

She was starting to panic, when words left her mouth, without her permission. "Sorry about Marge" she tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. Jon spared her a quick look. His eyes looked almost black and so deep and beautiful... Fuck. "You know how she is when she's drunk" she explains with a laugh; a laugh that sounds too forced in her ears. The thing is, Jon doesn't know how Marge is when she's drunk because this is the first time that she has to be alone (and wide awake) with Jon while being drunk. At least last time, I was lucky enough to pass out, she thought, feeling resigned. Here's the thing about about first times: they were fucking terrifying.

Jon only hummed in response. His eyes never leave the road.

It only made look at him again. Carefully.

His hair was pushed back from his face, into a man-bun. A few unruly curls still found their way to his face. He looked like he just woke up, and seriously, it just isn't fair. It's not fair that he looks like that after just being woken up by his best friend's sister. He truly was The Warrior come alive. Aemon the Dragonknight reborn (if he had black hair and gray eyes). Looking at him, she wanted nothing more than to push those unruly raven curls back. She wanted to touch his face, let his beard tickle her palm. She wanted to stand so close to him so she could see the gray in his eyes. She wanted to be oh so close to him that she could breath him in, the scent that made Jon Jon.

It wasn't until he looks back at her with curious eyes that she realized that she was staring. Again.

Sansa tried to do her best to salvage the situation her thirsty, drunk self put her in. "You really are the best" she says. She could feel the flush creeping on her cheeks once again. Like a fucking schoolgirl, she thought.

Her words made him blush and that made her feel more lightheaded than the alcohol. "Stop it" he told her, trying (and failing) to hide his beautiful smile.

"You are" she insisted. "Here I am, miles away from campus, in the house of some rich asshole." Her description of Harry made him laugh. And in that moment, she realized she could get high on that sound. She could let it lift her up up up until she reached the clouds. "Drunk, with an even more drunk friend" she laughed, while sparing her dear friend a look; she was sleeping like a baby in the backseat. A beautiful, drunk baby. "And I call you in the middle of the night and you come to my rescue. Even though you have practice tomorrow". She couldn't help the softness in her voice as she told him all of this, because it really warms her heart that he would drive up to Rosby at 2 a.m. for her.

He just took a quick look at her, then at the road.

And then the most catastrophic thing happens. For her heart, at least.

He gave her an earth-shattering smile. The kind of smile that makes you weak in the knees and makes you wonder 'how dare he be so godsdamn beautiful?'.

Fuck

"You make me sound like a hero, Sans" he laughed. "Like one from the stories you love to read".

Seven fucking hells

He remembers. "Well, that's because you are" she said, trying to put an end to this conversation because at this rate, she would make it home as human goo.

Then, the strangest thing happened. He looked at her with such tenderness. His eyes were incredibly soft. His lips were a little bit parted. He looked like he was about to say something.

The sight made her heart go berserker in her chest.

But something shifted in his eyes. Made them hardened, even if it was just a little bit. But Sansa noticed. He half-smiled at her and returned his attention to the road ahead of him.

She rolled to her side, looking out of the window, paying attention to the trees and the stars; but soon closed her eyes. She wanted to remember every single detail of the look that Jon gave her.

Even though it most probably become all hazy in the morning.

(Continue reading on AO3)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #sansa x jon #actuallyjonsa #jonsa fam #jonsa fandom #got #asoiaf #holidays au #modern au #college au #jonsa au #my fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #enjoy some fluff just in time for the holidays #this is the fluff ball that that's been taking me almost a year to write #so pls read it

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katlyn1948 · 5 years

Text

An Unexpected Journey: Part 9

The mud was wet; not the kind of wet that melted snow leaves behind, but the kind that comes from a thunder storm. It was the perfect kind of wet mud for playing in. Arya had led little Lyra from her Lord Father’s chambers as quietly as she could, but once they got to the courtyard Lyra squealed with delight and jumped in a large puddle filled with muddied water. Arya couldn’t help but smile. The little lady had truly grabbed onto Arya’s heart and wasn’t letting go.

“Come! Come play with me, Arry!” Giggled Lyra as she jumped up and down; splashing mud everywhere as she landed on the ground.

“Watch out! Here I come!” Arya sprinted towards Lyra, picking her in her arms and swinging her around. She didn’t care if her clothes would become filthy, for they had seen worse than mud. All she cared for the moment was making this little lady the happiest little lady in all of Westeros.

Lyra giggled with pure glee. She was having the time of her life in something as simple as mud. What it is, to be a child again, thought Arya. It reminded her of her days in Winterfell. How she would outrun Bran and sneak to see her older brothers spar with wooden swords in the courtyard. Or how she would take whatever nasty thing she could find and stick it in Sansa’s bed. But perhaps her favorite memory were the ones when the snows had just melted and the grounds were all wet. She would purposefully drag her skirts behind her, getting them all covered in mud so she could see the look on her mother‘s face when she went for her sewing lessons.

Those were the memories she missed, not the terrifying ones that branded her mind forever.

“Arry?” Lyra brought Arya from thoughts. She was still in Arya’s arms, her little hands grasping around her neck.

“Yes, Lyra?”

“Can you take me to see the horsies?” Her eyes were pleading. How could Arya say no to that.

“Well, I don’t think the stables master is up yet, but I don’t see why not.” She smiled to the young girl.

With Lyra still in her arms, she made her way to the stables. It was muddier by stables; the constant beating of the horses hooves tend to make the ground looser, allowing more water to seep when it rained. It made the trek to the stables a little more difficult, making Arya lifting her legs higher to trudged through it. She was glad that she had decided to hold Lyra, for the little lady would have difficulty making it two steps.

Arya set the child down so she could push the stable doors to the side. They were heavy and required two arms to push them. But once they were open, she took a hold of Lyra’s hand and led her inside.

“Which one is yours?” She asked Lyra.

Lyra pointed to a young horse, it looked no older than a few years. “It’s that one.”

