#I don’t know… being pretentious is so ew. I then sat and listened to two hours of ‘what I would do if I met the queen of england’ like what

[whalesfall]

thinking Weirdly about that time an ex friend was telling me about how she shittalked me with one of HER ex friends about how I was pretentious and how like, deeply alien to me that was. like I refuse to talk down to people (or try very hard not to) and I have difficulty Distilling shit into shorter sentences because I hate reducing ideas or not being totally clear, which isn’t for everyone but. pretentious?

[luvspence]

prom night

synopsis: you and spence both never got your own prom, maybe this makes up for it

{a/n: i’m projecting a little bit bc i missed my prom, but i hope this isn’t too cheesy}

——-

the east coast was your home

born and raised in dc, school in new york, work in virginia

you wouldn’t have it any different

except for the fact that you lived less than 20 mins outside your childhood home

you loved being able to be close to your family, but it had its downsides

“y/n can you pick up your brother

y/n can you run to the store for me

y/n can you pick up my dry cleaning”

and it was like you were in high school all over again

on one occasion you were at home with your mom and your baby sister, delaney, she was 17, so not much of a baby anymore

“so what’s the hot gos” you said taking a bite out of your gronola bar and looking your sister down

“ew”

“dont ‘ew’ me”

“well i got asked to the prom yesterday”

your mom nearly dropped her pan

“NO WAY”

“yes way, is it so hard to believe that someone would like me? i’m not y/n for crying out loud”

you gave her a light punch on the arm

“NOT FUNNY”

she wasn’t far from wrong though, you were the classic “nerd”

15 years ago when you were in her place, at the exact same high school, you were never asked to prom, you were too busy in math olympiad or physics club to ever want to attend prom

but that was 15 years ago, now you lost the braces and the acne, got 2 degrees, and had a very lovely boyfriend of your own

“it is though, you’re lucky you found spencer, two dorks made for each other” she said taking a sip of her water

“you’re such a bitch”

15 year age gap aside, you were still very much, sisters

“y/n, do you mind chaperoning? that way we don’t have to pay for a ticket” your mom asked

your sister blurted out “oh my god NO”

you were laughing so hard, usually this is the kind of thing you’d pass on, but it torturing your sister was so so so worth it

“okay i’m game, see you prom night”

——

“spencerrrrrrr” you trailed on as you sat next to spencer on the couch, staring deep into his hazel eyes

“yes my love?”

“do you love meeeeeeee???”

spencer rolled his eyes, he knew this is how you asked him for a favors

“to the moon and back, why??????”

“okay look, my baby sister, delaney, is going to the prom and i’m chaperoning her, and she called me and you dorks so we have to get back at her by embarrassing the hell out of her at her prom”

spencer laughed

“you’re no better than a petty 17 year old”

you rolled your eyes “so can we?”

he looked at you, than his eyes trailed from the calendar to his watch to you again

“of course”

“yes!” you gave him a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek

“i love you so bad spencer reid!” you said as you ran around the apartment

“even more!” he replied

—

“incoming call from spencer reid”

“hey y/n?”

“yes love?”

“what color dress are you wearing tonight?”

“green, why?”

“no reason...”

he said before he hung up

you laughed to yourself “what a dork”

you continued to brush the mascara on your eyes, getting ready for your very first prom night

you came running down the stairs in a dark green ankle length dress, while spencer waited to pick you up

he was wearing a suit with a matching bow tie to your dress

“that’s why you asked the color! you look dashing by the by”

you said as you leaned over and gave him a cheek staining kiss

“and this” he said as he handed you a beautiful green corsage arrangement

“spencer! for me? this is gorgeous”

you said as you slipped it onto your wrist

“yeah, penelope knows a guy”

“of course she does, and thank you! i can’t believe you’d go through all of this for me on fake prom” you said as he started driving toward your parents house

“hey this prom is not fake at all to me, i’ve never been to prom before”

you shrugged “me neither, i always thought it was dumb anyway”

“this is sort of embarrassing” spencer said scratching his head

“come on spencer it’s just me”

“okay, you know i went to highschool very young, i hadn’t even gone through puberty. i was the smallest guy in the class and that wasn’t purely based on my age. i was scrawny. but i had this grand idea of going to prom with the most beautiful girl. and i’d be all tal and handsome at that point, and i’d walk into that dance and stick it to all my bullies”

“that not embarrassing! i wish i wanted to go to prom like that. i guess i was too pretentious to go, i was an all star intellectual, there was no way i’d show my face at an event like prom”

“yeah, so i guess we both get do overs. and i get to live my prom dream. now i’m tall, and i have a beatiful girl by my side” he said as he smiled at you

“have i ever told you i love you?”

“not enough” he smiled as he pulled into your parents drive way

you got out of your car to wait inside with your sister for her date to arrive

eventually a tall girl with a equally as beautiful corsage in her hand ended up nervously swaying on the front door and she rang the door bell

spencer answered

“hi!”

