#if someone said anything of these things to brienne in his hearing

[irreplaceable-ecstasyy]

beautiful undone

REQUEST: Hi! I have an idea. What if the reader was someone who heard tales of "Monstrous Brienne" or as she was mockingly called, "Brienne the Beauty". But when she finally puts a face to the name, she's all "Huh, she doesn't look that bad. She's actually quite handsome." Then decides to give Brienne a makeover to prove everyone wrong. Like longer styled hair, makeup, fitting dress, and even posture and smile. Like total Princess Diaries. Then when she's done people are all like" Who is this Goddess?!?!"

WORD COUNT: 3309 words

[Every time I try to make something a small one-shot, it ends up being longer than the previous one. oOOP- Anyway, enjoy <3]

Had you been deceived or had you been so stupidly foolish to listen to the harsh whispers in the street of the dreaded Brienne of Tarth? How they spoke of her as though she were a beast. 'Beware the Monstrous Brienne! She's a half-giant! If you anger her, she'll tear you apart.' or 'Brienne the Beauty! You'd scream at the sight of her.' There was not a person in Westeros who had ever said anything pleasant of the woman; it only made sense that the sayings were true. Whenever you walked in the streets, you would keep an eye out for her. You had always wanted to see her for you wondered how a lady could stir such a reputation for herself.

It was on a faithful day when you bumped into her at the marketplace. She was unmistakable. A tall looming woman clad in armor picking fruits for herself at a stall. You knew it was her from her height, one of a supposed half-giant as people said, and from the insults thrown at her. She was not bothered in the slightest by the yells and screams, but she turned to look at you when you found yourself suddenly right next to her. Your feet had carried you to her side to gawk and stare, wonder glimmering in your eyes.

The woman standing in front of you was unlike anyone you had ever seen. The monstrosity everyone saw in her simply did not exist. Beautiful was one way to describe her but a better term you might use was handsome. She was an incredibly handsome lady, and you were far too baffled to speak nor hear when she tried to talk to you.

"May I help you?" It was her third time repeating herself, and her patience was slowly running thin.

Snapping out of your daze, you offered your best smile. "I apologize if I'm interrupting your day but I just wanted to meet you."

"Meet me?" she questioned. "What for?"

"I was curious. I've only ever heard about you," you admitted, and you saw how her face twisted.

"I see," she muttered. "Now that you have, we can get on with our lives." With that, she turned away and you felt your stomach turn. The rumors. What a horrible impression to turn up with.

Before she could walk away, you scampered to her, struggling to keep up with her pace. "No, wait! I apologize if it came off as offensive. I didn't mean for it to sound like I believed the rumors!"

"I understand," she spoke stiffly, not quite breaking her stride.

"No, you don't. Will you let me explain myself?"

"There's no need for that, thank you very much. I must be on my way, and you should too."

"But Ser-!"

"Goodbye."

Picking up your legs, you managed to get in her way, arms spread out to stop her. She stopped in her tracks and stared at you incredulously. If there was one thing to fear about Brienne of Tarth, it was the intensity of her glare. You could feel your heart starting to race in your chest, but you held your ground. If she was not going to listen to an apology, you had to think of something else close to it. You could not let her go with the thought that you were just another person out of thousands who wished to make a mockery of her. But what could be worth more than an apology?

"Will you just hear me out?"

"I already am, so you had better use this time wisely, young one."

"I want to dress you." The words came out faster than your mind ran, but you were confident. Your family dabbled in tailoring, and your sense of style came from observations among the crowds at events. If anything, observation was your strongest weapon and you intended to use it if the lady would allow you to.

Her glare did not waver but there was a brief moment of conflict in her gaze. "And why would I allow you?"

"In all honesty, I don't know. Maybe I want to prove people wrong about you because now I know that everyone's spreading bullshit about you," you admitted.

That was when her features softened, but she was still wary of you. "If you're going to parade me in a dress in front of everyone, you can forget it."

"I don't just shove people into a dress," you interjected. "I make sure it's right for them. You don't fit people into a dress. You fit the dress onto them."

Brienne was slightly taken aback but she was listening properly. "You seem to know what you're talking about."

"My family runs one of the tailor shops. I don't do the sewing but I certainly know how to find a person's style."

Silence passed over the two of you as Brienne spared some time to consider your offer. With the way she had frozen in a pose to think, you could already picture the perfect look for her. A hand on her hip, the other holding onto a basket of fruits, her frame tall and proud. You wanted nothing more than to show everyone that Brienne was no beast of a woman. People always talked. They loved their gossip more than anything and though it was not in your power to stop them, you could put a halt to it by making a statement instead.

You waited in anticipation, your nerves flaring by the minute. Denying you was the worst scenario and you could be on your way but you knew the thought of her would never leave you. No one ever spoke of her inability to carry out her duties, but no one ever gave her the credit she deserved either. You had to do something.

Finally coming to a conclusion, she looked at you sternly. "There's a small celebration coming soon, as you may know..."

"The Winter Solstice, yes."

Brienne nodded. "The Longest Night. You can do it then."

"I'd be honored to."

"It's in a week. Will that be enough time for you to prepare?"

"Of course. We happen to be very efficient," you grinned at her. "I will ask, is there anything I must know before I start designing?"

"Nothing pink and frilly," she answered a little too quickly, but you made sure to take note of it. "Will you run the designs by me?"

"You'll have to see during the fitting." You were already scribbling away at a scrap of parchment you had brought with you.

"And what if I don't fancy the dress you've made?" Brienne prodded.

"Then you'll have to give us your feedback to make necessary changes."

She raised a brow. "Will it not delay us?"

"Not at all. You can come early. Perhaps noon. It will give us more than enough time to prepare you." When you looked up from your notes, Brienne was merely a few inches away from you, eyes bearing into yours. A trial of trust.

"Then I'll see you at noon," she spoke slowly. "I look forward to seeing your work."

"Don't be late."

"You humor me, young one. I will have transport sent for you so don't be late."

"Will you let me do your hair too?"

A pause. "Fine."

You saluted playfully as you stepped out of her way. Much to your surprise, she bowed to you and went on her way. Pausing midway, she turned around, a sudden realization dawning on her.

"I didn't get your name."

"I quite like 'young one'."

Taken aback, she nodded slightly. "If that is what you insist."

Bowing once more, she turned on her heel and proceeded on her way. You observed how she walked with a certain elegance to her. Had it not been for the armor, she would be a little less stiff. It would be liberating to get the weight off her, you could only imagine. No corset then, or any sort of rigid support. You scribbled the notes onto your scrap.

You watched as she disappeared into the crowd, and the bubbling excitement that had been blossoming inside of you exploded. You did not realize how stunned you were by her natural beauty. Without a woman's conventional use of make-up, she was still a sight for sore eyes, and you may well pass out knowing what wonders a bit of make-up could do for her. Her hair was another exciting part to think about. Slicked back or messy tendrils, she could wear any look and it would still go with what you already had in your mind. The thrill was exhilarating and you rushed home to get started on it.

Having consulted your parents, you began your masterpiece with their guidance. They would be the ones making the dress so they followed you through each step of the way. As for the other details that came with it, you knew enough people who could be of assistance. No one questioned who the dress was for which made the job easier throughout the week. Whenever someone dared, privacy was the golden answer.

Day and night, you toiled away with needle and thread, running on a few hours of sleep. Somehow, you could still work your magic. With assistance from your family, your project was soon complete in just a few days, leaving two days to spare to run through the details and consider last minute ideas. You had to find some way to occupy your time while you waited for the knight's visit or you might crash with all the energy coursing through you. But thankfully, the day came quick.

Now, had it been energy keeping you awake or anxiety? You could not tell, but you had not a moment to think about it for the carriage was already waiting for you outside. The ride to the castle was pleasant but your stomach was turning. It did not take long until you arrived and a guard led you straight to the lady's quarters.

A knock on the door and you were welcomed inside. Today, Brienne had decided on a casual outfit instead of donning her armor. Her hair was slicked back but there were a few stray strands over her eyes. She studied the shop with such elegance, it made you feel rather small to be in the presence of someone so majestic.

A cough was what caught her attention as you forced down the last of your worries and she greeted you with concern. "Are you alright?"

You waved a hand at her. "I'm alright, I'm alright." With that out of the way, you graced her with a smile. "I'm here!"

"That you are."

"Shall we get started?" you beamed. "I won't keep you waiting any longer." Motioning for her to follow you, you trotted into another room with the knight at your heels.

Her quarters were simple. Not bare but well decorated enough to be cozy. Simplistic was certainly Brienne's own preference, and you found that it gave you room to breathe. There was a good amount of sunlight and a perfect view of King's Landing from the window. It all felt like a dream. The room you had walked into was her own personal bathroom and you draped the dress over a rail for what you could only assume was for robes and towels.

"You can put it on in here. I'll lace it up once you're done."

You exited the room in a hurry and closed the door behind you. There was a tense silence in the air, only filled by the ruffle of clothes and possibly your heartbeat. You could hear it hammer in your ears as the door swung open and out came Brienne with a pinch of worry.

You noticed that she was avoiding the mirror for her eyes sought for something to stare at as a distraction while she steered herself to stand with her undone laces facing you. You weaved them with trained hands, and when you were done, you continued to style he rest of her. From her hair to her face, you were too focused to realize that her attention had shifted from the wall to you as her distraction.

Her anxiety was crunching but she was grateful that you seemed to have taken no notice of it. Her hands were balled into tight fists, nails digging into her palms to get a hold of herself. She maintained all composure to calm herself. She could be making a fool of herself all over again for taking this chance, for trusting you. But, wthat sort of a knight was she if she were not taking risks? She had taken more life-threatening jobs than go through embarrassing situations. It felt ridiculous even anticipating the terrors of humiliation.

The intensity of your attention and commitment to every detail was comforting, in a sense. No person would waste away their time on another just to make a fool of out of them, right? She eased herself with her breaths, letting her mind empty itself while she focused on you. On the way your lip would curl when you felt triumphant, on the way your brows knitted when you were focused, on the scrunch of your nose as you contemplated. It calmed her down.

What was hours had only felt like minutes and you were done. You maneuvered yourself in front of her to take a look at her. The masterpiece and the dress.

She donned a high collared dark blue velvet dress that reached down to her feet, long sleeves cuffed at her wrists, and no corset but a belt that wrapped around her waist. The belt was embroidered with the symbols of her house, and within its center was the Stark's sigil, for the house she honored. Her hair was curled instead of gelled back, but there was just a bit of gel to maintain the curls through the night. You were not finished just yet. There was still a trick or two up your sleeve but you needed just brief second to see all of Brienne. Giddily, you touched her chin gently, a brush in hand.

"Lower your head a little," you murmured as you assessed the details of your design.

"I'm sure you aren't that short."

"I'm trying to get the light."

And so, she adjusted herself. "How much longer?"

"Only a touch bit..." you hummed. With a few strokes of your brush, you added your finishing touches. "And there."

A beat.

"You can look in the mirror, my Lady."

She looked at you, frozen in place. Taking her hand, you led her to the mirror at the back of the room. She did not look until you stopped, and when she did, she stared at her reflection. That person... That very lady she was looking at was herself. She moved a hand to her cheek as if to check that it was no illusion and when the truth of the situation sank in, you saw her bottom lip quiver.

"I... I look--"

"Beautiful."

She looked at you, eyes glittering in tears, but her blank stare never changed. "I've never felt this way... I.. I don't know how to thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for. It's all you. All I did was style you up."

"No, you haven't." She wiped her tears away delicately to prevent herself from smudging your art. "In Tarth, I would be fitted into what they deemed the prettiest dresses, be made to look like the picture perfect woman to whosever standard it was... but none of that ever made me feel beautiful. You made me feel more of a lady than I've ever been."

"I often go by the philosophy, 'if you can't fit in, then stand out'. You don't have to look like the other hundred women in the room."

"I'll have to think the way you do more often," she laughed lightly as she continued to dab away her tears.

"I tend to be wise." Your eyes lit up when you spotted a box sitting on your desk and you leapt straight to it. "One last thing."

You brought it over to her and set it on the floor before opening it to reveal a silver wreath of vines with a moon and sun bloomed in the center. You had it made on the day you met her as it was the first idea that sparked in your head for your design. It was simple but it completed the rest of the look. Awestricken, Brienne stared at it and you had to beckon her to lower her head for you to put it on her, like a crowning. It sat atop of her curls, a perfect fit, and she straightened herself right up to look at herself once more.

"It's beautiful."

"Just a finishing touch."

She peered closer in the mirror, fingers running along the lining of her wreath. "I look like one of them."

"Who?"

"The Lords and Ladies. I'm a proper Lady."

"You always were, and still are. With or without the dress."

Brienne looked as if she might faint with how overwhelmed with joy she was but she could only bask in it for so long now that the evening was drawing near. A knight had her duties but at least she was dressed for the occasion. You accompanied her to the door but she did not leave. She had taken ahold of both your hands, her anxiousness returning to her. She would have to face the world in the clothes that made her a ridicule, all on her own. With a few words, her confidence may crumble and she would lose all respect for the knight she was.

Not a lady nor a knight, who else could she be?

She breathed sharply when you drew her into an embrace. "Don't forget to smile."

Laughing softly, she wrapped her arms around you loosely and patted your shoulders. "You are starting to sound like a mother."

You pushed her away lightly and crossed your arms. "Come on."

Sighing, she put on a small smile. "There."

"And there we are..."

The words came quick but she could not hold it in anymore. One second more and she would have doubted herself. "Come with me."

You gave her a look, stumbling back in surprise. "I couldn't possibly! I'm not dressed for it."

"Then stand out." She extended a hand to you. She had used your own words against you.

You stayed true to your philosophy and took the hand proudly. If she was going to brave her fears, it was a good example to follow your own advice. The walk to the ballroom was long but it gave you enough time to muster every ounce of courage in your body to take in the crowd of thousands in the room. You slipped your arm through Brienne's to secure yourself to her as she led you through. As much of a social butterfly you were, you were not willing to get lost in a crowd of strangers, let alone nobles who had the personalities of feral animals, waiting to strike any commoner down.

Heads turned to look your way but their eyes were not on you. They were on Brienne. She towered over most and she met eye-to-eye with a few men who met her stature. There was not an insult in the room, only gaping jaws and astonishment as they came to realize who it was at your arm. Some lords took the initiative to greet Brienne a good evening and compliment her before ladies started following after. A smile looked bright on Brienne but pure happiness looked radiant on her.

Maybe Brienne the Beauty had always been the truth, and you were honored to be the one who uncovered it.

[unohanabbygirl]

FMN SPOILERS!!!!

BE WARNED FMN SPOILERS! Ch. 31-32

……….

Okay these chapters are filled with angst! I can’t even, but I think I saw the moment Daemon die a little bit when Luke is all but rejecting him as a parent. I love that people zoom in on small details (driftmark incident) I didn’t notice but someone zoomed in on Daemon putting his whole arm around Luke as Luke goes to check up on Rhaenyra how he just stands guard and looks at everyone like “I dare you, lay a hand on my future wife and son!” I would think he was Luke’s own father with the way he acts. Harwin, my guy needs to up his game, cause right now he’s all but neglecting Luke, I expected him to demand answers from Aemond and Aegon, who knows he might go over the house and ask? So Luke doesn’t love Aemond yet, but he might soon fall for him, is what I’m getting from him? Rhaenyra and Daemon having marital issues, would that have to do because of what happened between them during the Dance? Something tells me that Rhaenyra finding out Daemon lied to her about how bad it got is going to lead to marital problems in the future I just hope no divorce, but close it, maybe for a little bit a lil separation. Rhaenyra threatening Daemon about taking her babies and leaving him because she can’t trust anyone anymore. That could be the worst thing for Daemon, I feel bad for him but he shouldn’t have lied. The family needs to be on the same page with Luke and it’s like everyone is on a different page or different story. Hiding, lying, making up half truths not a good combo. Brienne is awesome btw!

P.s. this slow burn is killing me, can’t Aemond just climb the window to Luke’s room and sneak in and cuddle with him. They can be quietly making out under the covers and hopefully Daemon doesn’t have a stethoscope trying to hear for anything suspicious.

Daemon has loved Luke from the moment he heard news of Rhaenyra’s pregnancy simply because of the fact that whatever child she had was an extension of her and anything that’s Nyra’s is his. But it was at that moment on Driftmark when he saw what lengths Luke went to defend both his brother and cousins who he barely knew without hesitation is when he went full on dad mode. He practically imprinted on the kid once he saw those chubby cheeks smeared with blood because who wouldn’t???

He’s not an emotional man by a long shot, but when Daemon does allow himself to feel, those feelings hit hard enough to leave him breathless. It’s right at the moment when Luke finishes his rant that the only thing Daemon can do is give him the biggest papa bear hug and kiss because if he didn’t than he’d probably end up throwing something which would only affirm the violence of men in Luke’a mind and probably send him into a bad panic attack.

Harwin is a complicated subject at the moment and I’m glad you noticed. In the beginning we could see how ready he was to finally be a father to his long lost son, but now that presence seems to have dimmed immensely. It’s not that Harwin is trying to be neglectful but that this has all become so real as the true reality of the young man Luke now is comes fully into light. Luke is distant, pushes away most people, and is overall a very hard person to make a connection with if you’re an authority figure. Not to mention that he’s easy to tick off. While Luke may not go full on batshit when annoyed, you can always tell by his demeanor and tone how over it he really is. It’s by no means an excuse for Harwin’s distance as a father, however it does give reason as to why.

The guy is scared that he’ll only drive Luke further away if he pushes but he’ll have to realize trying and failing is better than never having tried at all.

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s marriage is by no means a perfect one yet it’s worked out wonderfully for decades now. With that being said, there are very few things Rhaenyra will accept this time around and lies or omission of the truth is #1 on her list, especially when it comes to her children. Just like her son Rhaenyra can’t stand being lied to and everything Daemon’s covering up is a pretty damn big one.

Martial issues (and issues within their polycule as a whole) are on the horizon and it’s unavoidable considering the circumstances. Rhaenyra would 100% take the kids and book it to the Vale if she felt it was best for their future as a family because if she can’t trust Daemon then who can she trust? This man has been her entire life two times over and though Daemon may not realize it now due to all the stress, he’s putting it all on the line with this horrible idea of protecting her from the truth as if she’s a child rather than a grown woman. Very frustrating but it is what it is.

Lol, Luke’s room being a secret Lucemond paradise while everyone on the outside of that door is on the verge of separating. Poor Daemon’s gonna regret agreeing to give Luke the room with an easily accessible balcony pretty soon.