They made their way to the mare. She was a golden horse, with a long mane to match. Arya reached her hand and stroked the mare’s face.

“She is very pretty. Do you have a name for her?” She asked as she looked down at Lyra. She was siting on a near by hay bale, straws sticking all over her tiny body.

“I didn’t name her, but papa says that she is called Windbreaker.”

“That is a lovely name, isn’t sweet girl?” Arya asked the horse.

The mare was timid and shy, Arya could tell by the eyes. You could always tell by the eyes. She’d also been around enough horses to know how they could act.

The horse huffed and Arya saw a bin of apples by Lyra.

“Lyra, I think Windbreaker is hungry. Do you mind bringing an apple to me? And watch for her legs, don’t walk behind them. Go around.” Lyra nodded and grabbed an apple from he bin beside her. She followed Arya’s instructions and walked around the horse, rather than behind. She placed herself beside Arya, holding the apple fo r her to take.

“Why don’t you feed her.”

Lyra shook her head, hiding behind Arya. Much like she did when they first met. Arya kneeled down to meet Lyra at face level.

“Are you scared?” Arya asked her.

“She’s a bid horse. What if she bites me?” Lyra gripped the apple close to her chest. She was looking between the horse and Arya.

Arya looked at Lyra with loving eyes. She swept a piece of hair from her tiny face, pushing in behind her ear.

“There is nothing to be afraid of, little one. She will not hurt you, in fact, she is probably more scared of you than you are of her.”

Lyra still wasn’t moving and the apple in her hand began to get fingernail marks in the skin.

“Here, give me the apple and I’ll show you.” Arya held her hand out for Lyra to place the apple in the center of her palm. Lyra shakingly gave Arya the apple, still glancing at the horse to make sure it didn’t bite her.

Arya nudged the apple close to the horses snout and it gently grabbed the fruit with its teeth, leaving no bite marks on Arya’s hand. Lyra’s eyes were nearly bulging out her head. She couldn’t believe that the horse didn’t try to take Arya’s hand with it.

“You see? Nothing to be afraid of.”

The little lady’s mouth grew into a wide grin. She had never seen the horses being feed, so she was always so terrified that they might bite people. She had never once thought that they did not such thing.

She was about to ask Arya if she could try to feed the horse another apple when the morning bells began to ring.

“It seems as if we have run out of time, this morning, Lyra. The wake up bells have rung, and your Septa will be looking everywhere for you. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for the day.” Arya said as she went to pick up the child.

Lyra whined, but nodded. She was satisfied, for now, and would listen to her Septa, because the last time she listened to her Septa, Arya had played with her.

“Will we do it again, after my lessons with my Septa?” She asked her as they made their way out to the courtyard.

“I don’t know how your Septa would feel if you played in the mud two times in one day, but I can promise that we will do something fun. Perhaps even with your father?” Arya had suggested.

Lyra’s eyes glittered and she quickly nodded in agreement; a grin spreading across her face. She hadn’t spent time with her father in quite a bit and she would be looking forward to the encounter. Lyra liked Arya. She kind to her, much like Lady Rena had been. She had always wished that Lady Rena be her mother, but she knew that was impossible because Lady Rena already had a friend-boy. That’s what Septa Joanna had called Lord Archie; Lady Rena’s friend-boy. But Lady Arya didn’t have a friend-boy, so perhaps she could be her mother. Lyra liked the idea of that and decided that she would make her papa be Lady Arya’s friend-boy.

“Arry? Can my papa be your friend-boy?” She asked Arya.

Arya was confused, for she never heard the term ‘friend-boy’ before.

“Lyra, what is a friend-boy?” She genuinely asked the little girl.

Lyra didn’t have time to answer before she heard the huffs of her Septa.

“Lyra Cassandra Baratheon! Where have you been!? I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I thought you in your father’s chambers, but to my surprise you were not there! Only a snoring Lord!” Young Septa Joanna was fuming and Arya couldn’t help but chuckle at the outburst, for she had given her own Septa the same troubles.

“I apologize Septa Joanna. It is my fault. Little Lyra came looking for me, remembering the promise I made her to play in the mud.” She looked down at the child in her arms. “And I always keep my promises.”

“Well thanks the Gods that she decided to play in the mud before her morning bath.” Septa Joanna said as she took Lyra from Arya.

“By the looks of it, you’ll be needing a bath too, my Lady.” Septa looked Arya up and down; mud covering every inch of her, much like the little lady in her arms.

“I suppose you are right, Septa Joanna. If you could please tell on of the chambermaids to draw one, I’ll get cleaned up in time to break our fast.”

Septa Joanna curtsied, “Of course, I’ll have them draw it in your chambers.”

“Actually,” Arya stopped the Septa before she could leave, “If you could have them draw it in the lords chambers, that would be appreciated.”

The septa’s cheeks grew a bright crimson. She glanced at the little lady in her arms praying to the Gods that she did not ask her questions later. But Lyra was oblivious to the conversation unfolding before her, her mind preoccupied with the straws of hay in her hair.

“My lady, that would not be appropriate.” She tried to reason.

“And why not?” Arya questioned.

The Septa grew ever more uncomfortable. “You and the Lord are not married. It-it would be highly inappropriate of a woman of your stature to be in the presence of the lord in that nature.”

Arya gave a mischievous smile, “I can assure, Septa, that the lord has seen me as bare as I would have been on my nameday. Besides, he is my betrothed, it will not bother him in the slightest.”

Arya began to walk past the Septa and Lyra, her grin still planted on her face. The Septa was rendered speechless and just nodded her head as Arya passed by.

She shook her head, trying to erase the image that Lady Arya had engraved in her head. She turned on her heel and began to walk towards the castle, leaving the courtyard and mud behind.

“Septa?” Lyra asked her as they entered the castle.

“Yes sweetling?”

“What does ‘beholthered’ mean?”

Septa Joanna’s face paled, “Oh seven hells.”

******

“Where were you?” Gendry asked her as she entered their chambers. “Oh, never mind.”