“h-hi, mr. y/l/n” she said in a nevrous tone

spencer laughed out loud and you went to intervene

“oh my yeah he’s just my boyfriend, hi i’m delaney’s older sister y/n. no need to be nervous, there’s no dad around here. just a lot of siblings, my mom and my boyfriend!” you said as you welcomed her into the house

delaney went to take the corsage from her date, melanie

your mom lined you spencer and your sister and melanie up for what felt like 800 pictures before you finally decided to get into spencers car to the dance

in the car you turned around to the girls

“sooooo, how’d y’all meet”

delaney burried her head into her knees in embarrassment while her date explained

“well she was in my physics class, and it all went from there”

“physics!!! i love physics, is mr. scott still there?”

“yup he’s our teacher”

“sick” you said to yourself, reminiscing about your days in high school

eventually you pulled into your highschool parking lot, hooking arms with spencer as you walked toward then gym

“god does this bring me back”

you said to him

your sister whispered to her date “god she’s so old”

“HEY DELANY I HEARD THAT”

she gave you the stink eye and whispered in your ear

“please get as far away from me as possible”

all you did was nod as you watched the two of them skip into their dance

you looked up at spencer

“god you’re so cute, i wish i had you here in high school”

“i’m sure you had your boys”

“from the physics club? right”

you walked into the fully decorated gym, wandering around from the punch bowl to the photo booth, you and spencer watching the floor of kids dance to their hearts content

“i think i know why i skipped this in highschool”

spencer laughed

“ i would have killed to be in this very position when i was in high school”

you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes

“killed to be in prom in the first place or to be here with me?”

“with your of course”

he said as he met your lips for a kiss

obviously bringing spencer was a bad idea for your sabotage delany plan, because you got way too distracted with spencer by your side

you spent the entire night talking to him, dancing with him to the slow songs, taking funny pictures in the photo booth

high school stuff you guess

eventually when all the kids were slow dancing, you looked up at spencer

“wanna make a break for it?”

he didn’t know what that meant, but if it was with you he’d do it, so he just nodded and followed you outside

you buried your head into his shoulder as you walked around the campus you grew up on, pointing to the points of interest

you pointed to a big oak tree with seat like roots under it

“that’s where we used have physics club meetings”

then you pointed to a hidden patch behind all the bushes

“this is where i traded homework for money”

he just nodded as you told the stories of your high school experience

you pointed to some old looking railings with a tree standing view it

“that’s where i had my first kiss”

“HUH! i thought you said you got no boys, physics club and all”

“yeah you’re right” you said as you settled on one of the bleacher, overlooking the field and the night sky, spencer joining you

your fancy dress hitting the dirt of the baseball field, the cold april night making you shiver, and spencer putting his blazer coat over you

“you’re right, i didn’t get any boys in high school” you sighed as you cuddled into his arm

“my first kiss was with dylan watson, he was mr blue eyes blonde hair, baseball and perfect social status. and you know i was, braces glasses and physics”

he laughed as you continued to tell the story

“but yeah one day he slipped me a note, i figured he just wanted homework. but he said to meet him there after school. so i did, and he confessed tht he loved me, and wanted to be my boyfriend. and of course i said yes. and the he kissed me. it was the best moment of my life up until then. but as soon as he pulled away he yelled ‘you got that?’”

“oh no” spencer said, listening intently

“oh yes, his buddies had be filming, then they put me on plays all around the entire school, showing the video to everyone. so yeah, that’s why i never want to the prom. i guess it might have been bc i was a nerd, but also because i never wanted to show my face to those kids anymore” you said as you sighed

“you know, i had a similar experience where a pretty girl told me the same thing, but instead the entire school stripped me to my underwear and tied me to a pole. it was awful”

“oh my goodness that’s terrible” you said

“well i guess high school bullying makes great profilers?” yoy laughed

“maybe. i think it also develops character well i’m general too. and hey! you got your first kiss out of it”

“yeah, but high school was the worst, i wish i could tell my 17 year old self that it would get better”

“me too” he said

he said as he tucked his chin into your head and looked up at the stars, faint music echoing from the gym and the sound of your cold shakey breath

“y/n, i’m just glad we got to spend our prom night together”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In pt 2

I’m SHOCKED by how well Snowed In went over with y’all... like WOW 

Thank you!

Listen I was gonna go somewhere else with this (still might if anyone is interested) but I couldn’t resist getting all up in Geralt’s head. 

part one right here

Warnings: None fam. idk what to even call this? does it qualify as fluff?

__________

By the time Geralt had come back from the barn you were asleep in the middle of the bed. He’d spent a little extra time talking to Roach and making sure Beau’s tail wasn’t one long dread lock but he was still surprised you had gone to sleep so quickly.

He found himself smiling in relief when he noticed your eyes darting about beneath your eyelids, a deep sleep he hadn’t seen from you in weeks. Instead of going to bed and risking waking you, he sat cross-legged in front of the fire and took a deep breath. 

He could almost hear his instructor’s voice in his head even all these years later, “Sit comfortably” Impossible. “Slow your breathing” I might as well hold my breath “Let your thoughts pass without question. Even the odd ones. You can’t cease thinking, but you can tune out the nonsense.” My usual nonsense is somewhere on the other side of the pass chattering away to someone else. 