[chrkrose]

What aspects of Brienne’s character (or any other character in ASOIAF) resonates with you the most?

There are so many characters that speak to me on some level, but I go with three:

Brienne

Oh man… she’s just my favorite in every single capacity you can imagine. I know George deserves a lot of criticism, but when he gets right, he gets it. I think Brienne is the result of when you actually look at female characters as people and decides to explore what it means to be a woman, and how complex it is . The way she questions not only what it means to be feminine, but what it is to want those things, to want things you are shamed for because they are “girly” or considered weakness. Of course Brienne wanting to achieve things that are deemed unfit for women is already interesting to explore, especially in such context as the one of Westeros, but what resonates with me the most is how he didn’t fall for the stereotype of warrior woman “I’m not like other girls tm feminine stuff suck 🤮 ugh women suck 🤢”, and instead presented us with a girl who wants to be loved and to love, who wants marriage, who wants romance, and is not in any way weak or less because of it. Her strength is in her compassion, in what men and society in general consider as flaws because they are deemed inherently feminine. Someone who is so good while making tons of mistakes and having her own flaws that don’t detract from her goodness. And how she questions what it is to be ugly and why the hell do we care so much about physical appearances like this? And who said that ugly people are less deserving of anything? Who said that beauty is the most valuable trait you need to have to be treated as someone worthy of love and sex and compassion? You see, it is very important to me that Brienne is ugly, because it truly made me rethink a lot of my day to day speech and thoughts when it comes to beauty and how I approach this in real life. To have such a character be desirable and live a romantic arc, probably the best romantic arc he created in the entire story… ugh I love Brienne and what she represents.

Jaime

He has never done anything wrong in his life ever and if he did, he looked really hot while doing so and he’s also funny so I don’t get how people want to hate him for it and condemn him for it 🥰. I love Jaime for many many many things, his entire arc is fascinating, he’s so so complex and has so many layers, I honestly think he’s one of the best written characters of the saga. I also think his sense of humor really makes his chapters a delight to read. To spend entire books hearing about how bad of a guy he was, how he was a villain, tainted, dishonorable, only to have the first line of his chapter being “I’m alive and drunk on sunlight”… George can be many things, but he damn knows how to make you instantly fall in love with a character.

Nettles

I love Nettles because of obvious reasons (the underdog who gets the special dragon, the bad boy and actually survives the war and becomes a legend), she’s right up my alley in terms of arcs I enjoy. Add to that the fact that she is a black woman, and I’m sold. You never, ever, see black women getting the hero journey arc. They are never the special ones, they are never the ones who win. But she was. She is exceptional among several characters who think themselves to be the exception when they are nothing but a bunch of losers with a superiority complex. She is the exception and proves herself with everything going against her. She’s fantastic, and is the type of character that we people of color don’t have growing up, that we don’t see in fantasy stories, and she’s that much more special to me because of it.

[james-stark-the-writer]

my thoughts on Netflix's Wednesday

alright so i've been hearing other people's thoughts on the show to see if i missed anything or if someone understood how i felt and yeah these two videos by Mina Le and film fatales pretty much get the basics of why i can't stand the show as an adaptation of the Addams Family or even as its own show.

okay now my thoughts: if you haven't read them yet and would like to, feel free to go read my thoughts on most of the important moments in all the episodes in detail as I experienced them here. the tags are where the juiciest stuff is so make sure to read those actually. anyway, all my previous critiques that I made literally on episode 1 still stand now having finished the show, this is absolutely a horrendously (derogatory) Tim Burton project, it's very much an encapsulation of his worst tendencies to me, a lot of the show is very much "oh we're so edgy and nobody gets me and we're so oppressed because we like being on our own". Tim. you are 64 years old. I think it may be time for a new shtick. teens deserve better than this.

anyway, yeah, the show has a needlessly complex mystery with very predictable endings and just generally bad writing overall and it's just not really that fun? the only real standouts were the dance scene obviously and most of episode 7 like I said. like, episode 7 was genuinely really enjoyable although some of it is just because it's so refreshing after the slop of the rest of the show. it feels like the only episode where the show gets close to actually understanding the Addams Family and like someone actually cared about how things sounded like the dialogue and pacing and everything about it is so much better than anything in the previous episodes. episode 5 is particularly egregious because we literally started the season with Wednesday lamenting how she couldn't successfully kill someone. she (and the rest of the Addams Family) would not give a single flying fuck about Gomez killing anyone. fuck, if they cared, it would be a thing to boast about like Morticia would go: "remember that time Gomez killed a man and saved me?" and vigorously make out with Gomez immediately. the very premise of the episode is flawed. this is an extremely middling mystery show attached to the Addams Family name for mostly marketing purposes. none of it feels like there was any reason for it to feature these characters. also like the Addams' also work best as a family and when contrasted against other "normal" people so separating Wednesday AND throwing her into a school full of freaks who for some reason think SHE'S too freaky???? a highly misguided choice to say the least.

this should have either been a 4-5 episode miniseries or a ~3 hour movie. I would honestly let them keep the fluff too with the movie so you know it's incredibly bloated on a fundamental level. the mystery does not deserve more than a 4-5 hour runtime and the show is absolutely bloated for what it actually does have to offer. Jenna is the highlight of this but also?? every single other actor, with the rare exception of the actors for Pugsley and Fester (and kinda Gomez too like I liked Luis but his material really dragged his performance down), was just awful like they really did not understand how to deliver their lines (although some [most] of that is the writing). even Brienne of Tarth was like ??? not good?? like her material wasn't great, just like everyone else, but every line she delivered was basically the fucking same and she always delivered it with a smile except for a couple of scenes which made her performance really grating after a while. like none of it is completely terrible, most of it is serviceable but they are made so much worse bc Jenna is a goddamn star and fucking kills it in every single scene. she's always at 500% and doing her best even though the writing really does not give her much to work with.

anyway, if you're not a Jenna Ortega stan or really care about Danny Elfman scoring something, feel free to avoid Wednesday, you really won't be getting anything out of it other than bad writing and bad acting and a horrible adaptation of the Addams Family. truly it's not even funny!!!!!!! which is like the one thing anything attached to the Addams Family name should be!! literally only episode 7 had jokes that actually made me laugh. there's a few one-liners that aren't terrible (although most of them are elevated by Jenna's performance, obviously) but generally, most of her one-liners are incredibly predictable and boring and just so dry (negative). if i was dying and could only be saved by laughing at a joke and you put on any episode from this show besides episode 7, i would be dead within the first 2 minutes. they're that bad and boring and basic. genuinely just no real creativity with most of these.

Wednesday is a 5/10 show with only one actually good episode that is entirely carried on the performance of Jenna Ortega and a genuinely really fun Danny Elfman score. I can't say I entirely regret watching it because Jenna is just so damn talented and I'm glad she and Danny got their coin but like wow that was like a waste of my time for the most part. just so not fun and tired and boring and predictable and needlessly edgy with very questionably mixed metaphors about oppressed groups and annoying fucking dialogue clearly written to be posted in gifsets or screenshots. every time the show mentions the patriarchy or how "outcasts" are oppressed, a part of my soul dies. that's on your conscience, Tim.

truly, the only real fun I had with the show was the dance scene, episode 7, Jenna's performance, and the score. everything else ranged from functional to subpar to horrible. 5/10 raised to a 7/10 bc of these things, would not recommend. you could do so many better things with 8 hours of your time.

frankly, if you're really itching for an experience that's similar and like actually good and incredibly funny and innovative and clever, you could watch Scream Queens! it's so damn good! even S02!! or you could watch the entirety of S04 of Riverdale and get a better experience and a better mystery with the same creepy academia vibes and with like actually redeeming qualities to boot. fuck, if you can't stand the camp of Riverdale and Scream Queens, go watch the first season of The Magicians, it's also got a really well-done mystery and it takes itself seriously AND it's just a fantastic show that's gorgeously written and severely underrated. or go watch The Order, which this is so desperately trying to emulate in so many ways. although The Order will take a few episodes to adjust to bc those first 3-4 episodes are not great, especially in terms of the writing. hell if you're desperate for deadpan/macabre humor, you could just go watch the original Addams Family show or the two 90s movies.

the point is: there are so many better things you could be watching instead. if you're not a Jenna stan I truly cannot recommend watching this show lol. it's like genuinely not good.

[janiedean]

Prompt. Book canon setting. Jaime can hear Brienne's thoughts.

*spins wheel* LET'S SEE WHAT HAPPENS WITH THIS ONE and sorry for the lateness anon!!

warnings: set during asos/the road trip so expect what canon offered including the attempted rape scene

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He doesn't hear her until -

Until sometime after they hack the hand off.

He doesn't know when he realizes for sure because he's too fucking out of it, but when Shagwell says that stupid fucking line about the two of them being lovers while they were chained to each other on the horse and wondering who out of the two of them is the knight and the maiden, he clearly hears her saying you wouldn't know a true knight if Arthur Dayne himself vouched for them and for a moment he wonders if she's gone mad, but -

But no one does or says anything about it.

Which - they hit them more than once if they tried to speak out of turn, or at least they hit her, he was entirely beyond it, so it's fucking weird, because that kind of thing shouldn't - it's too bloody forward, and then whatever I thought of him sure as the Seven Hells he's a better one than the whole bloody lot of them, and -

He wonders, deliriously, if she swears that much all the time, and then he realizes no one actually came up to them to do anything about it.

But he heard it.

Loud and clear.

Is he going mad?

He doesn't know.

He passes out a short while later, smelling the stench of his own rotting hand, and thanking his blessing that at least the wench is fucking warm, isn't she?

--

He had thought that was the worst he could smell in his entire life.

After vomiting the damned horse piss they gave him to drink, he decides that maybe he'll reconsider it, and - for a moment he can just taste the damned vomit on his tongue and he knows it's all over him and in between that and the remains of what he drank on his tongue he feels like retching all over again, and then he realizes in utter humiliation that it's not the only thing that smells foul on him as they laugh and laugh and laugh, and then someone tells the wench that they're not going farther if he smells like his own shit, too, and he's sure he hears her saying if only I could steal a sword, but - but he has to be making that up. She can't have said it. She can't have said it -

And they do nothing as she says she'll need her hands free and she comes close to him, and he can barely look at her but then she opens her mouth as she gently brings him close to the river and tells him to drink some water from her cupped hand before she starts cleaning the vomit off his beard, and he's halfway delirious with how much he wants to retch again -

No one deserves that, he hears the wench say, and he turns to her to ask her if she's gone mad -

No one deserves that and I can't even imagine how he's -, he hears, and she has her mouth closed.

He saw that. There is no way she actually spoke. And then she motions for him to lay down on the ground and oh fuck she has to change his smallclothes doesn't she and he just wants to fucking bury himself in the ground - he knows she's done that before, he sort of felt it even if he was passed-out half of the time, but now he's awake for it and he just wants to shrink away from her as she gently undoes his trousers and lowers him into the water -

I failed my vow, he hears, but if that's how I can keep what's left of it, fine. Fine.

She -

She thinks she did what?

And that's when it hits him.

If she's not speaking but he's hearing her and he hasn't gone mad -

Is he hearing her thoughts?

And -

And he was sure she loathed him. What is she even on about when it comes to failing her fucking vow?

He wishes he could figure that out.

It hurts too much, though, and he lets himself pass out, but the fact that she's holding him up as he does somehow -

Somehow makes it less worse than the other times.

--

No, no, stop, he hears when he tries to steal that sword and what a lot of good it did to him, and - is she talking to him or them, he doesn't know, but he can't waste time with it, not when he has to try and fight his way out - except that he doesn't, and then he trips over the damned rock while the others laugh, but Brienne doesn't, and Shagwell comes close and kisses him on the damned head and he wants to retch just at the feeling and -

Can't they leave him alone, just leave him alone, he doesn't deserve it, no one deserves it, he has more guts in him than you all and how dare you even do this Lady Catelyn trusted me with his safety and I can barely do anything what are they thinking what are they thinking he doesn't he doesn't oh but I'm watching them, let them think I'm harmless but the moment I can act I will I will I will I can't fail my vows like this not for the second time not now -

Rorge kicks the sword away from him.

He lets them throw him back on the horse.

There is no way he has hallucinated her thinking about fucking Catelyn Stark.

He closes his eyes and lets himself pass out - he can't deal with this.

He can't he can't he can't -

--

"Jaime."

He's halfway sure she did speak, now. Because she's not being loud and clear. She's whispering and he's looking up at the night sky wondering why would such pretty stars look down on such as him, and then -

"Jaime, what are you doing?"

Oh.

Yes.

She is talking to him. And - calling him by his damned name? What the -

Well, no point in lying now.

"Dying," he blurts, and then -

No no no he shouldn't not for this not because of them oh no no no I can't fail him like this I can't fail my lady like this I swore I'd bring him to King's Landing and it wouldn't - no no it's not fair it's not fair I can't I can't I can't -

She sounds pretty damn panicked, he thinks, and then -

“No,” Brienne on, “no, you must live.”

“Stop telling me what do, wench. I’ll die if it pleases me," he blurts, and -

No, no, that's not - he can't, he can't die like this, and no one - he might have slayed his king but not even he deserves this, that's beyond - I can't let him give up I just can't he shouldn't he shouldn't gods what will piss him off enough to do it what would -

What is she even -

"Are you so craven?" She blurts, and -

"What else can I do, but die?" He blurts back, and he's - he's not even - he would have been angered if he hadn't known but just the fact that she knew calling him a coward would have at least made him angry is making his head spin, and -

Oh yes yes good that's better -

"Live. Live, fight and take revenge," she says, and then Rorge hears them before he can answer -

“You will hold your bloody tongue if you want to keep it, bitch,” he shouts in her face, “or do you want it around your neck like his hand?”

He starts kicking her in the stomach and she moans in pain, but -

But -

I don't care I don't care I don't care I can take it I took worse I took a lot bloody worse than this as long as he lives I don't care and at least he's kicking me and not him I can take it I can I can I can -

He -

He swallows, closing his eyes while her pained moans fill his ears.

He doesn't go to sleep that night. Not really.

--

It's just -

He tries to think about it while she goddamned changes his soiled smallclothes so he doesn't have to look at her in shame and he can hear her thinking that it's the least she could do and she'll see him through it if it kills her.

She -

She was -

She loathed him. He knew she did. It was obvious. Maybe this is just... compassion or something like that, but - but she certainly isn't letting that stop her from making this entire fucking ordeal less bad than it could be, for what it's worth, and he can't help thinking, now for all she fancies herself a knight she's keeping her word isn't she, and he feels a lump in his throat as she ties back his breeches around his waist and helps him to the horse, again.

She's gentle, when she pulls him up on it.

Gentler than anyone else has been while handling him in - he doesn't know how long.

Please live until we reach safety, she thinks, and he almost falls off the horse at how sad she sounded. Please please please. I have to bring you to King's Landing. I swore I'd keep you safe. I can't do more than this. Please just live.

Fucking Seven Hells.

She meant it, when she swore her lady that dumb vows, didn't she.

Fuck.

Fuck, he is her damned vow, and -

His head spins just at the thought.

He's just - he's not going to go further down that road. He's not. But he can't lie to himself about how sincere she sounds, and anyway if he's hearing her thoughts because of some stupid weird strange magic then she couldn't be lying, could she?

Fuck.

Fuck, she really does believe in oaths, doesn't she?

--

He probably asked for it, ranting about Aerys the closer to Harrenhal they got.

He hears her wondering is there something he's not telling people, because this makes no sense, not with how he sounds, not with what everyone knows, why does he sound so sad, why oh I hope he's not going mad what if he does but could I blame him if he did, and then Rorge is back kicking him in the stump and making him scream and -

I want to kill him with my bare hands, she thinks, I want to kill him with my bare damned hands god stop it can't you see he's harmless and just because of you bastards stop stop stop this is just too cruel this is too cruel why why why -

Well, he thinks before he passes out again, the pain in his wrist too blinding, at least she didn't loathe him so much she'd be glad of this.

Oh, he knew, but -

But the idea that someone wants to kill this man just because he's hurting him just -

It doesn't -

People don't want to take revenge on anyone for him, he's the one who usually -

It just doesn't -

Everything goes black.

--

When he hears the whole lot of them talking about who's taking the front and the back, he knows what they're planning.

Thing is -

I knew it was going to happen. Very well then. They'll get a fight. I'm not letting them have me easily. Fuck all, maybe I should have just let that bastard Hyle Hunt have it when they did that bet, at least it wouldn't be with any of them -

He's -

He's not going to even think about what she meant with the bet, he's too out of it, but -

She wants to fight all of them? From what he's seen she would, but -

He thinks of Queen Rhaella screaming and screaming behind that door and he couldn't do anything and she didn't fight and survived enough to birth a daughter, but - but these pieces of shit will hack her into pieces if she does and for some reason he just can't -

Not when she cares enough to -

“Wench,” he tries, “Let them have their meat, and you go far away,” he keeps on. “It will be over quicker, and they’ll get less pleasure from it.”

What the hell is he up to? What does he even care? She shakes her head. Oh, fucking stubborn wench -

“They’ll get no pleasure from what I’ll give them,” she replies. If this is how I lose my maidenhead then I'm not just letting them take it. And what does he even mean? I can't go anywhere. Far away? What does he even mean?

Oh, damn it. She doesn't get it. She won't handle it. She might be good but it will break her and if she fights it it'll just break her more, he saw it happen, he fucking saw it happen, he can't let them do it again, he can't -

“Let them do it, and go away inside." What might convince her anyway? "Think of Renly, if you loved him. Think of Tarth, mountains and seas, pools, waterfalls, whatever you have on your Sapphire Isle, think…" He keeps on talking, but then she shakes her head again, and -

As if Renly ever wanted me like that. I know he didn't. And I don't know what does he care but I can't. I handled - I handled this all my fucking life, I'll live. I knew it could happen. I'll break a few noses before they even try.

He was about to press, but then Rorge shows up and tells her that she's the ugliest woman he's ever seen -

As if I haven't heard that all my life, she scoffs in her head, and Jaime's stomach is curling on itself and he realizes he's going to have to watch them do it -

“But don’t think I can’t make you uglier. You want a nose like mine? Fight me, and you’ll get one. And two eyes, that’s too many. One scream out o’ you, and I’ll pop one out and make you eat it, and then I’ll pull your fucking teeth out one by one.”