He took one glance at her and knew exactly where she had been.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked as she began to pull her muddied clothes off. They had began to stick to her body, making her feel restricted.

“Well, the fact you are covered in mud and hay and probably horse shit,” Gendry gestured to the tub of steaming water, “And the chambermaids brought in that. Yeah it was pretty obvious.”

Arya chuckled as she entered the tub. The hot water felt nice on her aching body; her muscles sore from last nights activities.

“Are you going to be joining me? The tub is large enough for both of us.” She said, her tone seductive.

Gendry bent down beside the tub, pecking a quick kiss on her lips.

“I wish I could, but I have to deal with my liege lords before we break our fast. I have some tax numbers to go over with them from yesterday,” he gave her another peck, “and I have to let them know of my sudden betrothal to a certain she wolf.”

“About that,” Arya sunk deeper into the tub, avoiding Gendry’s eyes.

“Please tell me you are not regretting your decision?” Gendry grew worried.

Arya’s eyes grew wide. “No! Never! But,” a blush crept onto her face, “I may have inadvertently told young Septa Joanna of the things we did last night and that we are betrothed.”

“Seven hells, Arya! Septa Joanna is more loose lipped than the liege lord’s wives. The whole bloody castle might as well know!” Gendry huffed.

“And that’s a bad thing? I thought you were about to go and tell your liege lords right now!?” She reminded him.

Gendry rose from beside the tub and began to pace the floor. “At least I would have been able to ease the news to them. Especially that prick of man, Lord Swann.”

Arya grimaced at the name. She truly could not stand Lady Jeyne Swann, she could only wonder what her father was like. If he was anything like his daughter, than she truly had a problem on her hands.

Arya finished washing and exited the tub; the water filthy from her early morning ventures. She grabbed a near by dry linen and wrapped it around her body. Gendry hadn’t taken the time to observe her new scars that adorned her body. Hells, he hadn’t even been told about the ones that covered her abdomen. It was if each new scar was a story waiting to be told; stories that he knew she would tell him with time.

Arya crosses the room to where Gendry was pacing. She stopped him and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“You have to tell me about Lord Swann. I know some, from Lady Rena, but I need to know the details. All of it.”

Gendry returned her embrace and rested his head on her wet scalp. He let out a long sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“What did Lady Rena tell you?” He asked her.

She pulled from him and looked him in the eyes. “Just that he tried to stage a coup and basically forced his daughter on you to marry.”

“Aye, that is about it. Although I am having my suspicions that he may be trying to stage another coup. He suspects that Lyra isn’t truly mine. If he manages to convince the other liege lords that Lyra is not of my blood, I’m afraid that I may lose Storm’s End.” He says with a worried sigh.

“No one truly knows about Lyra. Only you and I, right?” Arya rings her hair of any remaining water as she speaks.

“Aye, and the Rednicks. I trust them, Arya. They were like me; came from nothing. They are loyal and good friends.”

“So Lady Rena knows? She didn’t tell me.” Arya observes.

“She wouldn’t have. I made them swear to take it to their grave.”

“No, that’s a good thing. It means she is truly loyal. I like that woman, Rena. Her and I get along great.” Arya says.

Gendry nodded, “I had hoped as much. She is so much like you, it scares me.”

Arya returns by Gendry’s side. She grabs his face into her hands.

“Listen to me, you stubborn bull. I will be by your side if anything, Gods forbid, like a coup were to happen. I will protect you and Lyra with my life. Gods help the men that try to hurt her.”

Arya was strangely protective of Lyra. She couldn’t imagining parting from that child, even if the Gods tried. If only her mother could see her now. Marrying a lord and becoming a mother; even if the child was not her blood, she already loved her as if she was. Lyra was her daughter and dared anyone to try to tell her otherwise.

Gendry leaned down to kiss Arya deeply. Gods I love this woman, he thought. He wasn’t sure if he even deserved her. She had changed, he will admit, but it was good change and he honestly couldn’t wait to see what journeys they would take in their future.

Arya pulled from the kiss. She adjusted her dry linen around her body and realized that she had nothing to wear. All of her belongings weren’t due to arrive until later in the day, and the only clothes she had were covered in mud.

“Uh, Gendry? I have nothing to wear.” She told him.

“Well all of my clothes will be huge on you. I mean I could-no it wouldn’t be proper, or right.” He said, thinking out loud.

Arya gave him a quizzical look, “What is it?”

“Well, I have something, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.” He told her truthfully.

“It cannot be that bad. Come on, show me.” She insisted.

He shrugs and gives her a look of warning, “As mi’lady commands.”

He walks over to his armoire and pulls out a garment. Arya can’t quite see what it is until he turns around to face.

Her eyes widen in terror, “No! I am not wearing that! There is no way that I will be ever getting in that.”

“Arya, it’s the only thing that I have that will fit you. And it’s only for a day.” He tells her honestly.

Arya grumbles and walks over to him. She stares at the garment and crinkles her nose in disgust. “This has to be bad luck.”

“I don’t know much of old superstitions, but at least it’s better than parading around the castle in your nameday suit.” He dangles the garment in front of her.

“Says you.” She grabs the garment from his hands and begins to put it on.

“Seven hells.” She huffed as she looked in the mirror.

Arya Stark was in a bloody dress. There was no way in all the hells there were that the liege lords of Storm’s End would take her seriously. She grabbed her belt that housed Cat’s Paw and Needle and secured it around her waist. The dress did fit Arya well, but it was it was still an uncomfortable feeling. She hadn’t been in a dress in who knows how long, it also didn’t help that it belonged to her betrothed’s dead wife.

Arya turned to face Gendry, a smile on his face that he was trying to conceal.

“If I so much as hear a laugh escape your lips, I promise the only thing you’ll be fucking is your self. Do you understand?”

Gendry composed his face and gave a bow, “As mi’lady commands.”

She frowned and turned on her heel, leaving the chambers and her laughing bull behind.