Despite his newfound lack of distractions, he couldn’t quite clear his mind. He kept thinking about how you fit so comfortably against his chest as he held you; how you’d asked him to stay with you and how you leaned into his touch. Your trust in him was what confused him the most. You’d drawn every horrible detail of his wrongdoings out of him, every last shameful word, some he hadn't even told Jaskier, yet you still let his hands near your neck. 

He took another deep breath, focusing on the pace instead of his thoughts. In, two, three, four, five, six. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

Then there was the way your face had melted in concern at his words as he left. Your innocence and empathy never failed to surprise him, even after months of traveling and hunting. You had no reason, no right to treat him with the softness you did, even if it was thinly veiled in hostility. He had tried to push you away, but you had wormed your way under his armor and made a home there.

Stop it. Breathe.

But you wouldn’t let him be, or he wouldn’t let you be. He couldn’t tell anymore. You, the gritty, brave, and ever so vulnerable human ruled his thoughts and it terrified him.

For fuck’s sake. Let it go already.

The frustrated air he forced from his nostrils blew bits of ash and coal back into the fire, causing sparks to fly and the logs to shift.

“Geralt?” your voice was soft, lowered with sleep. 

He turned to see if you were really speaking or if he’d just imagined it, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and squinted to see in the low light, "What are you doing on the floor?”

“Meditating,” he grumbled, “...or trying to.”

You let loose a puff of air in amusement, “Well how about you stop being pretentious and try sleeping?”

He sighed, pretending, as he always did, to take slight offence rather than let on he heard the tenderness there.

He didn’t notice the troubled look in your eyes as you watched him ready for bed, “You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me.”

He laid down next to you, choosing not to tell you that he was always making an effort to be more careful with you, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You nodded, shifting onto your back in your usual spot pressed against the wall and tugging at the laces of the nightshirt you’d chosen. The two of you laid in silence for a while, the pace of your heartbeat being the only sign you hadn't slipped back into unconsciousness. 

He shifted to lay on his side facing you, tucking his arm up under his pillow. You spared him a glance before going back to staring at the ceiling, leaving him to wonder what was on your mind. He thought maybe your worry had crept back in your sleep, taking hold when he wasn't here to talk you back from the ledge of panic. Not that it would have helped anyway, he clearly was no wordsmith. Maybe you'd simply realized how odd it was that you slept soundly next to a man literally designed to kill as efficiently as possible. 

He hoped that wasn't it as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing yet again in vain. He smelled nothing but the soap and oils in your hair that lay damp beside your head on the pillow. The combination of scents was comforting to him, as much as he wished it wasn't, and he found his thoughts revisiting the soft sighs that escaped your lips at his touch. Never in his life had he been so mystified. His mind reeled just thinking about it, someone he trusted and cared for enjoyed his touch. Not tolerated, not lusted after, not flinched at, but naively enjoyed.

You shifted to face him, the dip in the mattress pulling you closer to him, "Geralt?" 

"Hmm?"

He heard you take in a breath, let it out again, take in another, preparing to say something, then fall silent. He opened his eyes, analyzing the curve of your brow and the way your lips pursed as if you were holding a question between your teeth. You were never hesitant like this, he was sure you'd chew out the gods if they gave you opportunity, but your face was unreadable. 

"What is it?" He whispered.

You reached across the bed to trace a scar on the back of his hand pressed into the blankets. A scar you had given him when you first met, he liked to think it made him yours when he had the courage to daydream. The sensation was always odd, the dull hint of touch over the scarred tissue and the overreaction of the nerves next to it sent alarm bells off in the back of his mind. 

You kept your eyes on the vague forms of your hands, "You said you owed me more… what could you possibly owe me?" 

"Y/N," your eyes snapped up to meet his, making it all the more difficult for him to think through his answer, "I… I don't know that I could put it into words." 

The words felt hollow as they left his lips, the victory of keeping his emotions safe tainted by the look of disappointment and resignation in your eyes. 

You nodded, patting the back of his hand, "You owe me nothing. Call it even, let's say?" 

This was worse than what he'd imagined, the mental floundering and looking for a way to fix what he'd done was foreign and confusing. You'd let him off the hook, as you always did, and accepted that his answer would have to be enough. The difference this time was that he didn't want to be let off the hook.

"But I do." He argued, trapping your hand under his as you moved to pull it away, words barely escaping his lips, "I owe you, at the very least, a worthy answer." He turned your hand over, skimming his thumb over your palm as he whispered, "You hold my life in your hands and instead of doing what you should… tossing me by the wayside, you treat me with gentleness and… acceptance that I don't deserve. I at least owe you the same in return." 

Had he the courage to look you in the eyes he would have had time to be shocked and confused by the anger reflected in them, "Don't you dare tell me how I should or shouldn't treat you ever again. I get to decide that, not anyone else, least of all you." 

The change in tone nearly gave him whiplash, but all he could do was stare at you with a mix of confusion and surprise.