And then he hears the thought, so clear, so fucking loud that he almost screams at hearing it -

not my eyes, they’re the only part of me other people seem to not think ugly

- and then she shakes her head and glares back at him, and when Shagwell talks about fucking her up the arse she thinks well, at least I won't have to see him while he does, and -

Oh no no no no he can't watch it happen, he can't watch it happen by sitting here and do nothing not like this not when she sounded like she was about to cry thinking about losing those pretty eyes of hers -

Maybe -

Maybe he can -

“There’s a funny fool,” he says, his own voice sounding so calm it almost freaks him out. “I have a riddle for you, Shagwell. Why do you care if she screams? Oh, wait, I know.”

No, no, no, you are a fool, what are you doing, he’s going to kill you — he hears Brienne think, but he can't care less, not now -

“Sapphires," he shouts, and -

Well.

The pain in his wrist when Rorge kicks it is entirely worth knowing he won't have to watch her being raped in front of him without even a door in the middle.

--

She's quiet for the rest of the day, but not to him.

No one else ever did what he just has, she thinks.

No other man ever -

Those bastards at Renly's camp wanted to - and he was the one -

How could I have misjudged him so badly -

What is he even hiding it makes no sense he can't be as horrible as he likes everyone to presume -

He saved me he saved me he saved me -

How could - I was supposed to keep him safe and he saved me oh gods he did -

When she finally talks, and asks him in a thin voice, calling him by his name, why did he do it, he lies. Makes up something about wanting Vargo Hoat to say thappireth, about it being a repayment for her helping him escape Riverrun at the end of it, and he can only hear what she's not saying.

I could have handled it, I always have, he was a true knight oh gods he was one, and -

I have a debt to you, too, she thinks, and his stomach lurches, but not in the bad way.

Gods.

She really is... everything she looks like, isn't she?

--

He does try to goad her in the tub.

If only to not think about how she's thinking something about having completely failed all over while she scrubs herself, but it's so angry and garbled he can barely make sense of it, and then she shrinks back from him, and -

"Does the sight of my stump distress you so?" He asks, attempting to goad her more, and then she flinches and -

I can't look at it because it's - the proof I failed you, I said I'd bring you back whole from King's Landing and here's what happened and I could barely - I mean, I did what I could but I said I'd keep you safe I swore I did I swore Lady Catelyn I would and is he trying to make me feel bad about it, is it how he's taking revenge on me, not that I can blame him but I tried oh I tried please -

He was abut to tell her something about Renly to goad her further.

He -

He can't.

"I'm sorry," he says, and when she looks at him like she can't believe him, he shrugs again. “I’m a maimed man, and bitter. Forgive me, wench. You protected me as well as any man could have, and better than most.”

What is he apologizing now why would he it makes no sense gods I don't know what to make of him anyone else wouldn't be meaning this does he mean it I don't know I don't know -

"Do you mock me?" She replies, feebly, and -

He can't even be angry at her after that. She really.... is that guarded, is't she? And if - if people bet on her maidenhead, presumably, from what he gathered, can he even blame her?

"No," he says, "I want a truce. And I meant it."

"Truces are built on trust. Should I trust -"

"The kingslayer?" He finishes for her.

I meant different - she starts thinking, but then -

Then he can't shut his mouth and before he knows it he's told her everything when he never told anyone else and he can hear her thinking oh oh oh it makes sense oh it adds up oh but why hasn't he told why hasn't he said oh gods oh gods I knew he was hiding something, and -

And when he almost faints and she catches him, gently, gentler than Cersei ever was -

I couldn't on the road but there is no way I'm leaving him to suffer now, she thinks, and then no one will answer if I call for help, but if - I won't - I don't want to say it -

She asks help for the kingslayer.

But that's not his name, she thinks, and he thinks he's crying as he passes out.

--

He hadn't wanted to leave her behind.

The moment he did, he felt like - he should have been happy, he was going back to Cersei, why wouldn't he be, except that he thinks about how she said goodbye and told him that she hoped he'd keep their vow and he could hear I completely failed but if he's - if he's the way I think he can be maybe he will do it even if I couldn't and just - he thought Arthur Dayne was the best knight he ever knew but the wench fucking buys it, believes it deep down, she fucking means it and everyone else - everyone else was more of a hoax than he has been, he knows, he has seen it, but her -

He doesn't think he's ever met anyone who was - who wanted it quite as much, not even himself, and her thoughts were what they were but they made him feel - less alone somehow and now he's surrounded by Bolton men and that fucking Qyburn and he can't hear them but from the way they look at him he can guess what they think, and then -

Then he dreams of her putting herself in between him and his older Kingsguard and looking almost beautiful and all knightly as she held that flaming sword and was as naked as she was in the baths and -

He can't.

He just fucking can't.

He goes back to Harrenhal.

--

He doesn't hear her thoughts until he jumps into the bear pit.

What is he doing here she thinks and oh he had missed her voice in his head fuck didn't he, and he smiles as she calls him Kingslayer but not meaning it at all, he knows she doesn't -

He tells her to get behind him and she protests that he's unarmed, of course she would but then -

why would he come back why why why he was going back to his sister wasn't he he was he said he was he loves her doesn't he he said so why is he here did he come back for me because he thought I was in danger oh god he did it's the second time he does it no one else has ever no one else has ever I always had to do it on my own how how how he is here

He swallows and hopes like mad that Steelshanks does what he's supposed to.

He does.

By the time they're out of the damned pit and Vargo Hoat is seething and she replies with a faint whisper that she's still a maiden when he asks he's ready to just - brush it off, why wouldn't he -

why why why why oh he looks so handsome like this he's everything I thought true knights would be once

Jaime is about to trip on his damned feet, and then -

"Ser Jaime?" She asks, thinly. "I am grateful, but you were well-away. Why come back?"

He could have just - brushed her off. Told a quip. Joked about it as he usually does. Something cruel, so she'd go back to thinking horribly of him, but she's staring at him with those pretty, wide blue eyes as she can't believe he's there and he did come back, and -

maybe he thought it was the honorable thing and oh he does have honor I see it now, but why for me, why for me, who else ever has, I never was that kind of girl, I can't believe he did that for me

Fucking hells. How old is she anyway? Eight and ten? He remembers being almost her age and - having lost all of that goodness she has, all that self-righteousness that everyone needs should they be knights, and she's looking at him like he just walked out of a song -

"I dreamed of you," he says instead, and it's the truth, isn't it -

Oh, she says, men don't dream of me, do they, and -

Fuck.

Fuck.

--

He should avoid her.

He should, because if - if she's falling in love with him and it all points to that then - then it wouldn't - it can't - Cersei would - he can't even begin to quantify it -

But then the Red Wedding happens and he hears her weeping in her tent on the way to King's Landing and he hears it, he hears it -

would ser jaime let me weep on his shoulder or would he think it beneath a true knight now

He's -

He's in her tent before he can think about it and he lets her and she grasps at his shoulders like she can't believe he's real, and then she thanks him in a thin voice and he could leave it at that but then he hears it, he hears it -

I've never known a better man

So loud and clear it's deafening, and he can't even lie to himself anymore, he can't -

He doesn't know who moves first.

What he knows is that they're kissing after a moment of staring at each other and she's whimpering into his mouth while her hands touch his face and the back of his head so gently he wants to weep at it, and is he kissing me is he kissing me oh gods I'm dreaming am I she's thinking and -

He shakes his head and brings his left hand to her cheek, fingers shaking, and he can't - he can't put up the front anymore.

"It's real," he says, and her eyes widen. "Don't worry, wench, you're easy to read. But it's - it's a good thing, I think."

"I - I didn't - I've wanted it since the bath, I think," she admits, and he could have said, I could have known or I suspected or I knew you had wanted it at the bear pit, at least.

"I kissed you first, didn't I?" He replies, and - "And for what it's worth, I want to keep that vow to fucking Catelyn Stark. And you didn't fail your side of it. I mean, I'm alive, am I not?"

"How did you know that - I thought I had?"

"You talk in your sleep," he lies, because he can't tell her that he can still hear her damned thoughts though he might have to later, but -

She tells him that she knows she doesn't expect him to keep on doing this when they reach King's Landing, and kisses him again.

He doesn't stop her.

--

When she walks into his room dressed in blue, the thought hits him so hard he almost staggers.

he looks so handsome like this, oh, I don't know how long it has been but he - he looks like a god, doesn't he, but - he can't want it again, can he -

He tells her to close the door and come closer. He - he didn't think he'd ever do what he's about to, but after the conversation he just had with Cersei -

He didn't need to read her mind to realize a few things he should have realized a long time ago, he thinks.

And then Brienne tells him that white becomes him, and -

It suits him, he looks like he was born for it and honestly he was, maybe now he can -

"I have a proposition for you," he says, and puts the Valyrian sword on the table in between the two of them.

He tells her where that sword comes from. He tells her he wants her to have it so she can look for Sansa Stark because she's his last chance at honor, but then -

"And if you wait for tomorrow to leave, until I free my brother before Cersei has him killed for a crime he didn't commit, I would come with you."

She almost drops the sword.

"You - come with me? But - you're -"

"The new Lord Commander? I am," he says, "but - I think - I thought about a few things. I - I think I'd rather be out there with you and my sister - she's not - she's not the person I remembered." Understatement. "I'll need to make sure a few things are under control here, and I have to make sure Tyrion does his escape, and - a few other matters. But - I'll send Varys to you with the name of one specific inn. Wait for me there. Three days at most and I'll join you. Will you?"

of course I would of course I will oh gods he gave me a valyrian sword he thinks I'm - he thinks I can - he'd come with me - oh gods yes yes yes

"Ser," she bows, "I would. I will wait for your missive."

Then she bows and leaves.

Well then.

Well then.

--

Three days later, he knocks on her door feeling drained inside - that conversation with Tyrion was not... what he had thought it would be and he hopes he has it in himself to forgive him with time, and his uncle hasn't quite realized what he meant to do, but - he made him understand that he should take very good care of the king and to make sure Cersei doesn't become regent, because she - she just isn't a good choice, he can see it now, and now he's tired and -

he came back, Brienne thinks in delight as he opens the door.

Fuck it all.

He kicks it closed and kisses her again, and as she moans into his mouth anew, he decides that he doesn't care what happens from now on.

He always wanted to be Arthur Dayne.

Maybe with her he can be.

End.

[wolfsneedles]

when cersei says, "she had a warrior heart, but the gods in their blind malice had given her the feeble body of a woman"

i actually felt it. no not the way she does ofc since she is essentially an antagonistic character but more like, the comparisons she makes the way she hates her own sex and wants power how she assumes herself as tywins daughter and how jaime thinks she call herself tywin lannister with teats, all point to her major disgusting internal conflict. ofc when we later see walk of shame it was worse the comments thrown on her body. in first books when we never had her pov i thought she too would admire herself her beauty, however cersei, in all her honestly hates her female traits and doesn't flaunt her beauty like i always thought or got idea from in first books. she is very mean and dehumanising to women and sees them inferiorly, not to say she herself was treated with a lot of hatred and sexism and then sold to marry a man she doesn't desire who himself was brutal on her, however i think she would have never been personally happy with anyone. cersei sees the entire point of being woman to please men with what she tells sansa, and then to be used as woman too . she doesn't like or meets appreciates strong women she hasn't seen or met dany obv neither would she ever have pleasant thoughts about brienne and arya even, she comments sometimes how woman is pretty but she herself always reduces her worth and others to just a girl to be sold and mounted. ofc her internal conflict i find is v interesting and confusing at times. she hates women but also wants other to accept her everything her every cruel practices even perhaps as woman. she doesn't like being woman to please people at all, yet its so sad and helpless to see her try to tempt jaime or osney even later just so they could listen to her. she hates the rampant sexism and misogyny in westeros even exhibited by her brothers and father but she doesn't realise she is using the same notion and definitions of sexism people have about women to demean and hate woman around her. its like she hates men definitely but she hates doing effort herself too to be a same female figure or woman we see other asoiaf women exhibit or do.

i was wondering if her behaviour towards women themselves, how she sees them inferior even when the men around her aren't seeing them like this, but she sees women with sexist approach too she mentions about rape or septa being or longing for rape, she ridicules and discusses margaerys virginity so much, she talks about uncensored stuff to sansa lol, when she is young girl literally, points to the fact how blunt and hateful cersei is of herself but also of female definition. i think this has a lot to do with her maybe not having to experience a mothers love??? i never liked how she was always surrounded ironically by men around her. we never see major strong female lannister representation i just realised. we only see or hear about tywin who had brutal approach to westeros the, holier-than-thou approach. we see jaime who is prob not worse like tywin at all but he also constantly tries to berate and pass quite nauseating remarks for women and ill hold this opinion about him until i see him say sorry to brienne lol (not to mention he does not hate women as whole even as being a man), we see tyrion also not really ideal partner and excessively morally grey character although i have never or maybe remember sexist or extremely insensitive remarks about women by tyrion until we see him in adwd only blurting out pretty worse sentences and maybe acting same like his father, and then we just know kevan who always well * saw cersei as not so perfect person and is kind of weird to her or idk maybe i never liked that lad because he also kind of sexualised her in childhood as cersei says maybe that men never looked at her like they do at others and she was seen with different eyes, all this time i wonder kind of where was tywin though he could have given or taught her good wholehearted valuable values anyway my anti tywin agenda not here today*, and then we see lancel, well for all we know he slept with her too but its just weird again that she slept with him to get rid of her obnoxious husband and well, lancel doesn't really hurt her though or ever saw her like her brothers do, considering his religious changes. but all this time im wondering cersei kind of missed having any wholesome woman in her life as, friend or companion which contributes to her internalised misogyny even more (its like she is opposite of catelyn hundred percent but cat also has internalised misogyny and i realised she never had loving sister cousin friend or companion) maybe im not thinking right but doesn't it click to u all that they both esp cersei of course see women in diff colours and not like how arya dany sansa brienne see women, because they lacked any stronger female character to look upto too. cats treatment of jon which is separate thing was quite questionable and so how she feels weird too when she sees mya stone! but cat or cersei never both, confronted their husbands or told them anything or even discussed any issues with them (this is for cat esp when she should have been angry over ned for jon :/ but she changed her energy to jon) . and it makes me wonder its also because they both were raised in a v male dominated society with diff kinds of fathers, uncles and brothers, that cersei especially has diff notion to what a random woman outside castle would even look like or act like and that all of them aren't really linked to their virginity or marriages and babies. i dont think ofc she would have been different if she had wholesome female friend but she did or should have had someone as girl who had her back when she was growing up???

(btw this isn't pro cersei thing at all - i was kind of horrified by her analysis of women we get to see in affc and then the melara thing at her young age was well fked up also pinching tyrion when he was baby "until he cried" or calling him "little monster" or whatever shows infact how she is quite disdainful of men like tyrion too and not just women. i was wondering maybe her losing joanna maybe played significant role only that being said, she is biggest antiparallel to dany and catelyn! )

[writerbri-archive]

Dark Jon is my favorite Jon so here's my prompt! Once he's back from Dragonstone and knows about his parentage, Jon can't control himself anymore and let his dark side come out to live, claiming Sansa, making S her and planning with her their life because he won't have a world where he can't have her. Kind of a fix-fic S8 with the Jon we deserved, as dark and possesive and jealous as possible! Hope you can write it because I'm so excited about it! Thank you in advanced, stay safe!

Book Canon. Ramsay never got within 10 feet of Sansa. Jon’s heritage is known to everyone and has been for some time. It’s Robb’s will that made him King in the North, not just the northern lords. The trip to Dragonstone/KL for Jon pretty much went the same as in the show. Full pol!Jon. Don’t read if you’re a D/ny fan. It may not be full dark but it has shades of dark and possessive Jon so I hope you like it!

*

She ought to have expected it. Time hadn’t stopped for an instant since his return to Winterfell and this was their first true moment alone since she bent the knee before a foreign queen in quiet fury. Jon quietly latched the door, his very presence filling the room in an inescapable manner. Yet she did not turn, staring out at the moonlit courtyard without truly seeing a thing. Her arms were draped loosely about her middle and she leaned against the windowpane for fear that she could not hold herself up otherwise.

“You weren’t in the hall tonight.”

Sansa wondered how he could have known, with the Dragon Queen so determined to command every bit of his attention. Had someone else told him? Or did he manage to tear his gaze away from her loveliness long enough to notice Sansa’s absence at the high table? If that were the case, surely he noticed that she was not the only one who wasn’t there.

“I supped with Lord Tyrion.”

She sensed his sudden stillness. Resisted the temptation to look over her shoulder. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of it. Not like she had much of a choice. Sansa certainly hadn’t brought the man into their home.

“Alone?” Jon asked, his voice quiet.

Sansa frowned, wondering if that was all that mattered to him.

“Brienne was there,” she answered, still facing away from him.

“Why did he ask to dine with you?”

Finally, she tilted her head over her shoulder and met his gaze. Saw the ire in his dark eyes. The tension in his shoulders. His hand half lifted to the sword on his belt as if he might search Tyrion Lannister out the moment she said something he did not like to hear.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Sansa asked, a note of mocking to her voice that caused him to blink. “Shouldn’t the Lady of Winterfell welcome the Hand of the Queen to her table when he requests it?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed at her words but she did not dare yield.

“What did he want?” he asked again.

Sansa held his gaze for a handful of seconds before turning away to stare out of the window once more.

“He proposed a match,” she finally answered.

A sharp intake of breath. The whisper of cloth as she imagined his hand finally closing around the hilt of his sword, just beneath the snarling direwolf that decorate the pommel. Had Ghost been there instead of hunting through the wolfswood, he would have reacted to Jon’s palpable anger.

“Between the two of you?” Jon said, his voice tight with rage.

Sansa’s eyes slipped closed as she leaned her head against the pane. A part of her wanted to demand how he could dare assume the right to grow angry over the mere thought of it. But she was tired. Far too tired for any of this. All that she wanted was to be alone.

“No,” Sansa said, her voice betraying her weariness. “Between you and her.”

She did not have to speak the woman’s name. He knew well enough without hearing it. Moments passed without a sound between them. The silence thick with tension and all that went unsaid. He’d spoken to Arya, she was sure. Told her all about his journey south. If there were anything that Sansa needed to know, anything that she did not already, her sister would have brought it to her ear. Sansa did not care to know the rest. Particularly not after this night.

“Why come to you with this proposition?” Jon said, his words heavy and tired as her own.

“To hear whatever objections I may have in private,” Sansa answered, though it was more something she’d assumed than anything that Tyrion admitted outright. “He likely feared that I would voice some disapproval before the northern lords and sway their opinions if I was not forewarned of his plan to wed you to his queen.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?”