#gendrya #arya stark #got #gendry waters #jon snow #jonerys #daenerys targaryen #gotspoilers #arya x gendry #d&d

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sheikah · 5 years

Text

My thoughts on Friki’s 8.01 leak

Ok so first and foremost I just want to say that this information is received second and even thirdhand. I do not speak Spanish and did not watch Friki’s video. As it was playing @adecila was kind enough to translate for @muttpeeta who was kind enough to chat with me. My bff @dracarysqueen was also feeding me some info (thanks my love!) and I read a somewhat broken English and at times unclear translation here. It gives you a gist of the video and I’m grateful to u/hang_the_dj2 for making it. Edit: Here is @adecila‘s leak translation so that you guys can draw your own conclusions without my salt about these revelations haha. Her translation is the undisputed best and I didn’t see it prior to writing this post, though my response is still the same!

One of the first things I read about the leak was the bit about Gendry/Arya. Essentially Gendry makes a weapon to Arya’s specifications. He calls her “m’lady” purposely to fluster her. There is “sexual tension” between Arya and Gendry. HELLO??? I can’t fucking wait. This is going to take over as like the whole world’s GoT OTP lol calling it now <3

Arya apparently also reunites with the Hound. My takeaway from that bit of the translation is that Sandor mentions something about how Arya didn’t go through with killing him, and I guess he’s grateful for that now? That part was a bit unclear to me in the translation I read.

Arya also reunites with Jon (!!!!!) where they share a tender hug, compare weapons with one another, and generally have a sweet and positive interaction. Arya is wary of telling Jon that she’s a Faceless Man, and Jon asks Arya to try and talk Sansa into coming around re: Dany. It is obvious that Sansa dislikes or distrusts Dany and Jon is troubled by this and asks for Arya’s help. I’ve heard from one person that Jon also asks Arya to talk to Dany herself. I’m really pleased by the prospect of this because I knew that Arya would support Jon no matter what, and that that support would extend to Dany since they’re obviously in love.

Speaking of, Friki did make note of the fact that Jonerys is obvious to everyone else: Davos, Tyrion, Varys, etc. Sansa can see it too and asks Jon point blank if he bent the knee out of love or if he did it to save the North. Apparently Jon is extremely taken aback that she would ask this question. We aren’t told more about this moment but I’m guessing Jon is offended that she would ever think he would do something as serious as swearing fealty to Dany simply because of his romantic feelings, and not with the best interests of his home and family at heart. I’ll be interested to see how that conversation ends.

Also, I realize we all already knew this (and have been knowing this literally forever) but these revelations all completely disprove political!Jon. Yeah, it was already disproven by the scripts and basically everything else about canon but this is just another nail in the coffin. Jon having apparently private conversations with both Sansa and Arya about his love for Dany pretty much solidifies that he isn’t secretly playing her in the interest of Stark supremacy or independence.

That independence, though, is something that is still important to the Northern lords. Lyanna Mormont is outspoken in her disapproval of Dany as queen. She notes that they chose Jon as king, not Dany. Again, we knew this was coming, but I’m stricken again by how silly this is. It’s literally the end of the world. Can this discussion not wait?

Anyway, the Northern lords are not a fan of Dany and it is obvious. Apparently Dany attempts to ingratiate herself to Sansa. Something along the lines of her telling Sansa the North is beautiful. I guess this isn’t successful given the bit about Jon talking to Arya about how much Sansa dislikes Dany.

The Northern lords also tell Jon and Dany soon after their arrival at Winterfell that the Night King has turned Viserion into a wight and is riding him. Dany is distraught by this information and encourages Jon to ride Rhaegal already, in episode 1, BEFORE he finds out about being a Targaryen. They do this to try and get an edge over the Night King.

Jon does ride Rhaegal while Dany rides Drogon, it’s a great time, and they have a pretty passionate makeout session afterward lol. Friki specifically said this was a good episode for Jonerys scenes. I obviously love this bit of info and think it’s hot and exactly what I want for them both. Who wouldn’t get turned on by riding a dragon with Dany???? (also, lol at how accurate @muttpeeta‘s fic is!!!!) My only wish is that the dragon riding happened after the reveal. I just think it would be a more significant acceptance of his identity for Jon to reach this milestone after discovering he’s a Targaryen. At the same time, I like this because it shows how much Dany loves and trusts him already. Before learning he’s a Targ, before learning he has a claim to the IT, she is already willing to share everything with Jon--even her “children.”

Also at Winterfell, Dany and Jorah break the news to Sam about the death of Randyll and Dickon. This is the part I really don’t like, so I apologize in advance for the rant here. So Dany shares this information and Sam is unbothered by the death of his father. Good. We expected that. He is, however, perturbed by the death of Dickon. While he thanks Dany for sharing the information with him, he is upset and apparently leaves to seek out Bran for more insight. Bran stresses that it isn’t important and that Jon needs to know the truth of his parentage. So Sam leaves Bran and finds Jon in the crypts.

The first thing Sam shares with Jon, though, has nothing to do with Jon or his parentage. Sam finds Jon to tell him that Dany killed Randyll and Dickon. Jon, understandably, isn’t really phased. There are more important things to worry about, and Jon points out that not only do they need Dany, Dany is the queen. This is the moment when Sam drops the bomb. He tells Jon the truth of his parentage. Jon is shocked and denies it. Sam pushes further and tells him that Dany doesn’t have to be the queen because Jon is the king.

This is the part that really, really bothers me. A lot. I knew there would be friction about Jon’s parentage. I knew there would be friction about Jon’s claim to the Iron Throne. What I didn’t expect was for the Tarly deaths to be brought up again (literally they brought these unimportant characters back in s7 just to kill them, just to cast doubt on Dany’s decision-making by her male advisers) in the same breath as Jon’s parentage reveal. These things are not of equal importance. The world is literally ending and we’re supposed to be worried about Dany’s judgment again? And to say she “killed” Randyll and Dickon is silly anyway. Let’s not forget: Dany didn’t break into Horn Hill with a dagger and kill Sam’s unsuspecting family in their sleep. Sam’s family betrayed Olenna Tyrell, sacked the Reach, wiped out the entirety of House Tyrell leaving no survivors at Highgarden, and allowed their liege Lady to be murdered in cold blood by Jaime Lannister. Dany retaliated on behalf of her slain allies and even offered mercy to the Tarlys if ony they’d swear allegiance to her instead. They refused, and died for their crimes. Why is this still being discussed? I genuinely don’t understand.