"You say I'm not used to people accommodating my emotions, but you don't give anyone the chance to get close enough to know what you're feeling." You continued, voice softening on seeing him balk, "I decide you owe me nothing. Feel guilty about it if that makes it easier, but don't mistake my affections for pity." You tugged your hand free of his and gently laid it over his jaw as you spoke. 

He barely registered your pulse quickening, his whole body nearly going numb with shock at your words. 

You rubbed your thumb over his temple and smiled, "Let's go to sleep, yeah?"

He nodded, laying his hand over yours with a smirk, "Yes ma'am…" 

You snorted and kicked at his shin under the blankets, "Ew don't call me ma'am." 

Almost without thinking he trapped your knee under his own, paying close attention to your response. When you blushed and bit your lip he thought you might just be the death of him. You gently pulled your hand back, sending a pang of doubt down his spine before you tugged at his wrist and laced your fingers through his, your palm covering his scar. 

You squeezed his hand and smiled before closing your eyes and sighing in content. 

He lay there for a long while after you'd fallen back asleep, slowly but surely putting the pieces of the day together. He was almost ashamed how distracted he was by your skin on his, soft and warm and unfamiliar. Your touch was so foreign in it's innocence that he almost felt guilty, almost. 

It was beginning to grow light out when his mind finally slowed enough to let him sleep. His last thought before peace was that it might be nice to lay next to you just like this, well into the morning.

Part 3 here!

[gloriousgwendolinechristie]

Press: The end of Game of Thrones: An exclusive report on the epic final season

EW – OCTOBER 2017: THE TABLE READ

When Kit Harington entered the conference room, he had no idea what to expect.

The final season’s scripts had been emailed just a couple of days earlier, sending the Game of Thrones cast into a reading frenzy. Like millions of fans around the world, the actors had been waiting nearly a decade to learn their characters’ fates. The entire six-episode season arrived at once, protected by layers of password security.

Sophie Turner flew through her copies in record time, quickly messaging the producers her reaction. “It was completely overwhelming,” says the actress, who plays Sansa Stark. “Afterwards I felt numb, and I had to take a walk for hours.” Others, like Emilia Clarke (Daenerys Targaryen), first had to hurry home to get some privacy. “I turned to my best mate and was like, ‘Oh my God! I gotta go! I gotta go!’” she recalls. “And I completely flipped out.” She then settled in for a reading session with a cup of tea. “Genuinely the effect it had on me was profound,” Clarke adds. “That sounds insanely pretentious, but I’m an actor, so I’m allowed one pretentious adjective per season.” Peter Dinklage, meanwhile, broke his years-long habit of checking immediately to see if Tyrion Lannister survives. “This was the first time ever that I didn’t skip to the end,” he says.

Even showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss were uncharacteristically anxious, wondering how the actors would react to the climactic twists. “We knew exactly when our script coordinator sent them out, we knew what minute they sent them, and then you’re just waiting for the emails,” Benioff said.

The cast then journeyed to Belfast to gather in a production office for the formal read-through. By then, everybody knew the tale that was about to unfold, with two notable exceptions: Davos Seaworth actor Liam Cunningham (“The f—ing scripts wouldn’t open, the double extra security!” he grouses) and Harington, who outright refused to read anything in advance.

“I walked in saying, ‘Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,’” Harington says. “What’s the point of reading it to myself in my own head when I can listen to people do it and find out with my friends?” So, yes: Jon Snow, quite literally, knew nothing.

Benioff and Weiss opened the proceedings by asking the cast to refrain from doing anything during filming or afterward that might reveal even the tiniest spoiler (“Don’t even take a photo of your boots on the ground of the set,” one actor recalls being told). And then, seated around a long table scattered with a few prop skulls, the cast read aloud the final season of Game of Thrones.

At one point, Harington wept.

Later, he cried a second time.

SEPTEMBER 2012: IT’S IMPOSSIBLE

After the table read, the Game of Thrones cast spent 10 months filming just six episodes of television. But the season actually took far longer to pull off. GoT’s final chapters have been in the works for years. To better understand what’s ahead, let’s first go back to EW’s season 3 set visit and this never-before-revealed conversation with Benioff and Weiss…

The production camper was like many others on the set — barren, cramped, cold, utilitarian, with dirt on the floors from muddy boots tramping in and out all day. The showrunners sat on the same side of a tiny dinette booth while the wind coming off the Northern Ireland bay howled outside. They were already thinking about their final season, and it worried them.

During its second season, the fantasy drama averaged 10.3 million viewers across all platforms. That was enough to ensure they were eventually going to finish the series, yet that inevitability was also the problem. Because when they first pitched Thrones to HBO, they hadn’t exactly been honest. And now they were working every day toward a finale that was impossible to make.

“The lie we told is the show is contained and it’s about the characters,” Benioff said, which was at best half true. The epic fantasy was very much about its ensemble cast, but it’s also the least “contained” series ever made. “The worlds get so big, the battles get so massive.”

Author George R.R. Martin, whose series of novels forms the basis for Thrones, had revealed to the duo the broad strokes of how his Song of Ice and Fire saga secretly ends, including a description of an epic final battle that’s been teased from the show’s very first scene. But this climactic confrontation was miles out of reach for a series that cost about $5 million per episode. “We have a very generous budget from HBO, but we know what’s coming down the line and, ultimately, it’s not generous enough,” Benioff said.