“Daenerys is unwed so that she might secure an alliance,” Jon said, sounding more as if he spoke to himself than her.

“And the North is already well within her grasp,” Sansa finished for him, finally turning away from the window to face him fully, her arms dropping loosely to her sides.

Jon’s eyebrows were knitted together in confusion, his lips tilted into the frown she’d seen so many times before. How he could remain so unsuspecting after all this time truly astounded her. True, he hadn’t suffered the same education that she had but surely he’d learned a lesson at the mercy of his brothers’ blades. If not then, had her advice done nothing to teach him? Did he still know nothing of the game?

“Was it not enough to bend the knee?” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side?

“I don’t-”

“You laid with her.”

Jon’s eyes grew wide, his lips parting in shock as silence enveloped her solar once more.

“Tyrion told you,” he said after nearly a minute passed.

“He assumes that your existing affection for one another will ease quite well into a marriage,” Sansa said, turning away from him and crossing the room to pour herself a cup of wine simply for something to do with her hands. “He sees such potential in your union. Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne come again, perhaps.”

Sansa might have laughed at the comparison, for Daenerys Targaryen had no similar traits to the beloved queen of the stories that she could see, but she found no true humor in the situation. Not when her heart ached so, at the mere thought of him entangled in furs with the Dragon Queen. Sansa had no right to her jealousy, she knew that. They’d come to know one another as cousins but Jon did not owe her his love no matter what she felt for him.

So Sansa would feel indignant on behalf of the North, she thought to herself as she drank. The lords and ladies who put their faith in their king. For Robb, who entrusted the crown to Jon all those years ago. Any bitterness that Sansa felt at her brother’s actions had long since faded. She could not blame him for wanting to keep Winterfell out of Lannister clutches and Jon had been a good king up to the very moment he laid his crown at Daenerys’ feet.

“It is not what you think,” Jon said slowly.

“Tis hard to misunderstand such a situation,” Sansa all but scoffed.

“The answer is no, Sansa.”

She blinked at the sudden strength of conviction in his voice. The determined way in which he spoke her name. Abandoning her half-filled cup, Sansa turned to face him with her own brow furrowed.

“No?” she repeated.

“No,” Jon affirmed, taking a step closer to her, then another and another. “It was not enough to bend the knee.”

Sansa took a step back only for her hips to collide with the table behind her, jostling the flagon and nearly sending her cup toppling to the ground.

“I do not wish to hear of it,” she said, the slightest tremble affecting her words.

“Aye, but you will.”

Exhaling shakily, Sansa prepared herself to command him to leave. She would not be forced to listen to him. To hear a tale that would only hurt her more. Sansa thought that it could not get any worse when she learned that he had abandoned his crown. How wrong she had been.

“Leave,” she said, her voice low and not unaffected as he drew nearer to her.

“I did not trust her on word alone.”

“And yet you brought her here,” Sansa said, leaning away as he braced his hands upon the table on either side of her hips.

“I did,” Jon said, his eyes fixed upon her own, searing and consuming in a way that she could not escape. “And I would do it again, a hundred times over if it means winning the Great War.”

Sansa shuddered as his heat enveloped her, feeling altogether unsteady at his proximity. She ought to escape the cage of his arms. Command that he step away. Do anything to end this torture.

“And should she harm us?”

Jon’s eyes darkened, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Then she will meet the same fate as anyone else who dares lay a hand on you.”

You. Not the North. Not the lords and ladies. Not Arya or Bran. You. Sansa recalled Lord Baelish with sudden clarity. The red of his blood against the white snows. That same blood staining the very sword sheathed at Jon’s waist. The burning rage in his eyes as she recounted the unwelcome kisses and touches forced upon her. The pleased look upon his face as Baelish’s many crimes came to light. The glance they shared over the man’s body, an understanding passing between them.

“Jon,” she breathed his name, lifting her hand to his chest.

Beneath her palm, his heart beat out a steady rhythm. His eyes did not falter in the least, staring directly into hers even as her tears welled.

“You laid with her,” Sansa said again, one tear tracing a slow path down her cheek.

“She could not be trusted on word alone,” Jon said quietly, almost soothingly, reaching up to brush her tear away with his thumb. “We could not defeat the enemy alone, Sansa. You know that we need her armies and her dragons.”

Sansa let her eyes fall closed, recalling how she’d received Tyrion with a smile that very night. Encouraging him to speak of all that he’d endured since they last met in King’s Landing. Laughing demurely behind her hand at his stories. Gasping in all the right places. Letting him think that she was most pleased to have him there. Just as she had done with Joffrey, saying all the right things to fool him. Sansa had warned Jon not to fall to the same fate as her father and brother. She didn’t know that he’d listened until this very moment.

He’s no different than me, she realized with a quiet sigh.

“The thought that you might love her,” Sansa said, her voice breaking ever so slightly. “That you might be hers...”

His lips brushed over her forehead in a tender kiss.

“Never,” Jon whispered.

Where will you go, she’d once asked him.

Where will we go, he’d said in return.

Now he was there, in her chambers. With her, not the Dragon Queen. Jon and Sansa, just as it should be.

“What are we going to do?”

Jon’s lips withdrew only for him to lay a kiss upon her cheek.

“Leave tomorrow’s concerns be,” he said, his hand falling to her throat, cupping it lightly as his thumb traced her collarbone. “Tonight, I intend to show you that I belong to only one woman.”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered open and she shivered beneath his touch as he pressed a kiss to her other cheek.

“We shouldn’t,” she said half-heartedly, even as she allowed him to tilt her head back.

“I intend to wed you, Sansa Stark,” Jon murmured just before placing a kiss upon her throat.

Her breath caught at his words, heat rising within her as he slipped his free arm around her waist.

“Jon...”

“You will be mine,” his lips brushed her skin as he spoke. “And I will be yours.”

His teeth scraped over her fluttering pulse as he pulled her even closer to him.

“Oh,” Sansa all but whimpered.

Jon drew away and she mourned the loss of his lips.

“Should I leave now, hmm?” he asked, tipping his head to the side as he brushed his thumb over her jawline.

Sansa took a moment to breathe before shaking her head slowly.

“Please don’t,” she said softly, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. “Stay with me.”

A smile pulled at his lips as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he leaned his face into her touch.

“Sweet girl,” Jon said, the note of praise in his voice making her heart skip a beat.

He leaned in close, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her own. Sansa longed for his kiss, yet she could not bear it until he eased her concerns.

“Will you lay with her again?” she asked, drawing away to look him in the eyes.

Jon’s eyes hardened ever so slightly and she could see the distaste that he felt at the thought of it.

“Never.”

A single word to soothe her worries. A single kiss to make her forget them entirely. Sansa arched into him as his lips slanted over hers, far more gently than she expected. His hands lifted to cradle her face as if she was the most fragile thing he’d ever held.

“I’m not so easy to break,” Sansa protested.

Jon exhaled a laugh over her lips, drawing away to look into her eyes.

“I have dreamt of this,” he said, his hand rising to allow his thumb to brush over her bottom lip. “I intend to take my time.”

Sansa said nothing in return, grasping his hand in her own. Jon did not protest nor did he try to stop her as she stepped out of his arms and turned to guide him towards her bedchamber. The door stood just wide enough for her to slip through and bring him along with her. Sansa barely made it two steps from the doorway before Jon spun her about, drawing a gasp from her lips before he claimed them once more, his hands falling to grip her hips firmly.

The scrape of his beard against her skin was such a contrast to the softness of his full lips, yet one that Sansa liked all the same. Jon guided her backward as she pressed up on her toes to meet his kisses eagerly. Lifting her hands to her hair, she pulled out pin after pin and cared little when they fell to the stone floor in her haste. Jon hummed his approval as one hand lifted to delve into her hair, his lips falling to trace along her jaw and tease at a particularly sensitive spot just behind her ear.

“Wha-what will happen after?” Sansa said, struggling to speak beyond the sensations overwhelming her. “After the Others are defeated?”

“She’ll fly south and claim her throne,” Jon said, flicking his tongue over her heated skin and drawing a whimper from her. “And the North will be ours alone.”

“You bent the knee,” Sansa gasped as his hands made their way to her laces.

“I lied,” Jon nearly growled.

A shudder tore through her as his fingers pulled at her gown’s laces impatiently. Sansa might have done the same for his jerkin had his lips not descended upon hers once more, quite thoroughly distracting her as he stripped her gown away almost effortlessly. His fingers proved every bit as deft with her stays until she wore nothing but her shift, stockings, and smallclothes.

“Beautiful,” Jon hummed, pulling away to pluck at the ties of her shift.

Sansa’s cheeks warmed even more, her hands trembling as she reached up to trace the scars that surrounded his eyes.

“You are too, Jon,” she said softly, tracing his features with her eyes and fingers both.

He hesitated in his movements, his eyes flitting up to meet her own. Something flickered in his gaze. A lingering uncertainty and doubt. As if he couldn’t quite believe that they were here at all, much less that she might mean her words. Sansa leaned in, brushing her lips over his as she lifted her hands to slip her shift from her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground with her gown and pins.

Jon tore his lips away as soon as he realized what she’d done and Sansa could barely voice her discontent before he lifted her to the tips of her toes, his head ducking so that he could wrap his lips around her nipple. Sansa’s cry filled the room as pleasure surged through her, her fingers delving into his dark curls as she cradled his head to her breast.

He was quite relentless, sucking and licking at her nipple, even tugging at it with his teeth. Sansa thought she’d go mad at the sensations he pulled from her body, such that she did not think were possible, moans falling freely from her lips by the time he moved his mouth to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. Sansa had never experienced such sweet torment. Never wanted it to end yet needed more.

She felt weak on her legs by the time he drew away, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath she took. Her lips parted as she met his desire-filled gaze. Her breath hitched as he bore her back onto the bed, capturing her lips in another overwhelming kiss. Sansa felt the leather of his jerkin beneath her palms and recalled that he was still fully dressed yet had no chance to change it before Jon dropped to his knees before her.

“What are you doing?” she said, her eyes growing wide as he looked up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Kissing you,” Jon said simply.

Sansa thought she might blush from head to toe as her smallclothes joined the rest on the floor, once she grasped his meaning. She bit down on her protests, resisting the urge to hide her face behind her hands as he shouldered her thighs apart without bothering to remove her stockings. Sansa thought he must have done so on purpose, judging by the heat in his gaze as he brushed his lips over the soft skin of her thigh just above the silk ties.

Had Myranda not been quite so outspoken about her trysts, Sansa would not know that such an act existed. She certainly never thought to experience it herself. Though she may not have been a maid, due to her short-lived marriage to Harry, Sansa had little idea of what to expect as Jon fit himself between her thighs and lowered his head to lick a path along her folds. 

Dropping her head back against the bed, she arched into his mouth as heat and pleasure rose within her. Jon’s hands seized her hips, dragging her closer to his mouth and keeping her still as he licked and sucked at her cunt like a man starved. A part of Sansa knew that she ought to keep quiet, lest the entire castle hear what they were doing.

“No!”

Jon’s growl echoed through the room, fierce in its stern reprimand.

“Let me hear you,” he said, staring into her eyes.

Sansa saw the desperation in his eyes and let her hands fall away. His eyes flashed with approval and sent warmth spreading through her as he dropped his head to resume his task. Spearing her fingers into his hair, Sansa tossed her head back once more as she filled the chamber with a litany of drawn-out moans and hoarse cries.

“Gods, Sansa,” Jon groaned, pressing a finger into her slowly as he traced his lips over her clit. “I could happily feast on your cunt for hours.”

She let out a sob, shaking her head as her hands twisted into the first beneath her. Sansa knew for a fact that she would never survive such a thing. Her body began to shake as she felt the heat in her lower belly grow all the more tight and intense. Her lips formed a mantra of Jon’s name as she rocked her hips against his mouth. A second finger pressed in alongside the first and just as they curled within her, Sansa hurtled over the edge with a shout.

Pleasure rolled through her in waves, making her toes curl and her teeth sink into her lower lip deep enough to draw blood. Jon did not relent as she trembled beneath him, her hands pushing half-heartedly at his shoulders as it all became too much to bear. He drew away and wiped the back of his hand over his lips only for his gaze to darken even more, if possible, at the sight of blood smeared over her mouth.

Sansa gasped at the taste of herself on his lips as he claimed her lips, licking away the blood before his tongue delved into her mouth. It was almost impossible to loosen the laces of his jerkin as her hands shook in the aftermath of her peak, her entire body feeling weightless and weak. Yet she managed to shove it down his arms and toss it away all the same, yanking at his tunic until he drew away enough for her to lift it over his head.

“Please,” Sansa murmured against his lips, fumbling with his breeches. “I need more, Jon.”

He pulled away and she felt cold all at once, realizing just how hot he burned as soon as she felt the loss of his skin against her own. Sansa pushed up on her elbows, watching as he kicked away his boots and divested himself of his breeches and smallclothes in one movement. She felt a tug of desire in her low belly at the first glimpse of his cock, reaching out towards him before she could fully realize it.

Jon climbed onto the bed once more yet did not settle between her thighs, hauling her up and into his lap instead. Sansa straddled his thighs, letting out a trembling breath as she felt the length of his cock against her cunt. His arm slung around her hips, the other hand cupping her cheek as he kissed her deeply. Sansa’s hands slid to his shoulders and she rocked her hips, desperate to feel more.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jon murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.

Sansa reached between them with a confidence she never thought she possessed, wrapping her hand around his cock and relishing in his groan as she stroked him slowly. Swirling her thumb over the tip, watching his eyes fall closed and his lips form soundless words. Lifting up higher on her knees, Sansa held her breath and slowly sank down, letting him fill her inch by inch.

In that moment, as two became one, Sansa knew that no feeling would ever compare to this utter completeness that overwhelmed her. A sob of overwhelming wholeness and pleasure rose in her throat as Jon uttered her name reverently, his hands exploring her back and his lips pressing to every inch of her throat and chest.

It did not take long to set a rhythm, rocking her hips and meeting him thrust for thrust. Sansa gripped at his hair and tilted his head back, slanting her lips over his for the most passionate, desperate kiss they’d shared thus far. Jon’s hand slid between them and Sansa drew away with a cry of “Gods!” as his thumb circled her clit.

As her energy flagged and her muscles grew tired, Jon seemed to sense it without her saying a word, drawing her in close and effortlessly flipping them around until she lay on her back once more. It was a heady thing, seeing his dark, worshipful eyes staring down at her. Reverent in their exploration as he set a slow, steady pace.

“Seven hells, Sansa... so fucking... fucking perfect, lovely girl. You know that? You know how perfect you are, taking my cock so good in that sweet cunt of yours?”

Sansa let out a keening noise, arching into him as his words flooded her with an odd feeling of both satisfaction and need.

“It’s... it’s so much,” she said breathlessly, pressing her forehead against his shoulder as tears slipped from beneath her closed lids at the sheer intensity of how she felt.

“It’s everything,” Jon said, his lips brushing over her temple. “It’s us.”

She knew what he meant by his words. This was more than just a man and woman sharing a bed. It was inevitable. She knew that now. Every moment that came before only drew them closer to now. Sansa felt that she’d belonged in no place more than Jon Snow’s arms.

“You’ll be my queen,” Jon declared, pulling away and lifting her chin so that she would look in his eyes.

Sansa gazed up at him, seeing the intent in his stare. Knowing that he meant it. Reaching up, she stroked her fingers through his hair.

“Your wife,” she said in return.

Jon’s eyes reflected his pleasure at her words and he began moving quicker, sliding his hand beneath her thigh to hitch it over his hip as he thrust into her even deeper than before. Sansa lost herself to the pleasure, her hand fitting between them so that her fingers could rub at her clit. Every passing moment drew her closer to the edge once more.

Only when Jon dropped his head and sank his teeth into her shoulder did her pleasure overwhelm her so suddenly and thoroughly that her vision grew black for several moments. Sansa arched her back with a silent scream and dug her nails into his shoulders as her cunt clenched around his cock, drawing a cry of her name from his lips.

A hazy satisfaction rose within her as she came back to herself and realized that Jon had found his own pleasure very shortly after her. His breaths came out in harsh gasps as he stilled above her, his hair hanging in his eyes that were squeezed tightly shut. His hands were braced on the bed on either side of her head, clenched in the furs as he slowly recovered.

Sansa’s hands roamed over his back, feeling smooth skin and scars beneath her touch. She pressed a kiss to his arm and waited until he opened his eyes to give him a tired smile. Jon stared back at her in wonder, as if he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what just happened. Slowly and with aching sweetness, he lowered himself and kissed her with soft tenderness that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered against her lips, a note of worry in his voice.

Sansa shook her head, stroking her fingers through his hair and bringing him in for another kiss.

“Perfect,” she mouthed, feeling a sudden exhaustion weighing down on her.

She barely felt it when he slipped out of her, though she felt a note of gratitude as he swiped a cloth between her thighs to clean her. By the time Jon gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his chest beneath the furs, her eyes were closed and she was nearly asleep.

“I love you,” he breathed into her hair, stroking his fingers along her back.

Sansa shifted closer to him, possessing just enough consciousness to press a kiss over his heart.

“Love you.”

*

Okay that got sweeter at the end than I intended but I still hope you liked it! Thank you for the prompt!

[prosperdemeter2]

I'm currently 6,000 words into a Phlint fic that I am endlessly excited to share. See a teaser down below 😊

He met Phil on a Tuesday night which, objectively, wasn’t anything special. Tuesdays were free shows for those that had served in the Army so long as they had an ID and Clint had been working the front booth with Brienne. His suit was tight and purple (and yellow but Clint preferred to focus on the purple) and his hair was slicked back in the way that Carson insisted made him look professional and not like a twelve year old boy. 

Clint didn’t usually mind working the booth. He was a people person, he enjoyed seeing his audience before they were in the stands - he could tell, from the way their eyes flitted and settled on different tents and the way their hands toyed with a stack of bills, just what level of performer he would have to put on. 

Clint didn’t usually mind working the booth. Except he hadn’t slept much of anything the night before, his back was an array of bruises from falling from a roof when his foot had slipped during the job a few days earlier, and his left hearing aid was whining in a high pitched and annoying as all hell squeal just soft enough that he could, sometimes, forget it was even there. Phil hadn’t been anything special (which, really, was a joke if future Clint were to look back on the interaction). He hadn’t even come alone (Which would have set off alarm bells. No normal grown man came to a circus all by themselves on a Tuesday) but with a tall, scary looking woman with the most severe scowl Clint had ever had the misfortune of seeing. 