By comparison, the Umbers and Karstarks betrayed their liege and were killed, but that act was seen as so egregious that Sansa suggested (and was supported in this suggestion by many Northerners) that even the descendants of the traitors be rooted out of their homes in retaliation for treachery. So why is Dany’s righteous vengeance on traitors still an issue? Why?

The episode apparently ends with Sam telling Jon that he is the heir. Again, I understand that. Westeros is built on male-preference primogeniture. Jon’s claim could trump Dany’s (for multiple reasons) and Sam and others would see that and likely push Jon to see it. The natural extension of that argument would be to suggest that Jon and Dany marry and unite their claims. Instead, Sam is possibly (again, we just had one brief video and multiple translations and interpretations of this video. I’m not sure exactly what Sam said) encouraging Jon to press his claim as king because 1. he has a potentially better claim and 2. because Sam might not believe Dany is an ideal queen due to the Tarly execution after the loot train battle.

I just hate this. I find it massively OOC for Sam to use the huge moment of Jon’s parentage reveal to air his grievances about something Dany did. I find it massively OOC for Sam to be so concerned about Dickon in the first place, especially now. We have not been shown a positive Sam/Dickon relationship in canon, and Dickon was aware of Randyll’s abuse of Sam--he witnessed it firsthand--and did nothing to protect Sam or stand up to his father. On the contrary, Dickon loved and looked up to the brutal Randyll enough to willingly die at his side. This was not a man who was overly concerned about Sam, or vice versa. But now, suddenly, Sam loves his little brother enough to complain to Jon about Dickon’s death in a way that disparages Dany? Additionally, Sam is one of the few people at Winterfell who knows exactly how big of a threat the Night King and the White Walkers are, and we’re supposed to believe his main concern right now is what happened to Dickon? We’re also supposed to believe that Sam, Jon’s best friend, would think he could talk Jon into being king of the 7K, despite Jon’s multiple explicit statements about how much he abhors ruling?

So we’re going to have a delightful week between episodes 1 and 2 during which the antis compose dissertation-length dark!Dany meta like crazy. We have to suffer under what I consider to be a very poorly manufactured conflict that was written just for petty drama. I literally spent the day today at a conference on Women’s Leadership and one of the key topics discussed was how women with true power are seen as threatening and have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously. Glad to see Game of Thrones doing literally nothing to challenge that idea where Dany is concerned.

Moving on.

We also apparently learn that Theon saves Yara early on, early enough to be back at Winterfell in time for the Battle of Winterfell. I’m thrilled as a shameless Yara fangirl :)

In King’s Landing Cersei receives word of the Night King and wight!Viserion. She also sees that the Golden Company arrives but not with the force she expected. Apparently they were supposed to have elephants, and they don’t? She’s angry about this, but still sleeps with Euron as payment for delivering her army. I also read somewhere that back at Winterfell, Tyrion is aware that Cersei has commissioned the GC and that she plans to use them against the North instead of as aid against the Night King. This is interesting considering Friki’s other leak involving some treachery by Tyrion later in the season.

Overall, the episode sounds compelling at least and I’m excited about Gendrya, a Jon/Arya reunion, Jonerys getting horny from riding dragons together lol, and Yara living. But Sansa still being a constant voice of opposition for Jon, and the petty Jon/Dany/Sam conflict is really unsettling to me and I’ve very tired of hearing about Randyll and Dickon Tarly.

#got spoilers #friki leaks #ep1 spoilers

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carbonitekisses · 5 years

Text

V: A Day of Tears and Scorpions

In which Arya reunites with a Flea Bottom bastard, Jon gives an answer, and Gilly comforts Sam. Read on AO3.

“Was it duty to the North or love for her that made you bend the knee?"

In spite of all the flames dancing around them the warmth seeps out of the room the longer it takes for him to answer. The question came out laced with a bitterness she does not want to examine or prod. Instead she focuses on Jon. How he avoids looking at her, preferring to drop his stare to the floor. How his head dips from left to right, once. The way he blinks and licks his lips, looks up at her and opens his mouth only to purse his lips together without uttering a single word. She follows the movement of his throat as he swallows his answer.

Petyr's voice brushes mockingly against her ear, "So the rumors were true; the dragon queen is quite beautiful," he says. "Beautiful enough to tempt even your honorable, Jon Snow. You've seen how she looks at him. Heard how she allowed him to ride a dragon. You know the answer." Before he leaves he whispers, "A better question would be why it bothers you the way it does. I thought I taught you better than this, Sansa."

If he gave up his crown along with his heart... She's done waiting for an answer that will never come. She doesn't need to hear it. Not anymore. She knows the Army of the Dead is upon them. She understands the threat is real—she's been preparing the North and its people for it ever since Jon told her. She trusted his word, she trusted him, without asking for proof or anything else in return. What more does he want from her?

"It's alright. Don't answer." She gives him as small a smile as she can muster. It's brittle and cracks her lips. "I've found I've grown used to your silence."

She steps away from him and turns on her heel. Tears are not long in coming. I've really gone mad, haven't I? The idea of crying in front of him horrifies her. He bent the knee. What should it matter— She snatches a pair of gloves from a table. It's cold outside and she has to find her sister. —if he did it out of duty or love for her?

"Sansa, I—" he sighs but she refuses to turn around. "I know it isn't easy but I ask you to trust in me one more time."