So the producers had an idea: The final season could be six hours long and released as three movies in theaters — just like Martin’s best-known influence, The Lord of the Rings. It’s not that the duo wanted to make movies per se, but it seemed like the only way to get the time and money needed to pull off their finale. “It’s what we’re working towards in a perfect world,” Weiss said. “We end up with an epic fantasy story but with the level of familiarity and investment in the characters that are normally impossible in a two-hour movie.”

The flaw in this plan was that HBO is about serving its subscribers, not taking gambles at the box office. Behind the scenes, the network brass gently shot down the movie idea. But executives assured Benioff and Weiss that they would eventually have everything they needed to make a final season that was “a summer tentpole-size spectacle.”

Years later, the producers would strike a deal with the network to spend two years on a shortened season 8 that would cost more than $15 million an episode. You could say HBO made good on that promise from 2012, and the showrunners will happily give the network full credit. “They put their money where their mouths are — literally stuffed their mouth full of million-dollar bills, which don’t exist anymore,” Weiss quips.

But it’s probably more accurate to say that since season 3, Benioff and Weiss willed their ambitious final season into reality the hard way: by growing Game of Thrones into the biggest show in the world, a hugely profitable pop culture and merchandising sensation with more than 30 million viewers an episode and a record number of Emmys. Only with that kind of leverage do your towering ambitions begin to look like reasonable requests.

In fact, the GoT team was so successful that the biggest sticking point in the agreement was persuading HBO to halt the series. “We want to stop where we — the people working on it, and the people watching it — both wish it went a little bit longer,” Benioff says. “There’s the old adage of ‘Always leave them wanting more,’ but also things start to fall apart when you stop wanting to be there. You don’t want to f— it up.”

That concern — a constant desire to conclude the show on the strongest possible note — is something we heard over and over from the cast and crew when we visited the GoT set for the last time.

  MARCH 2018: THE FINAL SEASON

Arriving at the studio gate, I’m halted by a guard and asked to scan my badge, a security upgrade from past years. Then I’m asked for my phone, and the guard covers its cameras with stickers — that’s new too. Along with an HBO escort, I walk inside an enormous hangar that’s so large it’s where the RMS Titanic was painted.

What’s being filmed here is episode 6, the series finale. Like Harington going into the table read, I don’t know anything about the final season’s storyline. I look around at a meticulously constructed set that I’ve never seen on the show before. Several actors are performing, and I’m stunned: There are characters in the finale that I did not expect. I gradually begin to piece together what has happened in Westeros over the previous five episodes and try not to look like I’m freaking out.

There is absolutely nothing more that can be said about that scene at this time.

A word about spoilers: The cast is used to keeping story secrets, yet they’ve never sounded so anxious about it. “There are moments where you don’t trust yourself to have this in your brain,” says Joe Dempsie, who plays Gendry. “You’re in possession of something millions of people want to know. It’s such a bizarre feeling. And between now and when it comes out, I’m gonna be drunk at some point.”

So far, at least, the team has done a far better job than in previous years at keeping the story under wraps, even while drunk. Theories abound online, but they are guesses. A purported script leaked to Reddit, but here’s a way to spot a fake — real Game of Thrones scripts don’t say “Game of Thrones” on them. “Drone killer” guns were used to guard against any peeping robots attempting to fly over the set. Production documents stating which actors were required to be where and when used code names (Clarke, for example, was “Eldiss”). “It gets highly confusing when you need to remember who is who,” Turner says.

Benioff and Weiss’ next gig is writing a new Star Wars film, and they received some final-season secrecy tips from The Last Jedi director Rian Johnson and producer Kathleen Kennedy. “They’ve given us a lot of hints about how to lock things down, things we never would have thought of or didn’t know were possible,” Weiss says.

At some point HBO will release a proper final-season trailer revealing more. Until then, here’s some basic setup we can tell you: Season 8 opens at Winterfell with an episode that contains plenty of callbacks to the show’s pilot. Instead of King Robert’s procession arriving, it’s Daenerys and her army. What follows is a thrilling and tense intermingling of characters — some of whom have never previously met, many who have messy histories — as they all prepare to face the inevitable invasion of the Army of the Dead.

“It’s about all of these disparate characters coming together to face a common enemy, dealing with their own past, and defining the person they want to be in the face of certain death,” co-executive producer Bryan Cogman says. “It’s an incredibly emotional, haunting, bittersweet final season, and I think it honors very much what George set out to do — which is flipping this kind of story on its head.”

How these fan favorites get along drives much of the drama this season (okay, here’s one specific tease from the premiere — Sansa isn’t thrilled that Jon bent the knee to his fancy new Targaryen girlfriend, at least not at first).

The drama builds to a confrontation with the Army of the Dead that’s expected to be the most sustained action sequence ever made for television or film. One episode — the same that Benioff and Weiss were concerned about pulling off so many years ago — is wall-to-wall action, courtesy of “Battle of the Bastards” director Miguel Sapochnik.