Perhaps they were from the city nearby - every now and then a tourist would catch wind of the show and come stumbling by to see them put on a show - or maybe they were one of the new age young folk that liked to move to small towns. Clint didn’t pay them much mind, not even when they handed over nearly identical, smooth faced military IDs. Clint didn’t even understand why they even asked to see the IDs - none of them knew how to identify a forged one but, he supposed, they were all working off the general assumption that, no matter how terrible of a person someone could be, no one would want to impersonate a veteran. 

He pressed himself flat against the wall of the booth, smiled his show smile just like he did in the ring, and said in time with Brienne - “Thank you for your service.” 

“What show are you in?” Clint saw his lips form the words but he didn’t hear them over the crowd, the music, or the whine in his left ear. 

He could have been asking Brienne but she nudged her foot back into his shin to let him know that he was the one being spoken to. Clint’s smile didn’t dare slip from his lips. “Big top at nine.” 

Occasionally, rarely, Carson’s got people that had come to see a specific performer. They’d have heard one thing or another about Brienne’s ability to read the future, about how Jonson could lift an entire riser full of people, about how the Yarnova twins performed exclusively without a safety net. They would come and they would oo and ahh and, usually, they would leave disappointed. Buck - Trickshot - had a better draw than most (Clint was pretty sure that was the only reason why Carson kept him on) and Duquesne was a crowd favorite. They had regulars that showed up every weekend just to watch them perform. 

Clint - the Amazing Hawkeye - had a draw that beat all of them out. 

It was uncomfortable, sometimes, to realize that, as far as the circus went, Clint was almost a celebrity. Carson had made him sit down for publicity photos when he was fifteen - just him, his bow, and a fake smile in the big top. He had paid good money for them and they were the only pictures Clint actually had of himself. 

He looked uneven. 

He didn’t like them. 

Phil - even though he wasn’t Phil then, wasn’t even Agent Coulson, or boss but, instead, was Nice Hair White Teeth - smiled and waved his ticket in the sticky night air. “I’ll see you there.” 

Clint saw his lips form the words and nodded once, sharply. “Enjoy the show.” Brienne kicked him again. “Sir.” He hastily tacked on and unclipped the red rope to let them in past their rather abysmal attempt at security. About ten people snuck in every show and Clint had counted seven so far that evening - kids that were sneaking out from home, adults that were just too dirt poor to pay. 

“You… go… ready… show....” Brienne filtered in and out, in and out. 

Clint shook his head as if he were to shake it hard enough it would simply dislodge the noise of the world wherever it got stuck.

It didn’t work. 

Brienne nodded significantly towards Duquesne’s tent, a line forming at the front and the older man frowning with that severe look that told Clint he was running late. “Shit.” He jumped up straight, realized he had spoken much louder than he meant to and rushed off before he could allow himself to feel guilty about it. 

Who were the people in line to pretend that they had never heard a swear before? 

Liars. 

[magalidragon]

Anger Management | fic teaser

a/n: I am loving kickboxing lately and naturally the most random of things inspire me...like an enemies to lovers smutfic where Dany punches Jon on accident. I have NOT punched anyone in the face in my workouts but I did punch a handsy pervert kid when I was in middle school. Anyway, this fic will have SMUT, an angry Dany, mysterious snarky Jon, Dadvos, and BFF Missandei who has butterflies on her gloves. Also weird Rhaegar makes an appearance. I love that weirdo. 😂

"Ready?"

"Ready," Dany said, jumping up and down in place, patting her fists together. She grinned at Davos. "So? Who am I kicking the shit out of?"

He sighed. "So much for teaching you to channel your anger, to control your emotions."

"Everyone always wants women to control their emotions, but men can get away with anything."

"I am not touching that one."

It was true. Not that her eldest brother had any emotions, but if Rhaegar got angry in court it was "passionate" and if she got angry in court it was "shrill." Although Dany did have to admit, spending every other day in Davos's gym for about an hour and a half was really helping with her anger, frustration, and general stress levels. She discovered she was sleeping better, eating better, and even Rhaegar commented on her "distinct calm" in the partner meeting that morning.

It was because she knew that tonight she'd be able to actually mess with someone else. She liked kickboxing. Missandei preferred to just stay punching the bag and then let Grey try to teach her some of the staff-work, but Dany was eager to try out her moves with someone else. It was the competitive streak inside of her, coming from growing up with one brother as her sort-of father and the other as an annoying twit who pulled on her braids and terrorized her. She always had to outshine them.

Now she wanted to outshine this. She had mastered the punching bag, now she wanted to try with someone else. Even if it wasn't quite 'boxing.' Davos said as much as she thought she wanted to truly 'box', there was no way he was going to risk it. "I'm not delicate!" she'd shouted.

"Oh I know you aren't, I'm scared for the men."

Today, she'd carved out exactly ninety minutes to get through this before she had to be back at work to go over briefs and prepare her statement for Rakharo's hearing the following day. She'd managed to get it reverted back to juvenile court, which infuriated Tyrion, but it made her day. She'd be before the juvenile court judge, all of whom she knew and they were mostly softies who believed in second chances, as they should. Plus, the juvenile prosecutors were usually fresh out of law school and she could walk all over them.

Missandei was still waiting on their source at the courthouse to tell them who the judge would be. Dany hoped it was Brienne Tarth. They were going up against Edd Tollet as the prosecutor and as a former juvie himself, he tended to always give benefit of the doubt. It would be Rakharo's day in court and she was looking forward to winning and getting him free. Then straight into a relative's home and back to school, learning from his mistakes.

She climbed up into the ring, bouncing around in place, liking the feel of it. It was fun. "You have a trampoline? I could do this all day," she commented, hopping around.

"I’m sure the lads would like that."

Dany glanced at some young rugby players from the high school who were doing weight training, their mouths on the floor as she jumped. She glanced at her chest; she didn't have a huge one, but it wasn’t bad. The sports bra was keeping her in place, but boys, ugh. She rolled her eyes, knocking fists together. "Okay, get in here old man."

"I have to help Gendry, he's got a bunch of new kids coming in for the session of Faceless training."

"We're teaching children how to move like assassins? That sounds dangerous."

Davos's eyebrows lifted, agreeing. "Don't I know it. He never should have recruited at the playground, tons of parents want their kids to be involved, but I don't know what they think." He smirked. "You'll be training with one of my favorites today. Jonny boy!"

Dany wondered who Jonny was, she didn't recognize the name. She glanced over and saw movement from the back office, shocked at the sight of the hot man she'd taken to calling 'White Wolf' because she noticed that there was a white wolf on his black boxing gloves and he sometimes wore a black t-shirt with a white wolf head on the front, no other insignia. Missandei wasn't giving up info if she knew him, Grey was silent as ever, and most of the time he wasn't in the gym at the same time as her. When he was, he was busy and so was she, their paths never crossing.

He was kind of mythical, she'd decided, preferring to look at him from afar. He might ruin the illusion if she heard him speak more or learned that he was a pig like her previous two serious boyfriends.

"Jonny?" she echoed.

"Just Jon," he said, accent rough. It was like Arya's, Gendry's girlfriend, who was from the North. He climbed into the ring. He wore a t-shirt over black sweats, feet bare, and his hands were bare too.

"We bare knuckling it?" she asked. That seemed a little crazy.

"Don't do that stuff here, this isn't the 1800s."

Jon picked up two pads from the corner, slipping them over his hands. He held them up, smirking. "Let's see how you do with someone moving your target."

"What?"

"Gotta walk before you can run, lass."

She wrinkled her nose. Fine. She shrugged, rolling her head on her neck. Today's outfit was an all red ensemble, her braids hanging down her back from their elaborate up-do at her crown. "Let's do this then."

Jon smiled; he had a nice smile, she'd give him that too. It was entirely unfair how attractive he was. Probably has an empty skull, all the brains knocked out from boxing, she figured. She noted that he had a couple scars on his face; he had some more on his chest too, when she caught him without a shirt. He also had a tattoo along his shoulder and onto his chest. More wolves and what she thought might have been red leaves of some sort. There was a tattoo on his inner wrist, which she caught sight of now, standing close to him.

Duty

She darted her gaze to his other wrist. There was another word there. Love. She nodded to them. "Your fists are named love and duty?"

"Something like that." He smiled again, flash of white against his dark beard. His curls were half-back from his face in a knot. He also had gray eyes. They looked practically black in the dim light around them. An air conditioner vent blasted down on them, sending a chill through Dany's spine.

Or perhaps it was the wafting scent of spearmint, faintest cigarette ash, and...woodsy pine? She wasn't sure, coming from the man she now stood about a foot in front of. He was built, but not obscenely so, not like her ex-boyfriend Drogo, who spent more time preening before the mirror inspecting his muscles than using them. Her lips twitched, lifting her fists. "What do you got White Wolf?"

Davos heard that, whistling low under his breath. "My, my Jonny, she truly has your number."

Just Jon smirked, holding up the pads, squaring off. "Let's go Dragon Queen."

She flung out her fist, connecting so hard with his right pad that he stepped back, eyes widening, surprised. She grinned.

"Dracarys."

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

words of affirmation - jaime

words of affirmation are any spoken or written words that confirm, support, uplift, and empathize with another person in a positive manner; Jaime x Brienne + love languages based off @observedchaos post

He tries to stay off the Kingsroad, wearing the dark blue cloak she gave him before he left.  

Afraid to keep a fire, he barely sleeps, spending long nights on the hard ground. 

With Sansa returned safely to Winterfell, one oath kept, Jaime could not turn his thoughts away from his youngest son. When he told her, his mouth fumbling over the words, the news of potential attacks on the city, Tommen still alive and at the heart of it. 

They parted outside the gates. He kissed her, held her close. She had not said anything, only brushed a kiss to his cheek and stood there watching until he disappeared over the horizon.

Close to the Twins, he hears news. They’ve breached the city. It is too late. Too late. He thinks about riding onwards but it feels even riskier to return when his son is likely dead or at the very least, has been spirited away, gone into hiding. 

There is someone else waiting for him, and she does not deserve to hear news of him being caught and hanged (or worse). She has already been through so much. 

They both have.   

It was foolish of him to choose his family, yet again, over the one person who loved him for what he was. Who told him to live. 

He wants to live his remaining years with her.  

As he returns North, he hears of the Wall, hopes he is not too late. Prays. Rides through the night. 

When he finally rides through Winterfell’s gates, he does not stop, shouts and commotion rising up in the yard. The Northern men rush from the gatehouse to demand the unmasking of him. He slides off his horse, arms in the air, and there is a rush of footsteps behind him. 

“I know none of you Northern men look favorably upon me, but I did deliver Lady Sansa here myself.” Then she is in front of him, looking as austere as ever, but those eyes. His face shifts from an outraged grimace to a warm smile. “Ask Lady Brienne. She will tell you.” 

“What Ser Jaime says is true.” She nods. “He delivered Sansa Stark here upon her mother’s, Lady Catelyn Stark, request.” Her hand lands on Oathkeeper’s hilt, a comfort when she is nervous, a gesture he knows as intimately as his own. “He is not your foe. Besides, we have a far greater fight waiting for us.” The Northern men have not warmed to either of them, by the looks on their faces, but they listen. Their backs are barely turned before Brienne steps forward, a shyness in her gaze, but a smile pulling at her lips. She reaches up and pushes back the hood of his cloak (the dark blue one, hers), her fingertips fluttering over his jaw before she kisses him.   

His arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer, because yes, this is all he wanted. Their journey through the Vale and then North, those weeks they had been happy. Content. Then they arrived here and began sneaking into each other’s rooms at night, like it was some illicit thing. But she is not ashamed of him, and she is proving it, right there in the middle of the courtyard. 

“I did not want to hide any longer,” she murmurs against his lips, but even as she says it, glances away. 

It makes him smile and press a kiss to her cheek. “I should have never left. Ever since I kissed you at the gate and rode away, I have not been able to stop thinking about how callous it was. I have not been able to stop thinking about you.”

“I love you.” It is said so softly he thinks he dreamt it. 

“You do not have to admit such things simply because we are a day from battle.”

“Jaime,” she speaks over him, her gaze solid and steady now. “I love you.” 

His heart stutters in his chest because of course he loves her. And he wants everyone to know. To see. He pulls her towards him for another kiss but he murmurs against her lips, over and over, IloveyouIloveyou. 

*

A day later, he stands beside her in battle. 

The two of them fight back to back, like something out of the songs.

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #26 Affront (Extra Credits)

“I’m going to build a house!” Alistair’s face was bright, reddened in the cheeks from running. Charlette stared at him, blinking no less than three times before gathering this bit of news and understanding it all. And yet… “What?” she asked, sounding as dumb as she looked. “I’m going to build a house! I applied for a plot in the new expansion area, and they gave me one. Can you believe it? Gods, this is so exciting!” and surprising. Willow’s Heart rarely expanded its borders. ‘Quaint, unassuming village in the Shrouds backwoods’ was the cornerstone of its appeal after all. And its use to the Order. Moreso, it was surprising because Alistair was, well, Alistair. A very, very large puppy in a man’s body.

“Come on! I’ll show you the place!” And he was off, bounding down the pathway from the Greenhouse he had found Charlette stepping out of. She had just finished pruning every bush, with terribly blunt shears, and was looking forward to a cold drink and several bells in the library. But, instead, she was chasing after Alistair. “Slow down! You might trip and knock out your front teeth!” It was an honest worry, watching him bound ahead and nearly stumble over his own feet. Alistair was the kind of person that fell often, dropped things being handed directly to him, and knocked anything delicate off of any surface. Above, below or exactly at the height of his big, swinging, talking hands. He was rarely without a bruise to sport or a few scratches and grazes to pick at. And all of this made Charlette shiver a little as they finally came to the open area on the edge of their village, where he planned to construct a dwelling. With tools, and nails, and saws and… oh dear. It was a rare patch of open land, few trees holding sway over it and no water or rocks to stand in the way. Finding space in the Shroud could be a difficult thing, considering clearing away the trees and flattening the earth was almost always out of the question. “Here! This is it! Amazing right?” Alistair’s little plot had been marked out with a line of stones, a wide circle that encompassed all the space around two trees growing side-by-side, their canopies high up and reaching in opposite directions to provide constant shade. “Who put the stones down? Is that the edge of your, ah, property?” It felt weird to say that. Alistair though inflated almost twice over. “My property! Yes, I guess it is, and I put the stones down. That’s where the house is going to go. I can’t take out the trees, of course, so I’ll build around them.” Charlette’s brows pulled together and her eyes narrowed as she looked at the ‘layout’. “That is easier said than done, Alistair. I do not think I have seen a single building like that in Gridania .” His smile broadened, his bright-orange hair whipped around his eyes as he nodded with all the vigour of someone you’ve accidentally encouraged. “I know! It’s going to be amazing. I’m thinking, a circle design, but with an opening at the front. So it will just loop around the trees like a cup handle.” Alistair had walked around the trees, coming to the end of his circle and stopping just shy of closing it. “The front door can be here, and each section can be a room. Start off with the entrance, then the living room, then the kitchen, the bedrooms and a bathroom at the end? Or maybe bathroom, then a storage area? Like an attic, but on the ground level.” Charlette had crossed her arms, and walked slowly around with him, imagining this horrific house that would require everyone to walk through each other’s bedrooms to get to the toilet. “Attic on the ground level? So a storeroom?” Alistair’s finger shot up, his mouth went wide like he was going to correct her, then “Yes! Exactly.” About another half-bell was spent hearing about Alistair’s ideas, which included the notion of adding a second level, having rooms entwined with the tree branches and even hanging from them, and a colour scheme of bright oranges and yellows with deep blue. It was a tirade of terribleness that wrote the over-eager future for this affront to notion of a home. And Charlette was not sure how to stem it. “But why do you need so many rooms anyway? If it is just for you, then all you would really need is two. One for you, one for guests.” Alistair hopped down from the branch he had clambered into, landing on his feet far too hard and having to windmill his arms through several unbalanced steps toward Charlette. Stopping himself just shy of barreling into her and straightening up with a puff of breath. “It’s for all of us!” He evoked more confused blinks from her and another, even more dumb sounding “What?” But continued, nonetheless. “Well, we’re all consigned to the same rules aren’t we? No partners, no children, and none of us have a home of our own because of how much the Order just… well gets in the way.” Charlette was unsure if she liked the way this was going, but she let him carry on for now. “You, me, Loash, A’nidreah, Ogi and anyone else. Anyone who wants to, can just move into a room in the Circle House of Order Friends!” Oof, that name made her wince. “But we all have places to stay. And this is your home, Alistair. Inviting all of us into it will just make it something else.” He planted his sledgehammer hands on his wide waist and huffed “Doesn’t sound so bad to me. In fact, that sounds exactly like what I want it to be.” “There would be no space for everything.” “We’d just build it higher, dig into the ground, it’s a big area we can expand out too! The stones are just for the house, remember?” “It would be like living in the barracks again. Living right on top of each other all the time.” “No it wouldn’t. We’d have our own rooms, you could even have a library of your own! We’d just build it, right on top of your room.” “I have a room, and a home.” It was this that finally brought pause to the back-and-forth. Alistair drooped, only a little. “I know, I didn’t mean to suggest you don’t like it with your family Charlette. But wouldn’t it be good? A space of our own? Where it’s just us, and no one else? No Order, no Villagers. Like living at the barracks, but with privacy, and our own space. And everyone is just a step or two away.” She shook her head, looked at those two trees who, really, would be the ones literally shouldering the burden of such a house. “We would murder each other within a moon, I think. How often did we fight in the barracks? You all used to call me ‘Mother Hen’ when I tried to organise anything.” Alistair tilted his head to the side, looking away from Charlette and mumbled “We still call you that. And you were kind of bossy and controlling.” Her arms crossed again, her mouth pulling tight in a frown. “I was not.” “But we also really liked it, Charlette. We liked you looking after us, liked Loash teaching us games and ending our arguments with one or two words. Having A’nidreah to push us to ‘do’ when we spent too much time thinking, or Ogi to keep us honest with ourselves. Fred making us laugh when things got too serious.” She stiffened at the mention of Fred, looking away. “Fred is gone, Alistair.” He grasped his arms, and looked at the ground “Not completely, and neither is Brienne. And when we find her, I want to hear her say ‘Um, actually…’ and correct us on a million things again.” Things got very quiet after that. Charlette sat at her desk. Alistair next to her. A large piece of parchment stretched across it and weighed down at the edges by her books. They had borrowed her fathers stenciling stationary, and spent the rest of the evening drawing plans. It simply felt like the right thing to do, perhaps not because it was a good idea, but because it made both of them feel better. Made them miss their friends a little less. Or maybe it was just fun, she couldn’t really say. But one thing was for sure. “We are not calling it that.” “What, the Circle House of Order Friends? It’s not that bad, you can shorten it to The C.H.O.F!” “The Chof? That sounds like an onomatopoeia for a chocobo’s sneeze.” “It kind of does, but maybe that makes it cute?” “What about… the U House?” “Oh, I like that.” It stuck, for now.