Her hands pull the gloves on. She looks up to the ceiling but a treacherous tear still manages to fall, and runs down her right cheek. She makes no move to rub it away. She can't speak. With her back to him she gives him a single sharp nod. The door cannot open fast enough. Once she's outside with the thick wooden door between them she finally heaves in the air she's been lacking for the lesser part of an hour. Two—three more tears escape. Sansa swipes them away with cold leather gloves.

Hastily, she pushes herself away from the door. Brienne doesn't seem to have moved from her post at the end of the corridor. If she notices anything amiss she doesn't mention it and only asks her if she is to remain at her post.

"No, there's no need. Come, Lady Brienne," she nods and follows Sansa out. "I have a sister to find. And you have Podrick to train, don't you?"

Those familiar with her don't bother to bow or curtsy. They only give her a respectful nod with a quick "My lady" or "Lady Arya" tacked on. It's the others, those from the North's varying houses that continue to trickle into Winterfell, that don't fit into the environment she has carefully curated around herself. She is grateful to Sansa for the clothes she made and the pieces she ordered where her skill lacked. Sansa didn't force dresses and corsets onto her. No, they understand each other better since the days of summer. Her sister gave her garments she could move and fight in. A cloak that would allow easy access to her growing arsenal. Still, the choice furs, neat stitching, and cleanly boiled leather clearly identified her as a lady of status. The Lady of Winterfell's younger sister. Arya stood out among the haggard and worn people of the North.

Arya had considered her options a hundred times over. There were so many faces she could use. An old man with wiry brown hair. An even older man with no hair at all. The young woman with golden locks and a delicateness she couldn't help but envy. It's easier to hide behind those faces, she thinks as a pregnant woman struggles to curtsy, Perhaps this was a mistake.

She presses herself against a wagon being unloaded of dragonglass. Sansa is walking with Brienne towards the keep, likely heading to her rooms. Arya wonders what will come out of her sister's conversation with Jon. Their dynamic is strange. It is obvious to her that they were avoiding each other. What she doesn't understand is why. She'll get answers soon enough. The pack can't afford any stupid animosity. Arya will protect her family at any cost.

When the tip of Oathkeeper disappears into the shadows of the keep, Arya falls in step behind a man carting dragonglass into the forge. A blacksmith pours molten dragonglass and steam billows out into the cold. She uses its cover to her advantage. The usual forgery sounds mask her steps easily enough.

"What is a Flea Bottom boy doing this far North?"

The hammer stops a hairswidth above the red-hot dragonglass. "There's plenty of work here. The wages aren't better, though."

"I don't think you're being paid at all."

Gendry looks over his shoulder and his body twists around to follow his head. The memory she had of him sighs in relief at being refilled and renewed. His hair has been cut. There are little scars on his hands. He's taller than tall, now. The muscles are still there but even those have changed. They're thicker and more defined. It's obvious he is taking her in, too. If she weren't a craven she would ask him what he thinks of her now. It's too late to pretend to be Anise. Or anyone else.

"'Arry. I mean—" He cleans his hands on the soot-covered breeches and bends at the waist. "—my lady."

When he rises she can see the humor in his slightly raised eyebrow. It thrills her to fall so easily into this...whatever this is.

"I told you, I'm no lady."

"Yes, you’ve told me once or twice. I think you’ll just have to keep reminding me."

Arya thumbs Needle's pommel as she steps forward to examine the weapon Gendry had been working on. "You arrived with Jon and the dragon queen." It's cooled down, but still bright red. "How?"

Gendry frowns slightly and crosses his arms. The long-sleeved tunic is rolled up due to the heat of the fires. His voice lowers, "King's Landing wasn't—it wasn't ever safe for me. Not with Cersei being Queen. When Ser Davos came to get me I had nothing to tie me there." Speaking with more volume he says, "And when he said we were to join your brother, Jon, well—I knew there was a reason for everything."

There's more to unravel here. What does the queen have to do with Gendry's safety? As if I didn't have enough reasons to strike her off my list.

"What do you mean a reason for everything?"

He smirks and tells her to follow him. "Do you remember what lord Bran said? About the Night King's dragon?"

Arya nods. How could she not?

"I have lost one of my greatest treasures to save your former king." Daenerys cannot hide her indignation at the barely concealed hatred coming from the North. "Beyond the Wall, I sacrificed one of my dragons so Jon Snow could live."

She lost a dragon. That explains why only two have flown above Winterfell. Arya watches as Bran's hands tighten around the armrests of his wheelchair. What could Bran have to say?

"You are wrong," Bran's words seem to cut the room in the air by half. "He is not lost."

The Targaryen woman stiffens and Arya can see how reluctant her muscles are to move to face Bran. "Lord Stark, you do not know—"

"I do know. I know Viserion was named after a brother you lost to a golden crown." Daenerys' mouth parts in fearful surprise as Bran continues to speak. "I know that same dragon has now been resurrected by the Night King."

Arya knows she will never forgot this moment in time. Wide eyes, flared nostrils, hair standing on end. Face after face after face and the only thing she sees is fear. A dragon. They lost a dragon to the Night King. They...how will we... On her own skin she feels each pore prick into gooseflesh.

"When I was in King's Landing I took up work again in the Street of Steel," he tells her, "One day my master and I, along with other blacksmiths, and artillery workers, were summoned by Cersei Lannister's Hand. He commissioned—well, why don't I just show you?"

"It took us more than a moon's time to perfect the design. We didn't really know what it was for, only that the queen would pay handsomely if she liked the results. And then rumors started to spread of a Targaryen with dragons. I've had no education but even I could guess what the weapon we built was for." Gendry pulls back a dirtied tarp to reveal what Arya can only describe as a giant crossbow. "And she payed very well. I'm assuming it worked well enough."

Arya crouches down to examine it. There's metal wires strong enough to pull back the giant bow. The wood is under great tension but retains its shape and form. A lever to release a giant spear-like arrow...It's a weapon made beautiful by the danger it possess.

"Obviously it's not the same one we built for Queen Cersei. Not as ornate or grand. The other men and I have been working without sleep to finish it." He sounds rightly proud of the product of his labor. "Scorpion, I believe the Hand called it. Not that great of a name if you ask me."