Last April a crew member revealed that Game of Thrones had wrapped 55 night shoots while filming a battle. Media outlets around the world ran stories saying the final season’s battle took twice as long as the 25-day shoot for season 6’s climactic Battle of the Bastards. This wildly understated what really happened. The 55 nights were only for the battle’s outdoor scenes at the Winterfell set. Filming then moved into the studio, where Sapochnik continued shooting the same battle for weeks after that.

“It’s brutal,” Dinklage says. “It makes the Battle of the Bastards look like a theme park.”

The battle doesn’t have just one focus, either, but rather intercuts between multiple characters involved in their own survival storylines that each feels like its own genre. “Having the largest battle doesn’t sound very exciting — it actually sounds pretty boring,” Benioff says. “Part of our challenge, and really, Miguel’s challenge, is how to keep that compelling… we’ve been building toward this since the very beginning, it’s the living against the dead, and you can’t do that in a 12-minute sequence.”

To help pull it off, the production hugely expanded its set for the Stark ancestral home of Winterfell, adding a towering castle exterior, a larger courtyard, and more interconnected rooms and ramparts. Strolling around the new Winterfell is like wandering a sprawling, immersive medieval resort compared with its previous Days Inn-like scale. The ground is covered with snow and blood. The air is thick with smoke from the fire pits. You can turn any direction and only see more Winterfell. It’s easy to feel like you’ve somehow wandered into Westeros.

The Winterfell expansion is just a small example of how every element of the production was heightened this year in an effort to “not f— it up.” Scenes that normally might take a day to film now took several. “[Camera] checks take longer, costumes are a bit better, hair and makeup a bit sharper — every choice, every conversation, every attitude has this air of ‘This is it,’” Clarke says. “Everything feels more intense. I had a scene with someone and I turned to him and said, ‘Oh my God, I’m not going to do this ever again,’ and that brings tears to my eyes.”

Lena Headey, who plays Cersei Lannister, agrees: “There was a great sense of grief. It’s a huge sense of loss, like we’ll never have anything like this again.”

More tears, like during the table read.

You know, Harington will actually reveal why he cried that second time.

“The second time was the very end,” Harington says. He’s referring to when the cast reached the last page of episode 6, and what the showrunners wrote there at the bottom.

“Every season, you read at the end of the last script ‘End of Season 1,’ or ‘End of Season 2,’” Harington says. “This read ‘End of Game of Thrones.’”



Press: The end of Game of Thrones: An exclusive report on the epic final season was originally published on Glorious Gwendoline | Gwendoline Christie Fansite

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Holy shit, you are like so perfect at writing. Could you do a oneshot when the teams out for drinks and some perv wont stop flirting and touching the reader and when barba says she taken, the perv just grins and says that pity will make people do strange things and that he could please her better because he's younger. Once they get home the reader shows barba just how much he actually pleases her? Or something like that, pretty please. If not, I get it and sorry for wasting your time. Thx!

I am so so so so so sorry that this has taken me so long, sweet anon! I have a bunch that I work on at the same time, so hopefully I’ll knock some more of these out today (fingers crossed). I will warn you that I got super into this once the flow started happening. There’s lots of dirty talk and it’s a bit different from the usual ‘main event’ in smut imagines. I hope you enjoy it!

“We need another round,” Rollins mused, eying everyone’s nearly empty bottles.

“I’ll go,” you volunteered with a chuckle, moving towards the bar to order six more beers for the table.

As the bartender busied himself getting your order, you watched the football game on the TV above the various bottles of liquor displayed along the back wall of the bar. You smirked, able to feel Rafael’s eyes on you from where he sat with your coworkers at the table, and very casually, you swayed your hips gently back and forth. The smile on your face grew as you heard Sonny faintly say his name a few times to get his attention and bit your bottom lip.

“You are so fucking sexy,” you heard a voice beside you say, but you didn’t bother looking over to find the source. “What’s your name?”

“Uninterested,” you answered, eyes still glued to the game. You lightly slammed your fist down in the bartop as Julio Jones scored a touchdown. “Damn it.”

“And you watch football? Come on, what’s your name beautiful?” the voice asked.

“Unconcerned,” you mumbled as the bartender came back with your order. “Thanks Dougie,” you said to him, offering the mixologist a smile and gathering three mugs in each hand.

“No problem, Detective. Am I putting this on the tab?”

“That’d be great, and can you also throw in a couple orders of potato skins for the table?”

“You got it.”

“Detective, huh?” the voice seemed to follow you back towards the table and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a habit you’d recently picked up from your boyfriend. “Are you good?”

“Are you still talking?” you asked.

There was a hand on your elbow, not squeezing terribly tight but still firm, almost demanding and you whipped your head around to shoot a glare at the voice that now had a face attached. Some executive type, handsome (though he clearly knew as much, which took away from his good looks) expensive suit, and pretentious blonde hair, slicked back. He looked like a literal Ken doll.