[ajoblotofjunk]

🎵👀

I’m really being shown for my 90s-era bands in this meme. 😂 Yours was Linkin Park, “Cure For The Itch.”

And now for a lesson in rhythm management Let's begin

“You’re not moving your hips right. Do it again.”

Brienne can hear the frustration in Margaery’s voice. They’ve been at this for nearly an hour already, and they haven’t even gotten beyond the first basic step.

“My hips move like my hips,” Brienne protests.

“Yes and you need them to move like my hips.” Margaery demonstrates with a sensual lift of one hip, then the other, slow at first, and then moving more quickly. “See?” she says, as though doing the same thing she’s done for the last hour will suddenly make a difference. The bells at her waist jingle enticingly.

Brienne sighs and tries again, getting into the starting belly dance position, knees slightly bent, and then straightening her right leg to pop her hip up. It goes all right - certainly better than it had at the start - and then she shifts and does it with her left hip. Her own bells clatter awkwardly.

“Good,” Margaery mutters. “Now faster.”

Faster is when it falls apart. Brienne’s head won’t let her body just do what it should, and the movements feel jerky, not fluid like Margaery’s.

“There’s no shimmy,” Margaery complains.

“Of course there isn’t! I don’t even have hips to shimmy,” Brienne snaps, folding her arms over her chest. She’s into weightlifting, not sinuous core exercises. “It’s ridiculous to think this body can do that.”

“Oh really?” Margaery stops the music that wasn’t helping anyway and points at Brienne. “Stay put.”

She disappears out of the private teaching room and Brienne crosses the wooden dance floor to get a water bottle and take a drink. Margaery had begged her to try this, claiming that even weightlifters needed flexibility, and Brienne hadn’t disagreed. She’d always been a bit bored by yoga, so belly dancing had seemed like a good alternative, especially when her friend had volunteered to teach her privately. But it had obviously been a fool’s dream to think she could get her muscled form to move in the ways Margaery’s body did. Margaery was athletic and toned; the perfect woman’s body. Brienne should stop trying to pretend she’s anything but two hundred plus pounds of stiff muscle. She’s proud of that muscle, of the work it had taken to get it; she doesn’t want to feel badly about herself because she can’t shake her hips.

Resolved to tell Margaery she’s done, Brienne turns when the door opens again and then forgets to say anything when Margaery comes back dragging Jaime Lannister behind her. Jaime Lannister who she’s in a fierce lifting competition with. Jaime Lannister who teases her endlessly, even when she deadlifts more than he does.

Stupidly handsome, obnoxious, always bothering Brienne Jaime Lannister.

“What’s he doing here?” Brienne nearly shouts.

Jaime leers at her, his gaze drifting to her exposed abdomen and then back up again. “Margaery said she needed someone to set a good example.”

“Then why did she pick you?”

“Because I’m one of her star students,” he says, preening, and Brienne’s stomach drops. She looks desperately at Margaery for confirmation, and she nods encouragingly.

“Jaime’s the reason I thought you should try belly dancing. He’s a lifter, like you, but he’s taken really well to the lessons. Show her, Jaime.” Margaery pads over to start the music and then gestures for him to begin. “Just the basics, we’re working on that.”

Jaime pulls off the loose t-shirt he’d had on and Brienne flushes. “It’s not a stripping class.”

“You have to be able to see my waist,” he explains, and now she can’t look anywhere else. Jaime’s torso is shaved, and he must have been working out because his skin is shining with sweat. He never looks flushed and unattractive, even when he’s straining under almost too much weight. He always looks like this, though he normally keeps his shirt on.

Jaime starts in the same position Brienne had - knees bent, arms lifted a little out to the side - and then he slowly starts lifting his hips, one at a time, in a slow rhythm. She can see every ripple of muscle in his belly as he does.

“Good, now faster,” Margaery tells him and Brienne’s breathing picks up as Jaime moves into a full shimmy, his eyes on her. He’s not wearing any binty bells, but he doesn’t need them as he slides into a hip drop with his left foot a few inches ahead of him, his wrists moving in small circles in time with the movement of his hips.

Then he starts the belly rolls, and she feels like a snake being hypnotized with the undulating movements of his abdomen. Jaime’s almost as muscled as she is, but here he moves with Margaery’s grace, in control of every lift and sway  and all Brienne’s traitorous brain can think is: he must be amazing in bed.

[james-stark-the-writer]

alright so i've been hearing other people's thoughts on the show to see if i missed anything or if someone understood how i felt and yeah this video by Mina Le pretty much gets the basics of why i can't stand the show as an adaptation of the Addams Family.

like i said, all my previous critiques still stand, this is absolutely a horrendously (derogatory) Tim Burton project, it's very much an encapsulation of his worst tendencies to me, a lot of the show is very much "oh we're so edgy and nobody gets me and we're so oppressed because we like being on our own". Tim. you are 64 years old. I think it may be time for a new shtick. Teens deserve better than this.

anyway, yeah, the show has a needlessly complex mystery with very predictable endings and just generally bad writing overall and it's just not really that fun? the only real standouts were the dance scene obviously and most of episode 7 like I said. like, episode 7 was genuinely really enjoyable although some of it is just because it's so refreshing after the slop of the rest of the show. it feels like the only episode where the show gets close to actually understanding the Addams Family and like someone actually cared about how things sounded like the dialogue and pacing and everything about it is so much better than anything in the previous episodes. episode 5 is particularly egregious because we literally started the season with Wednesday lamenting how she couldn't successfully kill someone. she (and the rest of the Addams Family) would not give a single flying fuck about Gomez killing anyone. fuck, if they cared, it would be a thing to boast about like Morticia would go: "remember that time Gomez killed a man and saved me?" and vigorously make out with Gomez immediately. the very premise of the episode is flawed. this is an extremely middling mystery show attached to the Addams Family name for mostly marketing purposes. none of it feels like there was any reason for it to feature these characters. also like the Addams' also work best as a family and when contrasted against other "normal" people so separating Wednesday AND throwing her into a school full of freaks who for some reason think SHE'S too freaky???? a highly misguided choice to say the least.

this should have either been a 4-5 episode miniseries or a ~3 hour movie. I would honestly let them keep the fluff too with the movie so you know it's incredibly bloated on a fundamental level. the mystery does not deserve more than a 4-5 hour runtime and the show is absolutely bloated for what it actually does have to offer. Jenna is the highlight of this but also?? every single other actor, with the rare exception of the actors for Pugsley and Fester (and kinda Gomez too like I liked Luis but his material really dragged his performance down), was just awful like they really did not understand how to deliver their lines (although some [most] of that is the writing). even Brienne of Tarth was like ??? not good?? like her material wasn't great, just like everyone else, but every line she delivered was basically the fucking same and she always delivered it with a smile except for a couple of scenes which made her performance really grating after a while. like none of it is completely terrible, most of it is serviceable but they are made so much worse bc Jenna is a goddamn star and fucking kills it in every single scene. she's always at 500% and doing her best even though the writing really does not give her much to work with.

anyway, if you're not a Jenna Ortega stan or really care about Danny Elfman scoring something, feel free to avoid Wednesday, you really won't be getting anything out of it other than bad writing and bad acting and a horrible adaptation of the Addams Family. truly it's not even funny!!!!!!! which is like the one thing anything attached to the Addams Family name should be!! literally only episode 7 had jokes that actually made me laugh. there's a few one-liners that aren't terrible (although most of them are elevated by Jenna's performance, obviously) but generally, most of her one-liners are incredibly predictable and boring and just so dry (negative). if i was dying and could only be saved by laughing at a joke and you put on any episode from this show besides episode 7, i would be dead within the first 2 minutes. they're that bad and boring and basic. genuinely just no real creativity with most of these.

Wednesday is a 5/10 show with only one actually good episode that is entirely carried on the performance of Jenna Ortega and a genuinely really fun Danny Elfman score. I can't say I entirely regret watching it because Jenna is just so damn talented and I'm glad she and Danny got their coin but like wow that was like a waste of my time for the most part. just so not fun and tired and boring and predictable and needlessly edgy with very questionably mixed metaphors about oppressed groups and annoying fucking dialogue clearly written to be posted in gifsets or screenshots. every time the show mentions the patriarchy or how "outcasts" are oppressed, a part of my soul dies. that's on your conscience, Tim.

truly, the only real fun I had with the show was the dance scene, episode 7, Jenna's performance, and the score. everything else ranged from functional to subpar to horrible. 5/10 raised to a 7/10 bc of these things, would not recommend. you could do so many better things with 8 hours of your time.

frankly, if you're really itching for an experience that's similar and like actually good and incredibly funny and innovative and clever, you could watch Scream Queens! it's so damn good! even S02!! or you could watch the entirety of S04 of Riverdale and get a better experience and a better mystery with the same creepy academia vibes and with like actually redeeming qualities to boot. fuck, if you can't stand the camp of Riverdale and Scream Queens, go watch the first season of The Magicians, it's also got a really well-done mystery and it takes itself seriously AND it's just a fantastic show that's gorgeously written and severely underrated. or go watch The Order, which this is so desperately trying to emulate in so many ways. although The Order will take a few episodes to adjust to bc those first 3-4 episodes are not great, especially in terms of the writing. hell if you're desperate for deadpan/macabre humor, you could just go watch the original Addams Family show or the two 90s movies.

the point is: there are so many better things you could be watching instead. if you're not a Jenna stan I truly cannot recommend watching this show lol. it's like genuinely not good.

decided I hate myself enough to give Wednesday another shot. I couldn't even finish the first episode the first time around. feel free to go read all about it here. but in short: it was flat out not well written but also Tim Burton just does not get the fucking appeal of the Addams family and also the show is just way too fucking straight like it is violently heterosexual which is just... not what this show should have been but anyway. let's see if there's any appeal to it at all besides just watching Jenna act her heart out that I could latch onto bc truly the first episode was giving off the worst Tim Burton vibes.

[a-libra-writes]

How the GoT Characters React To Your Scars

Really cool request I was looking forward to writing! i fuckin love this trope -why do YOu think SaNDOr Was M Y FIrST LOVE -- 

In this preference, you'll be with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion, Gendry

NED STARK

You said nothing about it during your courtship, a combination of not having a chance to bring it up and not wanting to. It was a constant, nagging thought that followed until the wedding night. Ned noticed how you became withdrawn and he took your hands in his warm ones, trying to reassure you. As you began to undress and tell him a little of what happened, but only telling what you were comfortable with. While he listened, Ned found himself running careful fingers down the length of your arms, torso and legs. 

There was clear pain in his face, as he hated you had to go through such a thing, but he’d kiss you deeply all the same. You were still beautiful, he assured you, and you were strong for carrying such a burden by yourself. Privately he hoped that, in time, you would tell him what happened, even if his heart ached to think about it. 

ROBB STARK

You’d told him what happened in the past to cause the scarring, although you never showed the results. As far as he was concerned, whatever scars you hid couldn’t detract from your beauty or the sweetness he loved so much. It was easy to forget them around him, but during the wedding vows and the feast that followed, anxiety began to build in your chest. Robb wouldn’t care, you were sure, but … 

That evening, as he kissed you and stroked your hair and removed your dress, he noticed you freeze up. Robb finally looked at the scars you talked about but kept hidden, and it startled him what you must have gone through. He noticed the look on your face and hugged you tight, assuring you that he still thought you were the most wonderful woman in Westeros and he was lucky to marry you. Robb made sure you were completely comforted before he continued.

SANSA STARK

Sansa overheard the handmaidens gossiping about you, and firmly put a stop to it. What a ridiculous rumor to spread, she thought. She'd known you for some time, and not only had she never seen them, you never mentioned it. She couldn't imagine you keeping something like that from her. Still, she'd hear more little whispers here and there. She noticed you never wore anything that exposed your back, you preferred to dress yourself and you took baths alone. It was all just coincidence, wasn't it? 

You two were having a fine dinner until some drunk lady bumped into you and spilled wine all over your fine silk. Sansa followed you to your chambers, assuring you it could (probably) be washed. Before she knew it, you were removing your shoes and shimmying out of the dress. She noticed them at once, the twisted skin and large gashes. She hastily darted her eyes and fetched you a new dress from your wardrobe, helping you into it. You said nothing about it, and neither did she as you returned to the feast. 

Sansa felt awful about her reaction, thinking she should have done something else. The next day she made a point to find flowers you liked and quietly ask if you wanted to talk about them. It was half curiosity, half her feeling a little put out that she didn’t know something about you.

JON SNOW

Wearing the heavy black furs and leather of the Night’s Watch meant that that wasn’t much skin to show. Back when you were friends with Jon, you talked about your scars and what caused them fairly easily, because you were sure he wouldn’t see anyway. When his hand was burned during the fight with the wight, you reassured him, reminding him you were just the same. Jon would wonder about these scars you mentioned, but that meant picturing you undressed, and he was not going to go down that road.

As you two became closer and more intimate, Jon noticed how you’d want to leave your shirt on or you were quick to bundle yourself in his. He felt the scars on your skin before he properly saw them, and he always reassured you. It was unthinkable to reject someone as wonderful as you for something like that. You became more comfortable and eventually didn’t mind being completely bare before him, and he was honored you trusted him so much. 

BENJEN STARK

With all the layers you needed for the cold, it was easy to keep your scars from Benjen, your fellow ranger who you had strong feelings for. You both had shared some of your pasts, and while he understood you had hardship, he didn’t know the literal marks it left on you. He didn’t need to know, but you and Benjen already shared so much with each other. It was strange that this should be a secret. 

After building up your courage, you waited for Benjen to come visit you when he usually did: once everyone had finished dinner and those with nightly duties began their shifts. With no one around, you removed your gloves, and removed his. Benjen’s questioning look was halted as he felt the deep, rough cuts and grooves in your palms. Benjen ran his thumbs over the worst of it and squeezed your hands firmly. Your cheeks were already burning, but then he kissed you. He was glad you trusted him with so much, and he wanted you to know it didn’t change how he felt about you.

JORY CASSEL

Jory was always told that southern ladies were perfumed and primped and full of pretentiousness. You were the only one who seemed to address him by name, and you treated him as a person, not some faceless lackey of the Hand. He hadn’t expected you’d be hiding such a thing, although ‘hiding’ wasn’t exactly the right word. You’d confided in him about a terrible accident you suffered in your youth, but you never mentioned carrying any marks from it.

When his hands ran along your legs under your dress, he was surprised by the twisted skin he touched, but he said nothing. He had plenty of scars from battle, after all, and he admired so much about you. Jory liked it when you touched and kissed his scars, so he liked doing the same to your’s, especially since your giggle was so cute. 

EDDISON TOLLETT

It was easy to tell Edd about what happened, half because it was so long ago, and half because he was so good at listening. You explained your scarring was from an accident in your youth, and while your family was relieved you lived, it was obvious they weren’t happy about the scarring that was left behind. Edd listened to you, although it was hard for him to exactly picture it. You were always bundled from neck to foot, after all. 

When he spent his first night with you, he was honestly thinking about a lot more than the scars. He noticed, yes, but quickly glanced over them, because you were just so beautiful and he had to take it all in. Even after you two were together for a while, Edd just saw them as another part of you. 

MANCE RAYDER

While he understood the free folk found scars gained from battle, something to be proud of, he didn’t enjoy the way you’d sigh and try to rub old pains away. He’d seen a handful of your scars, as you didn’t mind removing some clothes to rub ointments on whichever one was bothering you today. Now and again, he’d ask you about it, and you’d tell him. As you two became closer, he was the one to remove your clothes and gently rub whichever part of your body was ailing you that night. 

Whenever you two were cuddling under the furs, usually after being intimate, Mance would idly trace the scars on your back and hips. He was terrible about waiting for you to fall asleep and then stroking the deeper ones on your hips, just to make you squirm in your sleep.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

You weren’t trying to hide them, but you were always wrapped up in warm furs and leathers, which obscured most of your body. You weren’t entirely ashamed of them, as they were proof of victory and resilience, but some days they bothered you with old aches. Tormund often noticed when you’d absently rub at your shoulder or the side of your leg in the evening, and he was genuine when he asked after you. 

Finally, you simply told him that your old wounds were fussing again. You stripped off several layers to show him - you were aware of his crush, but you were still friends, and there was no point in being shy about this. Tormund’s eyes lit up as he marveled at them. He quickly adopted a favorite, but he’d end up asking about all of them as he helped you apply an ointment to help with the aches.

THEON GREYJOY

He shouldn’t have been so surprised. For one, Ironborns were no strangers to scars. They were marks of pride and proof of battle, even for women. It was just… strange. You were a proper lady, even if you liked playing at the sword and bow, and to see such a proper battle scar along your back was jarring. You didn’t even try to hide it. There were a few whispers and titters from other ladies, and some grimaces from men. Their reactions made him more upset than he thought. Here you were, dazzling the room in a fine gown and your lovely face, and they waited until your back turned to whisper about something that a man would be showing off.

So he took you in his arms and brought you into a dance. The skin along the scar wasn’t so rough, and it was hard to pay attention to that when you smiled so brightly. Sometime later he’d ask you about what happened. He had a feeling it was an interesting story, especially since your father trained you in arms. 

YARA GREYJOY

Yara liked scars, she’d known that for a long time. She liked her own, and she liked them on other ladies, especially when interesting stories accompanied them. There were all sorts of interesting things about you, but asking about your scarring was a good way to start. It was a strange shape on your wrist, and she bought you a drink and all but made you sit and tell her about it. That was how your friendship began.

As your friendship became much ‘friendlier’, Yara got to see the rest of them. She was surprised by how many there were, and she knew right off the bat that they weren’t from battle. Yara wasn’t an emotional woman, but she knew why you’d become a little quiet and withdrawn as she undressed you. Her solution was always to take your attention away with her kisses and rough touches. You’d tell her eventually, she knew, but until then, she didn’t want you dwelling.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

You didn’t bother hiding them before the Dragon Queen. While they weren’t the only striking thing about you, Daenerys did notice them as you two talked. She recognized a few scars from battle, similar to the ones her bloodriders and the Unsullied had, but others were obviously painful wounds that had healed improperly. She wondered what sort of life you lived before, because now she saw nothing but strength. She admired and was terribly attracted to that strength.