She stands and offers him a real smile, one she very rarely has use for these days. "It's...This changes everything, Gendry."

A man by the name of Carwyl catches her attention and nods towards the back. Arya spins around and sees Sansa standing at the entrance with her gloved hands clasped in front of her.

Something's wrong.

Gilly doesn't know what to do. She knows her Sam better than anyone. He's no craven. He's the bravest man she's ever met. She feels useless as she holds Sam as closely as she can. She's as unaware as Little Sam of what's caused her love this much pain.

"Sam," she says with panic, "Sam, what's wrong?"

His sobs continue to wreck through him and Gilly feels scared. Truly scared. She's never seen him cry like this. Not even because of his terrible father. It must be something truly wretched to make him shake this way.

"I—oh, Gilly."

She hushes him gently and brings him with her to the feather mattress. He follows and kneels before her, laying his head on her lap. They stay like this for awhile. Gilly does the only thing she can and waits for him to tell her what has him so heartbroken so early in the day. It's not even midday!

Sam finally seems to calm down, sighing when she slips her fingers through his hair.

"She killed them, Gilly." He turns his head to the side so he can look up at her as he says, "Killed them because they wouldn't bend the knee."

Gilly doesn't know who he's talking about. She sometimes gets frustrated with Sam. He says things and expects her to know everything when she has no idea what he's talking about. He's gotten better, though. That's why she loves him. He always tries for her and Little Sam. "Who was killed, Sam?"

He pushes himself up, and sits beside her on the bed. She offers him her hand and he takes it gratefully. "My father and brother." Gilly gasps, she can't help it. "Daenerys Targaryen killed them. She didn't even apologize. What will become of my sister and mother? I need to write to them—What will—I—oh, Gilly."

Gilly hugs him to her side when he starts crying again. His father was a terrible man but the rest of his family had been so kind and welcoming. Sam says the dragon queen killed them because they didn't bend the knee. Gilly's a Wildling, a Free Folk. She looks over Sam's head towards Little Sam playing with wooden figurines on the floor. She thinks of the other Free Folk encamped around Winterfell, mostly women and children not unlike her and Little Sam. What if they didn't kneel? Would the dragon queen kill them, too? If she didn't care about killing lords like Sam's father and brother, why would she care about people like her?

"What about Jon? The dragon queen is his aunt. Can't he do anything? Have you told him, Sam?"

"No. But I will." Sam kisses her on the cheek and stands. "I must."

#gendrya #jonsa #sam x gilly #unreliable narrator #jonsa fic #gendrya fic #jonsaff #anti-jonerys #a day of tears and scorpions #players & pieces

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beepfuckingbeeprichie · 5 years

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GoT ending Hot Take

I’ve been putting this off. Watching it was giving me real anxiety so today I decided to rip the band aid off. I let myself be thoroughly spoiled. And here’s what I have to say

This is a blanket kinda thing, a point that applies to all the others but would be redundant to repeat:

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THEFUCK WHATTHE FUCK WHATTHEFUCK WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHA

So yeah, keep in mind that that is true for everything and there’s not a part I’m happy with. Anyways:

The Mountain is basically dead. He is a walking zombie. The Hound’s story arc should’ve been growing past the need for revenge, and how does he die? While getting revenge.

Daenerys burning down King’s Landing just. It doesn’t fit her character. And furthermore, I don’t appreciate the implications that “madness” is hereditary. Up until this point, she’s done nothing but be her warlord self, burning people and shit, but for the greater good.

“She’s my queen,” he says. “Shes my queen,” Jon tells everyone. And this motherfucker. For some goddamn reason. After defending her to Tyrion. Goes and stabs her. I want a refund.

I DO NOT CARE IF HE HAS TARGARYEN BLOOD, HE SHOULD HAVE BURNED NOT THE FUCKING IRON THRONE

No but seriously, what is this sudden shift around Dany’s character. I’ve said before that I don’t think she’s fit to be a queen (because all she’s known is strife and conquering) but goddamnit. Everyone suddenly turns against her. Why? Plot convenience.

“Well they foreshadowed this-“ yeah they also foreshadowed a pregnancy we never got

Bran as king. Bran. As. King.

There is possibly no one less suited to being king than Bran. After he became the three eyed raven (something I still haven’t gotten a fully satisfying explanation on) he only understood emotions. He did not feel them. Calm and calculating is GREAT! For an advisor. Rulers need compassion.

“He does have feelings!” He sees the man who pushed him out the window and crippled him and is just like, mildly miffed, if that, because he forgave him. He forgave the man who paralyzed him. Uh huh.

Get the fuck outta my face with the fucking nazi parallels when Dany speaks to the unsullied

Wow. Jamie really went back to his sister. Him and Our Lady of Perpetual Badassery were endgame. Bitch.

Stop giving people pregnancies or foreshadowing their pregnancies if no baby is going to come. In fact, Cersei being pregnant added NOTHING to the story

Sansa as queen of the north is good, it’s fine, she should be on the iron throne but whatever

You killed another dragon. Okay. I’m calm.

What exactly is Jon being punished for? I’m not clear.

Anyway Greyworm should’ve been chasing his ass down but instead they sail away. Yeah, makes sense.

No but seriously. Everything is so out of left field

Now this one is petty but what the hell was the makeup department doing on Dany, lately she’s been lookin like when you’ve got your foundation and your eyebrows on but there’s no contour, no highlight, no blush. God they did her so dirty

So yeah I’m mad and this is late but whatever.