“Whoah, easy there Detective,” he said in a soft chuckle, holding both hands up. “I just wanna talk to you,” he added in a purr that made your stomach churn. He took a small step towards you and laid a hand on your hip as he whispered, “Maybe later I can take you back to my place and bend you ov–”

“Cariño?” Rafael came up to you, sliding a hand onto the small of your back. “What’s the hold up? I’ve been dealing with a table of thirsty Detectives and one Lieutenant who’s trying to dodge Carisi’s pleas to stay another hour.”

“Your daughter and I were just having a nice little talk, sir,” the unwanted Ken doll mused with a million dollar smile. It made you gag a little.

“He was talking, I was ignoring,” you mumbled to your boyfriend. “Listen, Malibu Ken, I’m taken, and even if I wasn’t I would still be not interested.”

“Does your boyfriend appreciate how incredibly sexy you are when you have that fire in your (not your color) eyes?”

“Yes, I most certainly do,” Rafael answered with a cocky smirk, taking the moment to drill his point by placing a tender kiss on your neck, the kind that always got your blood boiling with lust. His efforts were rewarded with a soft moan that only he heard, which tumbled from your lips as your eyes met his emerald stare.

“Oh…well…” The factory-made suit arched a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting on one side. “I guess pity would make people do strange things.”

Your glare was back, accompanied this time by an arched brow of your own.

“You know…” Was he still running his mouth? Didn’t he know cops typically carried guns? And mase? “I could give you much more than Missionary Mondays…not to mention I can probably keep it up for much longer.”

You doubted that. Rafael may have been in his mid forties, but he fucked like a twenty year old, something a curious google search had revealed to you was actually quite common in men his age. It hadn’t surprised you too much; even though his work kept him busy most of the day and a lot of times, well into the night, Rafael was otherwise in fantastic shape. He got his exercise in by walking to work on the days he didn’t have court, and would even do yoga with you on the weekends. He ate relatively healthy, except for when a case kept him stationary, during which he would indulge in Chinese takeout or a hot sandwich from the bodega not far from Hogan Place.

“I think you know I could rock your world ten times harder–”

“And I think you know that all cops carry guns. What’s to stop me from shoving it up your ass sideways? You’re lucky I have beer in my hands,” you answered, beginning to walk away before you looked at him one last time to add, “And my eyes are (your color eyes), you regurgitated cum-bubble.”

Rafael followed you back to the table, remaining unusually quiet for the remainder of the night, save for the occasional commentary, but it was minimal for the typically witty Rafael Barba. The cab ride home was relatively silent as well, though he did hold your hand, your elbow tucked in the inside of his, so at the very least you knew he wasn’t upset with you. Still, there was an unsettling feeling between you, and when you followed him into your shared apartment, you wound your arms around his back, hands flat on his pectorals.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked softly, letting your head rest against his back. He sighed heavily, shaking his head a little.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“Something’s wrong,” you pointed out, reaching up on tiptoes to place a kiss under his ear.

Turning to face you, Rafael frowned softly as he looked you over. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone in such a long time. There were moments lately where he would find himself thinking about what you might look like in a wedding dress. Whether he would ever come home to find you in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you, barefoot and pregnant with his child. He would find himself thinking about the two of you growing old together, and whether after many long, glorious years, you would die in each other’s arms, and spend the afterlife making new memories together.

It was nice to think of these things, but the incident with the man at the bar tonight had just been a cruel reminder that the chances of you outliving him were all but certain. This made him sadder and his hand came up to trace your bone structure with his fingertips.

“Is it about that douche-monkey at the bar?” you asked softly.

“He thought you were my daughter…”

“You know that our age difference doesn’t bother me. I told you that when we first started seeing each other,” you said. “I meant it, and I still feel that way. One idiot who clearly has his head up his ass, and probably has a penis the side of a cheeto can’t change how you make me feel.”

“Still…he made some valid points…”

“Literally none of what he said was anywhere close to accurate, Raf–”

“Missionary Mondays?”

“Okay, we do not call it, Missionary Mondays, but even if we did, I love Missionary Mondays,” you replied, sliding your fingers into the inside of his waistband and tugging him closer with a small smile.

“Don’t call it that,” he groaned, scrunching his eyes shut as you chuckled in amusement. He sighed when he felt your lips plant a soft kiss on the corner of his jaw.

“I love having you on top of me,” you whispered, tilting your head to kiss his throat. “I love how when I grip your back I can feel your muscles flexing under my fingers. I get wet just from thinking about it,” you purred.

“Not sure if that’s anyway to talk to your father,” he mused sarcastically.

“Ew. Do not joke about being my father, that’s just…weird.” You smirked softly, pulling your upper body away enough to look up at him.

“Do you ever wonder if…I don’t know maybe some day you might–”

“Stop, why would even think that?” you asked.

To make your point, you took his hand and stuff it down the front of your jeans, allowing him to feel the heated pool in your boyshorts.

“Do you feel how wet you make me?” you mumbled against his mouth, swallowing the moan that escaped his lips as he nodded. “This is all yours…”

Your free hand possessively grabbed his crotch, whimpering as you bit on your bottom lip.