You told her the stories of your battle scars, but it wasn’t until you both were closer that you told her the rest. Daenerys understood, as you knew she would. She stroked the broken and twisted skin, kissing here and there as you slipped off your clothes. You liked to tease Dany about how much she liked them, saying you ought to wear a full suit of armor to keep her from getting distracted in her throne room.

JORAH MORMONT

Jorah hoped you didn’t notice his surprise when you removed some of your clothes to cool off from the Essosi sun. He masked it quickly, but it saddened him to see such strong, twisted scars on a girl so lovely and young. He couldn’t imagine what sort of hardship you must’ve gone through, but you were strong now, and he did his best not to patronize you. Still, Jorah is a worrier by nature, so anytime he noticed your trying to work the old aches and pains out of your back, he’d find some salves to ease the soreness. 

When you two become closer and more intimate, he’d make a point to kiss and stroke your scars. Even if you insisted you didn’t need such comforting, he’d still like it if it made you breathless or even ticklish. He’d never miss a chance to call you beautiful, and it wasn’t ever flattery. He always believed it. 

MISSANDEI

She had seen many scars in her life, and she knew the sort of injuries that caused them. Missandei noticed some peeking out from under your clothes as you moved, but she kept her business to herself. It wasn’t until you became friends that you talked openly about them, and she realized the extent of them. Missandei’s heart hurt at what sort of things you went through, even if you were stronger for it now, she felt it was just one more injustice in the world. 

She couldn’t change the past, but she could help with the aches you’d suffer after a long day, or applying ointments when the skin became dry and flaky. It was a comforting, intimate time you both could share, and Missandei appreciated every moment. She never thought you less attractive for your scarring, because there was just so much more to you. 

GREY WORM

He’d seen all matter of scarring and wounds in his life, and hadn’t batted an eye to them. From the start, it felt a little different with you. Even if your shoulders were lovely, if your dress pulled down a little, you’d quickly pull it up to hide the marks along your skin. You were friendly to him, even if he struggled to find the words to express how he felt, and he didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up something that might upset you.

Once you were comfortable, you told Grey Worm about what happened to cause your scarring. He reached for your hand and ended up holding it tightly as you spoke. Grey Worm felt a connection to you, like you both shared something, and he did his best to express that - but his eyes expressed far more than his words. It would still take time for Grey Worm to open up to you about himself, but you could tell this was the start of your friendship becoming more.

TYWIN LANNISTER

Because it was his business to know what others didn’t want discovered, Lord Tywin was aware of the rumors surrounding your family. By the time he was betrothed to you, several of your family’s servants quietly reported to his men that the rumors were true. To your credit, you didn’t flinch away from him as he disrobed you on your wedding night. You pretended the scattered deep cuts weren’t there, so he did the same. It didn’t detract from your beauty in the slightest. 

You weren’t aware of it, but Tywin began to swiftly silence any further rumors of abuse you may have suffered. What you did notice is the absolutely chilling gaze he’d give your parents when you two ran into them at a tourney or feast - he refused to host them at Casterly Rock, and they weren’t fool enough to question it. He’d keep you close by, while his pointed glare kept them far away.

TYRION LANNISTER

You didn’t mention it in your courtship, as your family had shamed you for years about it. They refused to take blame for their role in the scarring, but they’d still make you feel terrible. By the time the wedding night came, you were so wound up that Tyrion took your hand, gave you a cup of wine and asked you what the matter was. He thought you were upset because of him, but once you told your story and showed some of the scars to him, he understood. Tyrion gave you privacy to dress into a nightgown, then tucked you in and gave you a kiss on your brow, telling you to rest for the evening. 

Tyrion went out of his way to ensure you were comfortable; he always had such kind and thoughtful things to say. Scars or no, he thought the world of you. That’s why ever since your wedding night, he’d been planning a sort of revenge for your family. He wasn’t about to let them get away with hurting someone he loved so dearly.

JAIME LANNISTER

He’d heard all sorts of gossip about you before, all the cruel names and ridiculous stories, so it was jarring to see you in court. You were put together just as wonderfully as the other ladies, with a radiant smile. That smile was even given to him, the Kingslayer. And he noticed the supposed ‘horrific scars’ that everyone talked about: They were mostly covered by your dress, with only a little showing on the collarbone and and your neck. You maintained your elegance, even to the faces of those who talked about you.

It was hard not to be taken in by your natural charm. He told himself it was just to pass the time, but he began going out of his way to look for you. Jaime started telling you things without realizing it, and you did the same. Once he learned the story of your scars, it was much harder to hear the cruel whispers in court. A memory that kept coming back to Jaime was when he happened upon you in the vast gardens. He didn’t say anything, just watched you admire the flowers while you read. You wore a brilliant white dress that showed the whole of your shoulders and back, lovely as they were, and there wasn’t a bit of shame in your content expression. Even when Cersei was calling for him, he’d keep thinking of that white dress and your eyes in the sunlight.

SANDOR CLEGANE

He knew of an assassination attempt when you were young, something you told him about once you two were closer - friends, even, although Sandor just grunted and brushed it off when you said that. He never pushed you for more information, because you clearly didn’t like to remember it, just as you never pushed him to talk more than he was willing. The first time he was with you, he was so distracted by your kisses and touch that he didn’t immediately notice the scar twisting along your back and abdomen. It wasn’t until afterward, when he was running his rough fingers up and down your skin that he really felt it.

It was much worse than you made it out to be; you must have been close to death. That was something Sandor didn’t want to think about, not now. Afterward, anytime you cradled his face and kissed the ruined side with as much tenderness as you did the other, he’d remember to carefully run his hands down your back and hips. It was a stupidly sentimental thing to feel connected because of something like this, so he didn’t think too much about it.

BRONN

Most ladies wouldn’t tolerate speaking to a mercenary, regardless if he were a knight or friend to the Hand. Bronn found no joy in them, either, but you were also close to Tyrion and full of wit and fire. Teasing you was too fun, and you had no problem discussing his mercenary work. He thought it was interesting that it didn’t faze you, but he didn’t read much into it. 

You ended up spending quite a bit of friendly time with Bronn, your favorite being nights when you sat in his lap while you both drank at one of the more lively inns. He touched wherever he pleased and you let him, because stringing the knight along was revenge for all the times he japed at you during the day. Bronn drunkenly asked you for a story, so you told him all about an assassination attempt when you were a girl. When he asked for a real story, you pulled your dress down to expose most of your chest - and a long, deep scar running between your breasts. He didn’t think it’d turn him on as much as it did.

PETYR BAELISH

It was easy to convince your handmaidens to give him information. Petyr had been interested in you since you arrived at the Red Keep and dazzled the court with your looks and charm, but he sensed something else was there. He’d heard of the incident you suffered when you were younger, and admired that you continued to radiate in court in spite of it. He couldn’t help but think of the duel and the injury he suffered from it, and it made him feel a little more connected to you. 

Petyr already had a plan once he had you in his arms. He’d been wanting this for a while, but as he removed more of your dress, he saw the scars were much worse than people had whispered. Petyr kissed and touched each one. He assured you that you were beautiful, because he believed it more than ever. 

STANNIS BARATHEON

You didn’t think Stannis was the sort of man to care about these things, even if they bothered you. True enough, while he obviously glanced at them when you both were together, he never said much on it. He asked if they hurt when he held you, and if you’d like the Maester to provide anything. He didn’t bring it up past that, but you could see a silent storm in your husband’s eyes whenever you looked through your closet for a dress that could hide them. Beyond that, you tried to set the scars aside and keep them from the court. 

Then Stannis approached you, all but demanding you to confirm who did it. Someone told him - you don’t know who - and he knew your family was covering it up. It surprised you how upset he was about it. You had to calm him down, because he was insisting your family be punished, and he wasn’t pleased with the answer “it’s been too long, it’s in the past”. You could talk him down from that, but you couldn’t stop him from giving pointed glares and grinding his teeth whenever he was forced to interact with your family at court. 

DAVOS SEAWORTH

He spotted some on your arms by accident, and rather than shy away, you just made a joke about it. Davos was open about his fingers, after all, and you trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t judge you. That was true, although Davos found what little he saw unusual. The shape and coloration meant they looked worse than you were letting on. He hoped you would tell him in time. 

“In time” ended up being when you were curled up in his arms and almost falling asleep. You weren’t ready to be intimate yet, but you couldn’t resist Davos’ warm and comforting embrace. He stroked your hair as you told him what happened, since your scars were already on full display from your sleeveless nightshirt. When you finally fell asleep, he touched them absently, running his fingers along the grooved skin as you snoozed. 

MARGAERY TYRELL

Margaery told you everything about herself and her family, because you were her dearest friend since she was young. Well, perhaps “friend” was too tame of a word for what she felt now, but she liked that you knew everything about her, and the opposite was true. Margaery was the only person besides your family who knew about the scars you hid carefully under your dresses, and she was the only one who helped you care for them.

Since she’d been with you since you first got the injuries, Margaery was a big part in helping you adjust to life afterward. Even though they were more than healed now, she still liked snuggling against your back and idly tracing them while you began to fall asleep. 

BRYNDEN TULLY

The old knight was initially uncomfortable as he ran his calloused hands over your marred back. He was covered in his own fair share, but he was a knight, and they came from battles defending his home. It was upsetting that a lady he loved so much had to endure something that left these sorts of scars on her - he knew serious wounds, and how they healed, when he saw them. Brynden never once shamed you, it just made him feel a little forlorn, like he failed to protect you, even though you hadn’t known each other then.

Finally, he found something he could do for you. Brynden noticed how sometimes your back would ache, so he’d help rub soothing ointments into your skin. Touching you was a big bonus, especially when he’d work those strong hands into your back to relax your muscles, too. It was just the sort of spoiling he loved doing, and he was very amused when you wanted to do the same to him.

EDMURE TULLY

When he was younger, he’d heard rumors about a lady in the North who survived a terrible assassination attempt. Lysa and Catlyn told him all they knew about it. When he finally met you, he couldn’t believe it. It was easy to forget it, especially since you were all smiles and jokes. When you two were betrothed and married, it was a happy occasion. It wasn’t until the wedding night that Edmure learned just how close you were to death those years ago, and the long, jagged scar and frightful memories it left.

Edmure has always been considerate of you in this regard. He’d made sure you’ve had plenty of salves when the scar was feeling dry, and reassured you anytime you were worried about a dress that may have shown some of it. He was certainly eager to rub your back and legs if you needed it; sometimes the old wound would hurt.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She understood what it meant to be pledged to your service. Your House had made powerful enemies in the Lannisters, and you continued to follow the war in spite of being a lady. Brienne was one of the finest knights you’d known, and she saved your life several times. As you became closer and opened up more about each other, you told Brienne about the early days of the war, when the Lannisters were raiding your home in the Riverlands. She was shocked you survived such an attack, and silently vowed to make sure nothing like that happened again.

It wasn’t until you two were cramped into a small room at a shabby inn that she saw the full extent of that incident. Your nightclothes exposed several scars running along your chest, and she just knew there had to be more.underneath. You took Brienne’s hand in your own and she completely melted, leading to the first of many kisses.

RAMSAY BOLTON

You didn’t care what Ramsay would think of them. In fact, if it kept him disinterested, that was all the better, wasn’t it? You didn’t fear him because you’d already endured enough. Ramsay sensed that lack of fear right away, and it intrigued him. On your wedding night, you bared your skin without shame. Contrary to what you thought, Ramsay focused right on them. He wanted to touch the twisted but sensitive skin, asking where they came from with a glint in his eyes. You were vague on purpose, and tried to redirect his attention to the actual matter at hand.

Even months after you married, Ramsay still wanted to trace them with his fingers. You began to notice that his disinterest was becoming more … angry. He still wanted you, but he didn’t want to touch them as much. Finally, Ramsay burst into your room in the middle of the day, demanding who had done such a thing to you. There was a smile on his face but his tone was absolute ice as he insisted you tell him so he could have a proper meeting with them. 

ROOSE BOLTON

You weren’t going to apologize for them, nor were you going to hide in shame when it came time for your wedding night. They were just a part of you, and if your husband didn’t like it, too bad. Roose glanced at them but said nothing. They didn’t dampen his desire for you at all, but he was troubled by one thing. He figured you would tell him what happened in time, especially as you grew to trust him, but he wanted to know who. Roose knew scars and injuries well. He knew what you endured to end up with marks like that. Someone hurt his wife, and he was going to find them.

You’d never learn the sort of investigating he’d do, nor the outcome of it, he was careful. What he did want you to know is how he cared for you. He’d ensure you had any salves and oils to ease the pain and soften the skin, and he’d want to put them on himself. He’d give you a kiss when he was finished, seeking your approval.

OBERYN MARTELL

The politics of Dorne could be just as deadly as those in King’s Landing, something Oberyn knew well. From the moment he met you, he could tell you knew this and had survived the worst of it. Your lovely, flattering gown exposed several twisting scars along your legs and back, but you didn’t shy away from dancing and laughing along with the court in Sunspear. He was fiercely attracted to you, and wasted no time in pursuing you.

Much later, once you two were an established couple, Oberyn had all sorts of things about you to admire. The story of your scarring still sent his blood boiling, so he soothed himself by massaging the skin when they ached and giving you a breathless amount of kisses. You’d never be less than beautiful in his eyes, and your resilience and bravery only increased that attraction.

BERIC DONDARRION

When the Brotherhood found you wounded and dirty, lying in a ditch, they assumed you had been left for dead by Lannisters. Thoros and Beric were insistent on helping you recover, and you slowly but surely did, joining the Brotherhood in gratitude and because you lacked anywhere else to go. Often, Beric would glance over and notice a scar peeking out from under your sleeve or shirt. He was no stranger to having a myriad of scars, and his own bothered him, so he often wondered how you felt.

As you became closer and more intimate, Beric didn’t often think of your scars anymore. He had already gained several since you first met him, and there were so many other things to love about you. What he did like was a silly game you both had, you’d kiss one of his and he’d do the same to you,purposefully attacking your tickle spots first. Thoros said if you two kept at it, he’d stop patching you up.

GENDRY

You may have had the face and grace of a lady, but Gendry noticed a distant, cold look in your eyes when you thought no one was looking at you. You’d been through just as much as him in this mess of a war, and somehow you two and Arya were running away together, trying to find the way back home. Your occasionally distant attitude made sense when he stumbled upon you washing up in a river. Your skin was mostly healed, but the scars still looked frightening. 

He couldn’t imagine what happened or what you went through, and after that Gendry kept Arya from bothering you when you were feeling quiet. In his own way, he became a little more protective of you and wanted to talk more to understand you.

[janiedean]

crack prompt inspired by all the tvd talk on your blog: damon, jaime, tony stark all walk into a bar alone and end up drunk oversharing ~~

(if you wanna include ships in it anything with delena/dalaric/bamon; brienne; pepper/bruce/strange/rhodey is okay lmfao so pretty much anything goes, i just want them being each other's therapist because the timeline collapsed for some time and their universes interacted somehow lmfao)

*spins the wheel* AAAND hello anon we can absolutely try that u__u

ten years on tumblr anniversary prompt post | buy me a coffee | commissions open

Well, now I really did bite off more than I could chew, Tony thinks as he shakes his head and hopes that he and Bruce didn't fuck up the entire fabric of reality.

Well.

He's not in New York and he wasn't in the span of five seconds since they got the machine turned on, but - but well. Bruce isn't here, so hopefully he'll figure out where the fuck he ended up. Maybe we should have been sober when trying to work out that whole different timelines and multiverses thing.

Now, damage control. He should probably try to not go anywhere, but in case he actually just... teleported somewhere, maybe he should just ask where he is. He glances at his back. He's in front of a bar named Mystic Grill, which... okay, shitty name, but he could be anywhere in fuck-all-middle-of-nowhere Idaho for all he knows. He takes out his cellphone, and there is zero reception.

Bad news.

He sees a blonde kid with a police badge coming up the road, so he clears his throat and stops him.

"Uh, officer?"

"Hello," the kid says, "I don't remember seeing you around here."

Yeah, because I'm not from this world, most likely. "Eh," Tony lies, "I was driving my car but it broke down outside town and the way I got in, there wasn't a sign. Would you mind telling me where exactly I ended up?"

"Mystic Falls," the guy says, "I didn't know the damned State of Virginia now took us off the maps, too." That was sarcastic, Tony can hear it, but.

He's sure that there is no such place where he comes from.

"Right," Tony says, "I'll, uh, be out to find a mechanic then."

The kid gives him instructions to reach one, Tony thanks him and lets him go. Well, he can't certainly go anywhere now, but at least it seems like they fucked up just his -

"What the fuck," he hears from his left side -

Just in time to see a blonde guy wearing a white armor and a white cloak fall through a portal just the same as his own, that disappears a moment later. The blonde guy has green eyes, Tony notices, is lacking a right hand because he has a rather heavy golden prothesis on it that looks tacky also for his own tastes and looks completely out of his depth as he moves to his feet.

"Uh," Tony says, "I imagine you aren't from... here."

"Certainly not," the guy says, sounding... near hysterical, as he takes the surroundings. "What - what are those things anyway?" Cars. Oh fuck, he's looking at cars. "How are you dressed? What - what are these houses?"

"Er," Tony says, "humor me a moment. What's your name and where do you come from?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Jaime Lannister, and I come from Westeros, thank you very much, now where the hell am I?"

... Great, Tony thinks, now it's not even someplace where the USA exist. "Er," Tony says, "in another world. Listen, it's my fault, I, uh, sort of caused it, and my colleague will most likely fix it, but it's really better we don't go anywhere so he can locate us more easily. Tell you what, can I buy you a drink while we wait?"

"Another world?" The guy blurts, and then - then he stares at Tony, then at his surroundings, then rolls his eyes again.

"You know what," he says, "I've had a shit long day. What can this be on top of fucking undead Catelyn Stark? Buy me the fucking drink."

I'm not doing drunk science anymore, Tony vows to himself as they walk inside the place, and he really hopes he can spin some story as to why the guy with him is wearing bonafide armor -

"And who the fuck are the two of you now?"

So: Tony had not taken into account that there would be just one person in the bar and that this person would be of course not human because no one human could pin the two of them to the wall in a split second and hold them there with such strength, and that's how he finds out that pretty guy with blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin and homicidal face is a damned vampire.