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thechelby · 5 years

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In Defense of Jaime Lannister

Okay, I would like to preface this by saying I’m not happy with Jaime’s actions these last 2 episodes, in fact I hate it. I hate what he was doing. I hate that he hurt Brienne, it’s wounded my soul. That being said, I don’t think his character arc was assassinated. I think at the root here is the issue that the audience has been under the impression that his arc is redemption based, and it’s not. But let’s back up a second and break it down. The love of his life. Jaime has loved Cersei for over 40 years, and I feel like people are kind of ignoring that fact. Their love was gross, and abusive on both sides, but that didn’t stop them from loving each other (or if you wanna go with what D&D said, “addicted”, but more on that later). Tyrion said it this season, “She never fooled you. You always knew exactly who she was and you loved her anyway.” A large part of Jaime’s identity is in direct relation to Cersei. He struggles with himself when he’s away from her. Any decision we’ve seen Jaime make (for himself, not necessarily others), it was always connected to Cersei. As much as I hate Cersei, and believe me I fuckin hate her, she is absolutely without a doubt the love of Jaime’s life. I just want to reiterate... FORTY YEARS. That is simply not something a person gets over over the course of a few months, I’m sorry but it’s not. Now I hear what you’re saying here. He left her, he abandoned her and her crazy in King’s Landing to go north. Jaime came to his senses, and then lost all of them again. As much as Jaime is the stupidest Lannister, he’s not actually stupid, it’s just that there are a lot of intelligent Lannisters, and the bar is pretty high. Jaime knew what the wight Jon brought to King’s Landing meant. He knew that literal death was coming, and as he pointed out to Cersei not helping was a no win game. Either the dead win, march south, and kill them all, or the north wins and kills them instead. Jaime was doing the right thing, but as happens often he did it for pragmatic reasons not morality. Jaime told the northern council that he promised to fight for the living and that he intended to keep that promise, which is technically true. But also consider that he wasn’t going to mention to Sansa, Jon, Dany, and the rest of the northern folk that the living for him very much includes Cersei and their unborn child. Even during his trial, when Sansa brought up Jaime’s cruel past, Jaime came back with “What I did, I did for my family. I’d do it all again.” He is fighting for them, “nothing else matters.” He recognizes that he’s done terrible things, and while not exactly proud of them, he doesn’t regret them either. He fought for his family, and was still fighting for them. The knight of his life. Poor Brienne. I love the fuck outta that big woman. And I do want to note here, that Jaime did/does love Brienne. It’s true. Keep in mind though that in a weird way they are almost foils of each other. Brienne was a knight in every way except in name (until this season of course). Loyalty, bravery, honor, doing that which is “good”, Brienne was always the absolute epitome of what a knight should be. Jaime Lannister has been self serving, cruel to those who stand in his way, and arrogant. He was a knight by title, but his moral code differs from what we think of when we think of knights and comes a bit closer to being a kind of thug (for lack of a better word). Brienne represented the knight Jaime could have been had he made more consistently honorable choices. Loving Brienne, in a way, was Jaime loving who he never became. More than Jaime loved Brienne, he respected the fuck out of her. She made him want to be a better person. Made him want to be a true knight. Made him want to be like her. But she couldn’t fix him. She couldn’t fix him, because in the end Jaime didn’t think he deserved to be fixed. What we deserve. Jaime saved a million lives the day he killed King Aerys. And for the 20 years following, people looked down on him for it. Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Dishonor. Ned and Catelyn’s smug faces, everyone in the kingdom’s harsh words. And for what? Saving a million fucking lives. Jaime thinks it’s impossible to truly live honorably at this point. The first time Jaime met Brienne he was talking to Catelyn, “Defend the king, obey the king, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak. But what if your father despises the king? What if the King massacres the innocent? It’s too much.” Jaime’s noblest deed was the one that marked him for derision. We later learn from Jaime when he’s speaking to Brienne in that hot ass bath tub that snide remarks over the past 2 decades have really had an impact on Jaime. He resents what the people of Westeros say about him, and not just that but he’s deeply hurt by it. And at a certain point, he clearly began playing into what people had said about him. If you keep calling someone a monster, they’re sure to become one. Would not-a-monster shove a child out a window? Would they kill their own family? Would they threaten to literally punt a baby over castle walls, and then immediately follow it up with and oh yeah also I’ll kill everyone else? It was never a redemption arc. What I’ve heard a lot of people saying is that Jaime’s character arc was destroyed when he left Brienne to return to Cersei. The flaw with this is presuming that Jaime had a redemption arc. Jaime wanted redemption, but what does that mean? What act could he do to make up for what he did to Bran? To countless people over the years he’s killed or shit on? Does he have any banked karma for saving a million people? Did he redeem himself when he saved Brienne from being raped? Because honestly, I think if someone had told Jaime Lannister what the price was for saving her, then he wouldn’t’ve saved her. What about when he knighted her? A beautiful act for someone he cares about for sure, but it didn’t take any kind of sacrifice for him to do it. Jaime’s story isn’t a redemption arc. It’s a cautionary tale. Jaime isn’t Boromir from Lord of the Rings. He doesn’t start off shitty and sacrifice himself for the greater good and redeem himself. He’s Gollum. He’s someone consumed by a toxic obsessive love. Like Gollum and his precious, Jaime’s absolutely addicted to Cersei. Also like Gollum, he tries, and at times he even tries very hard to overcome that addiction and become a better person. And those efforts should be commended in his character. However, much like Gollum dying with his precious Jaime is crushed by the literal weight of the problems their love caused. Their love is part of why Jon Arryn died, their love is why Bran can’t walk, their love is why Ned Stark died, indirectly why Robb Stark and Catelyn died. Anyone who died in the War of the Five Kings died for Jaime and Cersei’s addiction to each other. Jaime doesn’t represent redemption. Jaime represents the idea that the struggle without is the struggle within. As much as evil can never be defeated in its entirety in the world, you may also not ever be able to completely defeat it in yourself. Like Gollum quite literally arguing and fighting with himself in LotR, Jaime often struggled with himself and was never able to overcome his addiction to Cersei. That’s the nature of addiction and recovery, from the outside it’s very easy to say just don’t do it you stupid gold handed fuck, she’s so obviously evil, what are you even doing? But if you ever met someone addicted to heroin, or an evil magic ring for 40 years, you’d probably know that chances are low they’ll come out clean on the other side.

#game of thrones #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #cersei lannister

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