“And this is all mine…daddy,” you whispered with a smirk. He narrowed his gaze with a smirk of his own.

“You’re losing blood flow,” he teased, unbuttoning your shirt as you giggled and rubbed him through his slacks.

“Don’t worry about what some ass-clown at a bar thinks. I love you so much, and no one I have ever been with makes me as hot as you do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you make me so horny, Rafael Barba. I’m surprised I can stop myself from jumping your bones when we’re working,” you purred, moving your hand more insistently over him. “I want you to fuck me until I pass out,” you whispered into his ear while your hands took off his tie before you took hold of his shirt and ripped it open.

“I love when you talk dirty to me, cariño,” he purred, pulling your shirt off and unhooking your bra.

“You do?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, picking you up until your legs circled his waist and carrying you into the bedroom. “It makes me so hot,” he added as the two of you fell onto the bed.

You hummed, rocking your hips up against his as the two of you finished taking each other’s clothes off, lips tangling with one another’s passionately. As his mouth traveled down your neck, you arched your back and whimpered.

“Let me suck that big, beautiful cock, Rafi,” you whimpered.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, giving you room as you moved to point your head towards his feet, not hesitating to take him into your mouth. Your knees parted to allow him a perfect view of your glistening sex. He moaned, pulling your hips closer and laying his head against your thigh to have a feast of his own.

You gasped around his organ, taking him all the way down your throat until you gagged loudly. You knew how much he loved that sound, and smirked around his crown when his approval vibrated against your core as he sucked your clit deeply into his mouth.

“You like that, Counselor? Do you like hearing me gag on your big cock?” you asked as your hand stroked over his length.

“Mhm,” he groaned against your center as he nibbled on your clit, using his tongue to massage circles over the swollen flesh.

“I love sucking you off, Rafael…” He moaned again as you sucked his crown, sliding your tongue over his slit. “I love worshipping your beautiful cock until you pump your seed into my mouth.” You again took the head of his appendage between your lips, hand stroking the base and earning another grunt from him as he sucked your feminine core deeper into his mouth. “Oh my God, yeah that feels amazing. You taste so good, baby.”

“So do you,” he purred, opening his mouth wider and gripping your thigh. “So sweet, cariño,” he added, earning a moan from you. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good. Take me down your throat again, mi amor.”

Humming, you took him down to the base again, letting the tip of him thrust in and out of your throat before you gagged again and pulled up to catch your breath.

“Oh yeah, cariño, just like that,” he whispered, getting back to work to bring you release as well.

Between the dirty talking and the mutual stimulation, it wasn’t long until both of you were rocking against each other’s mouths, hands stroking over every inch of skin you could reach. Every time his cock reached the back of your throat, he could feel his release inching closer and closer to the edge and he curled an arm around the thigh over his head to dip his finger inside you as his mouth focused on the sensitive, swollen bud closest to him.

Both of you began to moan against one another, effectively pulling you both over the peak. The two of you, working as one, prolonged the orgasm of the other, gradually slowing to a stop. He rolled onto his back, sated and out of breath as you repositioned yourself to lay your head beside his again. A soft smile broke out on your face before you rolled over and ran a hand over his hairy chest.

“Hmm, take that, Missionary Mondays,” you sighed in a lust filled voice, grinning up at him.

He smirked, snorting softly as he looked back at you.

“It’s Friday, cariño,” he pointed out as his arm brought you closer against him.

“Should we start calling it Freaky Friday?” you teased.

“Very funny, we are not naming the days of the week,” he answered in a chuckle.

“Why not?” you replied, turning your head to kiss his nipple. “Hmm, Tantric Sex Tuesdays…”

“Please do not suggest Watersports Wednesdays…”

“Nah, I’m not into that,” you answered with a chuckle. “Wand Vibrator Wednesdays,” you clarified, earning a laughing from him. “Talking Dirty Thursdays–”

“Let’s not limit dirty talk to just Thursdays,” he replied.

“Fair enough.”

“Teasing Thursdays,” he suggested.

“Mmm, I love that. Secret Sin Saturday?” you mused as your fingertips danced over his torso. He smirked, nodding in approval as he kissed your lips softly. “I vote we keep Lazy Sundays.”

“I have no objection to that,” he replied, kissing you again, a little more deeply.

“Good. ‘Cause I love our Lazy Sundays,” you whispered, kissing softly over his chest. “I love how you wake me up with breakfast in bed.” You kissed his neck, your hands still stroking over his front. “And how you make love to me afterwards, and how we stay in bed naked all day touching each other. I could never get tired of that,” you vowed, kissing his mouth sensually.

“Neither could I,” he whispered, humming against your mouth as he kissed you back. “Now…Detective, I believe you asked me to, what was it? ‘Fuck you until you passed out?’ Is that right? I believe that’s a direct quote,” he purred, taking your lips again.

“It is, well played, Counselor,” you answered, kissing him back as he rolled both of you over to perched himself above you.

“Where are your handcuffs?” he asked against your jaw. You hummed and smiled widely, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Ohh, I love Freaky Fridays,” you said, giggling as he chuckled and kissed you again.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” you answered.