Except that the moment Tony explains it - Jaime or whoever he is is just keeping his mouth shut, wisely - the guy stares at them, and then more, and then -

"With everything I've seen in the last years," he says, "honestly, that's not even the most fucking stupid. So, you just want to lounge around until your friend shows up to fix whatever the fuck you did?"

"Er, yes?"

"Whatever. I'm Damon. I can cover your drinks and compel the bartender to forget your face. I sorely fucking need some myself."

He lets them go, but then - "Get that armor off," he tells Jaime, "this isn't New York City."

"I can't just leave my armor around!"

"Just leave it in the bathroom and take it back later," Damon shrugs, and then nods towards what's most likely the bathroom.

Jaime shrugs and goes, muttering something about maybe having drank too much milk of the poppy, and Tony doesn't want to know whatever the hell that is.

--

"Listen," Jaime says later, wearing an attire that's still obviously Middle-Ages-like but at least doesn't stand out too much, sipping at the bourbon Damon shoved at them, "I'm choosing to think I'm making this all up, but if I'm not, how long will it be before I can go back where I come from? Because you dragged me away from a rather fucking delicate situation."

"No idea," Tony shrugs, "but he's good at his job. And he was less drunk than me. We might get you back at the point you left."

"And what would that delicate situation be?" Damon asks. "Entertain me."

"And why should I tell you?"

"First, I bought you that alcohol and you're definitely enjoying it. Second, this is my town and I could tear your throat open if I wanted to." Fuck. He just showed fangs at the both of them. What the fuck. "Also, my murderous former girlfriend who is the cause of all my problems just finally fucked off this planet for good after possessing my current girlfriend who looks like her but really is the whole contrary and my best friend just came back to life after being dead for a whole lot of time and it's a complicated situation and I need a distraction or ten."

"That... sounds like something," Tony mutters, sipping at his alcohol. It's good, at least.

"Believe me, it is. So, what's the poison from Middle Ages here?"

"Ah, fuck that," Jaime says, takes a drink, and starts talking.

--

Half an hour later, Tony thinks that he and Damon are equally staring at the guy with the same disbelieving face.

"... Was that the undead woman that got you like this?" Jaime asks, blinking. "Considering that he seems like he's some kind of living dead, that's a tad hypocritical."

"No," Damon says, "that's the least of my problems. How haven't you frenched this Brienne person already?"

"I frenched?"

"Dude, he's from the Middle Ages," Tony takes pity on him. "He means put your tongue in her mouth."

"I - what - she's not - I'm not -"

"Listen," Damon cuts him, "I've been there. I mean, thinking I couldn't live without an arse who didn't give a fuck about me, which you admitted. But you do realize you spent at least five minutes of your charming tale describing us exactly how this Brienne of yours is ripped and has pretty eyes and was about to die for you?"

"Yeah, uh," Tony says, "let it come from someone who had the right people in front of him for ages and didn't let himself go for it, you really don't wanna drag it any longer."

"That's - she's a knight, that's not -"

"Oh, sure, all knights are shit where you come from, you said that, but suddenly someone would rather hang than kill you and you're here jittering because you got sucked here while she's dealing with a zombie that wanted you dead but I have to think you don't wanna french her?" Damon rolls his eyes again, pours himself another drink and honestly, Tony has cut down on the alcohol lately but he's gonna just make a damned exception. "Please."

"He's right," Tony says, "and also, let it come from someone whose dad was loaded on money and fairly shitty and still way better than yours, whatever he said about you is wrong."

"How do you know -" Jaime starts, half-blanching.

"Told you," Tony shrugs, "loaded on money, shitty father, at least I missed out on the shit sister. Honestly, man, just fucking drop her like hot coal and follow your gut. And let it come from someone who's fucked around a lot to get distracted, if you wanted to bone her in that bath then you're into her."

"I -" Jaime goes red in the face, finishes the drink, "it's not like it ever happened with anyone else before, it was a mistake, most likely -"

Damon gives him a look that looks halfway worried.

Tony thinks he just matched it, except even more worried.

"My vampire friend," he says, "are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"I'm afraid so," Damon says, and then looks back at Jaime. "Newsflash," he goes on, "if you get hard looking at a naked woman most likely you find her attractive. Also, you can find more than one person attractive in your life. And let it come from someone who's been there in the sense that I thought I could only love fucking Katherine, you really don't want to keep on doing it."

"I didn't say I wasn't done with Cersei," Jaime replies, somewhat weakly.

"Good," the two of them reply at the same time, and Tony has to snort.

"Look at that," he says, "for once I'm the one with the healthiest relationship history sitting at a table. Who'd have thought?"

"Fuck this," Damon says, "I'm getting more bourbon."

"Please," Jaime says, and - well. Seems like when Bruce comes to collect him, Tony won't be sober.

--

"Wait," Jaime says, "wait, wait, wait, she possessed your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, as if," Damon shrugs, "honestly, sometimes I think I should have just run away to New York after deserting."

"You deserted what?" Tony asks.

"The fucking confederacy," Damon shrugs. "Well, what are you staring about? I'm a vampire, I've been around ages, I'm from fucking middleofnowhere Virginia, you think I got drafted with the unionists? But I disagreed and I hated it and I never wanted to go, so I fucking deserted. I hope you aren't here judging me, or -"

"Please, I used to build weapons for the army and stopped when I realized it wasn't what I wanted to be, and honestly, that just means you have a conscience, so -"

"Wait, you did what," Jaime says.

"Deserted. An army. Back in the day. Risked my neck for it, and I came back and met Katherine and honestly I should have just gone North, but -"

"Hm," Jaime says, drinking, and then - "you don't regret it?"

"No," Damon says at once, "best decision I ever took. Why, you want to do that, too?"

"Sure he wants to," Tony says when Jaime doesn't immediately reply. "Let me guess, not just your army. You want to desert the whole shebang, don't you?"

"I don't know what a fucking shebang is, but yes. So what?"

"Well, if you want my been there done that advice, do that," Damon shrugs. "From what it sounds like, your entire world is collapsing because of zombies anyway, what do you have to lose? Your sister? You're better fucking off without."

Jaime stares down at the glass, then knocks it down. "Can I have another?"

"Sure," Damon says, and generously tips it.

--

"So what," Tony says, "now that your best friend you had a thing with while your girlfriend was with your brother is back to life you're having trouble adjusting?"

"She also hadn't been possessed by my murderous ex until then," Damon shrugs.

Jaime just looks at them, then drinks some more. "Who am I to judge on that anyway," he says, "but that sounds like a lot of work."

"You wouldn't believe," Damon shrugs, knocking down some more of his bourbon. "Never mind that Stefan won't get over brooding instead of fessing up to the girl he is in love with now, but it's not like I hadn't expected it."

"Tell him to," Jaime says at once. "I let my father fuck things up for my brother once and I hate that I ever did, just - don't."

"This is getting fucking eerie," Damon says.

Tony, who is currently feeling very thankful he doesn't have siblings, takes another sip. Then -

"Man, if it's complicated just date the both of them. If they both like you and aren't the kind of super monogamous people that can't handle a threesome once in a while, they won't have a problem."

"... And what do you know?"

He shrug. "Well," he says, "my steady girlfriend was in front of my eyes for years. Took us a while to get over ourselves. The guy I was doing drunk science with, well. Was an instant hit and I didn't let myself drag it in the centuries and guess what, we have a nice lovely arrangement where I'm with both of them, they commiserate about how much of an idiot I can be and sometimes we all occasionally have sex. It's grand. You should try it."

And I really hope Bruce shows up soon.

"Huh," Damon says, "maybe it has merit. For me. Not for you."

Jaime sputters. "I said nothing!"

"You shouldn't even think about threesomes. I can see it in your face you're not the type. And certainly not including your sister."

"Fuck you," Jaime replies without meaning it, "I was not considering that." Huh. Now he sounds offended Damon implied it. Maybe he really will fess up to the other one when he's back.

"Then it means this enlightening talk has enlightened you," Tony grins. "Mind telling us more about that hand?"

"And why?"

Tony shrugs. It's not like he doesn't have time to waste. "What if I could help you with that thing?" He says, nodding towards Jaime's stump, and then - well. Time to test if he can summon the armor here, too.

--

"God," Damon says a while later, "I'll have to compel that poor bartender so hard, but fuck this is something."

Sure it is, Tony grins. "Hey, I managed to fuck with quantum reality, I'm not the first idiot that passes by."

"Seven Hells," Jaime says, "I have no idea what it is you're putting on me but if it works half as well as that thing you have, I'm going to show back up in King's Landing just to show my sister who has the useless hand now. If she didn't get herself killed."

"Well, now that is one reason I could approve of," Tony laughs, "and don't fucking move."

Sure, building a prothesis from the rests of whatever nonfunctioning electronics the bartender had lying around is... somewhat a challenge, but as stated, he has time to waste and it's not like he's wanted anywhere soon.

"By the way," Damon says as he watches him tinker around with the toolkit he found him in the backroom, "do you need advice in the whole I fucked up and want my brother to forgive me department?"

"What if I do?" Jaime replies through his teeth. "Because now that would distract me from how much this entire thing is fucking hurting."

The more they talk while he tinkers, the more Tony decides he's absolutely glad he was an only child and that his father only fucked one son up.

--

"You're doing this while not even being fucking sober?" Damon knocks back more bourbon. "You sure you don't wanna stay here and turn into an immortal? You'd be useful."

"Thanks but I like my life as it is," Tony snorts. "But if you need tech tinkered with, you can ask while I'm here."

Jaime is just staring at the steel-colored hand coming to life while Tony puts piece after piece together, his throat working up and down.

He drinks some more. "Fuck, if only I had such a thing when I realized what the fuck Aerys had turned into."

"Wait, who's Aerys now?" Damon asks.

--

He hadn't told them that part in detail.

When he's done and Tony is at the fourth finger, he kind of wants to hurl, but mostly -

"Do we really have to stay here," Damon says, "or you think we could sneak him to a VA? I can compel them to just hear that he's talking about Vietnam or something."

"He's not old enough for Vietnam, but you know what, I think we could risk that."

"What in the Seven Hells is a VA?"

"Someone I really could have used in the nineteenth century," Damon sighs, and then just as Tony moves to the last finger -

"Tony, what the hell is this?"

--

Turns out, where Bruce comes from it took him two days to figure this out. He also immediately spots three different improvements Tony could do to that hand, and when he hears the entire shebang he raises his hands and says that he can send Jaime right back when he left at any point and he and Tony, too, but he supposes that if they want to compel the VA before they leave it's not like he's in a hurry, and wait, vampires?

Damon ends up asking him if the threesome thing is really working out as well as Tony says.

While he does, Tony manages the finishing touches on the sort-of-steel-and-iron-hand he cobbled up together, and thank fuck Bruce showed up because he had been the one studying how Barnes's arm worked, back in the day, and gave Tony the pointer he needed to make sure the entire thing was... well, connected to the nervous system without needing to rip Jaime's wrist open.

"Right," he says, "try to move the fingers."

Jaime holds them in a fist.

It works.

"Seven fucking hells -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Just keep it out of too many lines of fire, but if you're from the middle ages it should withstand most stuff. You're welcome. And go french that knight of yours instead of waiting, really."

"I think in between him and you, you've made a case. Uh, thank you, I -"

"Nonsense, I was the reason you're here, I might as well have helped out. Hey," he says, "so, what about a last round before we drag him to the VA and Bruce here settles everything?"

"I'm so down for it," Damon says.

"Do I even have a choice," Bruce groans, but then he does sit down at the same table and lets Tony fill his glass.

"Oh, don't look like that," Tony says, "after all I didn't destroy the universe and made some friends, it could have gone worse."

"Wouldn't know about that, but I could have done worse, too," Damon says, and orders more bourbon.

"I sure as the fucking Seven Hells will never manage to explain this to anyone," Jaime says, "but I guess I'm not too disappointed, either."

"Tony," Bruce groans, "did you manage to somehow end up with two people with - never mind. Of course you did. We're never doing drunk science again, hear me?"

"Maybe so," Tony agrees, though... well.

Maybe he will want to check on them, once in a while.

But he can think about how to convince Bruce to make sure they can later.

For now, he'll enjoy his last round.

[ddagent]

Can we have some King Jaime paragraphs?

Of course, Anon! 

He was no longer King Jaime, first of his name. No longer the Golden Lion; no longer, perhaps, even The Kingslayer. He was a shadow; the Stranger with a bloody crown. A cripple. A one-handed man who could barely protect his wife, let alone the whole realm. 

And everyone knew it. 

The first time Jaime ventured out of his chambers since his return to King’s Landing, he saw them whisper. The men who had stared upon him with awe, the women who wished he would entice them into his bed – now they just stared, and whispered, and smiled. He had been broken on the King’s Road; his sword hand, his crown, his whole world taken by a man who had been slain not by Crown soldiers; not by Lannister men. 

No, King Jaime, first of his name, had been saved by his wife. 

“Your–your Grace,” stuttered his squire; a slight boy with a mop of brown hair. Jaime could not recall his name. “A–are you planning to d–dine at your usual spot?” 

Jaime shook his head. “No, boy. No.” 

He took himself back inside, then. Away from the whispers; the stares. Away from everyone. His sweet sister was the first to visit. She didn’t stay long; the absence of the hand that had touched her, loved her, bringing nothing but revulsion upon her delicate features. Cersei’s children – their children – did not visit at all, even though Joffrey had been at Jaime’s heel since he was a boy. His children with his wife did not visit him, either. He was not surprised. Tyrion has visited; Addam, too. But after a while, no one but servants came to see him. And even then, Jaime told them to get out. 

And then, four weeks after his glorious return to the capital, the doors to his chambers opened. “If you’re bringing food, leave it by the door. If you’re bringing anything else, you can get the fuck out.” 

“Charming as ever, I see.” 

Jaime’s head snapped in the direction of the doorway. His wife was framed in the dwindling afternoon sun; her ocean-blue eyes catching the light. He turned away; his face cast in shadow. “Wife.” 

Queen Brienne swallowed. “Husband. The servants tell me you’ve barely been eating. Your squire—”

“—should not be talking to you.”

“Would you rather he talk to your father?” The Hand to the King hadn’t visited his son, either. Jaime bristled at the mention. “Thankfully, Podrick prefers my company to the rest of your family.”

“How delightful, Wife, you’ve finally found someone in Court who can stand you.”

“Other than my children, of course.”  

Jaime’s gaze met Brienne’s. He’d always been...fearful of looking directly into her eyes. They were guileless, and innocent, and he had loathed his reflection in them. He could say that that was what had driven them apart all these years, but in truth, they had never been together. Brienne of Tarth, Northern ward turned rebellion leader, forced to be his Queen to unite the kingdoms. He, the Kingslayer; she, the starlight who had helped save the city. Bound together by vows, hatred, and three blonde cubs with bright blue eyes. 

He sagged back in his chair. “What do you want, Brienne?”

“To see how you are.”

Jaime laughed: the sound strained; his vocal cords unused. “And now you have.” He stood, inelegantly. His clothes, a mere muslin shirt and breeches, hung from his thin frame. He hadn’t shaved in some time; the only thing he’d done was change the bandages on his wrist. Jaime gestured with his right arm, waiting for his dear wife to pull away; run away. 

She did not. “Sit down.” He didn’t move. “I said, sit down.” Brienne shook her head. “Honestly, it’s no wonder where Cat gets it from.” 

As Brienne turned towards a nearby table, Jaime did, in fact, follow her direction. The corners of his mouth twitched at the mention of their eldest daughter. “How are the children?” 

Brienne thumped a basin of water down beside his elbow. "You’ve never cared before.” She folded herself into the seat opposite him. “Cat is fine. She’s avoiding your father; he keeps foisting suitors upon her. That is, however, when he’s not grooming Brynden to replace you as soon as possible.” She swallowed. “Joanna asks after you daily. She’s still young enough to love her father.” 

“I’m sorry, Brienne.” 

“For what? Agreeing to marry me? Loving your sister? Having three bastard children and loving them more than mine?” Brienne sighed, trailed off; instead busying herself with soap and a sharp blade. Yanking his face close to hers, she lathered his cheeks and began to scrape the hair from his face. “I knew you were an oathbreaker when I married you. I should have known you wouldn’t keep your vows to me.” 

Jaime didn’t offer a rebuttal. Just allowed Brienne run the blade over his cheeks; the steel rinsing in the basin. He felt lighter with every stroke, as if it were a sparring match in the yard. Jaime sighed. He would never spar again; never pick up a sword again. But Brienne...she’d slain Locke without a second thought. She was good. Graceless, but good. 

“Back in the woods, you were...I’d never seen you use a sword before.” 

“Well, you were safely tucked away in the Red Keep when I was fighting with Robert and Ned.” The blade glided under his chin; no nicks or scratches. Perhaps he had been too premature in calling her graceless. “I’ve kept at it these last sixteen years or so. There’s a spot overlooking the Blackwater that we go to.” 

“We?” 

Brienne flushed. “Catelyn and I. I taught her myself. She’s good. Better than Brynden. She was made to have a sword in her hand.” 

“You can be un-made.” 

The blade fell from his face. Brienne dabbed a corner of a cloth in the basin and wiped the soap residue from his face. The pads of her fingers ran over the hollow of his cheeks, the roughness of his bottom lip; finishing the job. Her hands then pulled away, only to settle on his right arm. Brienne held him tight. 

“I cannot imagine the pain you are feeling. But I do know you are the most stubborn man I have ever met. You will re-train; you will be good – a damn sight better than most of the men in this city. You will fight, and you will be the Golden Lion once again. And when you are, all I ask is that you set my children and I aside and find a new wife. You will let me and my children return to Tarth.” 

“Brienne—”

“—I’ll train you myself. And you can find someone younger, and prettier, and have babes your family can devour whole. But not my son. Not my daughters.” 

Jaime hesitated, but ultimately nodded. If he could do one thing right by them, it was this. “You have my word, for how little it means to you. When I’m fit again to retake the throne, I’ll set you aside and remarry. You and the children can return...you can go home, Brienne.” 

“Thank you, Husband.” 

"Jaime.” He said as Brienne rose from her seat. It was always Husband or Your Grace; even after the times they’d fucked, there was always a barrier between them. He did not deserve her kindness and he felt no love for her, but he’d like to hear her say it, just once. “My name’s Jaime.” 

“We’ll start tomorrow at sun rise. Jaime.”

Brienne left with a single nod. He watched his wife depart and then stared at the space where his hand should be. He’d lost everything. Cersei couldn’t bear the sight of him; his wife and children were desperate to escape him. But if he could fight again, that would be something. It wouldn’t be much of a life, but it would be something.