#nyi stark

[nyiikii]

NOTHING pisses me off more than these modern medicine quote experts and quote shitting on holistic and ancient medicine from Indigenous, Black, Asian, and Indian cultures. Just because something is deemed quote weird or natural and quote by colonial standards doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.

In this case hair oiling, I’ve seen so many dermatologist claiming hair oiling doesn’t work. Hmm okay tell that to the many many many cultures that have proved time and time again hair oiling does in fact work and does in fact keep your hair healthy and growing.

The colonial practice of demonizing brown cultures just to make a buck is fucking tired

[nyiikii]

What is with the radio being fully functional while you’re processing a life altering event?! Like what do you mean 4 year old me’s whole side of the car was caved in, I was pulled out by the fire Capt. but the radio was still playing an info commercial!

I really hated speechless by Naomi Scott because when I got into a car accident she was still screaming through the radio while another car was on top of my mom’s Honda.

The car was totaled but the Bluetooth radio shit was fine

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (a lion and a wolf)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the honest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower @nen-nyy

The morning of his wedding arrived draped in warm light, the sun rising over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting long shadows through the grand halls. It was a beautiful day, the kind that should mark the beginning of something joyful. But for Jaime Lannister, there was no joy to be found.

The servants had already begun their work—preparing the Great Hall for the feast, polishing the floors until they gleamed, dressing the walls with the sigils of both Lannister and Stark. It was a grotesque display, he thought, a spectacle of unity that was built on blood and betrayal.

And soon, you would be wearing Lannister colors.

Jaime stood before the tall mirror in his chambers, staring at his own reflection as the attendants adjusted the golden clasps on his ceremonial tunic. Crimson and gold, lined with embroidery so fine it could only be Lannister work. They draped the heavy cloak over his shoulders, fastening it with a roaring lion at his collar.

He looked the part. He looked like the heir to Casterly Rock. Like the man his father always wanted him to be.

And yet, he had never felt more hollow.

Kevan entered without knocking, his presence calm but expectant. "You’re nearly ready."

Jaime gave a humorless chuckle. "Ready? Is that what we’re calling it?"

Kevan sighed, stepping forward. "I know this isn’t what you envisioned for yourself."

Jaime turned, tilting his head. "Oh? And what exactly did I envision, Uncle?" He gestured vaguely with his golden hand. "Living out my days with a sword in my grip and the taste of battle on my tongue? Sworn to a king I didn’t respect and a cause I didn’t believe in?" His voice was quiet, bitter. "Or did you mean the part where I spend a lifetime bound to a woman who despises me?"

Kevan studied him carefully. "You made your choice, Jaime."

Jaime let out a slow breath. "I did. But it has become twisted."

His uncle’s expression remained unreadable. "You picked her yourself and your father has ensured that this union secures the North. This marriage isn’t just about you, and it’s certainly not about her. It’s about legacy. Power. Stability."

Jaime exhaled sharply, turning back toward the mirror. "And what if I don’t care about any of that? What if I care only about her."

Kevan sighed. "Then you are more foolish than I thought."

Jaime clenched his jaw. He had known this conversation was coming—had known his uncle would try to reason with him, to remind him of his duty. It was the Lannister way.

But duty meant nothing when all he could think about was the look in your eyes last night. The way you had pleaded with him. The way you had broken in his arms.

"She hates me," Jaime muttered under his breath.

Kevan didn’t deny it.

"She will learn to accept it," was all his uncle said.

Jaime turned toward him, his expression cold. "Like Cersei accepted Robert?"

For the first time, Kevan faltered. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t speak.

Jaime scoffed. "That’s what I thought."

He dismissed the attendants with a wave of his hand, his mind still swirling. Once they were gone, he turned to Kevan again. "And what of Robb Stark?"

Kevan's brows furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

Jaime took a step forward, voice lowering. "Because she will ask about him more. Because she will never forgive me if I keep lying to her."

Kevan's gaze darkened. "Then perhaps you shouldn’t have told her anything at all."

Jaime’s hands curled into fists. "That wasn’t an option."

Kevan regarded him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You should count yourself fortunate, Jaime. Most men don’t get to choose their fate. Your father has given you a gift—a new beginning."

Jaime let out a hollow laugh. "A new beginning?" He turned away, staring out the window toward the sea. "Feels more like an ending."

Kevan watched him for a moment longer before sighing. "Get dressed. The ceremony begins soon."

Jaime didn’t reply, and his uncle left without another word.

For a long time, Jaime stood there, staring at the crashing waves below, feeling more like a prisoner in his own home than he ever had before.

He had never been afraid of battle. Never feared death. But today, as he prepared to stand before the gods and bind himself to you, he realized he was terrified.

Not of the vows. Not of the responsibilities.

But of the fact that for the first time in his life, he wanted something—someone—he could never truly have.

The hall was suffocating.

The towering golden pillars, the vast ceilings carved with Lannister pride, the flickering candlelight—it was meant to be grand, magnificent, a display of power. But to Jaime, it felt more like a tomb.

He stepped through the great doors, his crimson cloak trailing behind him, every step heavy with the weight of expectation. The gathered lords and ladies of the Westerlands stood as he entered, their murmurs dying down to a hush. His uncle was already seated at the high table, his expression unreadable, his cold eyes watching every move.

But Jaime wasn’t looking at him.

His eyes found you.

You stood at the altar, waiting, a prisoner in Lannister gold.

You were beautiful. Gods, you were beautiful. And yet, there was something tragic about the way you held yourself—rigid, unyielding, as if your entire body were resisting what was about to happen.

The gown they had put you in was elegant, finely woven with golden embroidery that shimmered in the candlelight. The delicate fabric should have made you look soft, regal, but it did the opposite. It made you look like something gilded, something owned.

Jaime hated it.

Your hands were clasped together in front of you, your jaw tight, your chin lifted in quiet defiance. Even now, even in the moment where you were supposed to be bound to him, you refused to break.

But when your eyes met his, Jaime felt his breath leave him.

Because for the briefest of moments, it wasn’t you looking at him.

It was Eddard Stark.

The same quiet fury. The same unwavering resolve. The same disappointment.

Jaime swallowed hard, his fingers flexing at his sides. He had always hated the way Ned Stark looked at him, as though Jaime were nothing but a dishonorable oathbreaker, a man without honor.

And now, standing before you, he realized he had done something even worse.

He had stolen a Stark from her pack.

His chest tightened painfully as he took another step forward, forcing himself to hold your gaze. You didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, but there was something in your eyes—something raw, something breaking—that made Jaime feel as though he had just been cleaved in two.

Bronn stood off to the side, watching, his usual smirk replaced with something unreadable. The Lannister guards flanked you, ensuring you didn’t run again, their presence an unspoken threat.

She is here against her will.

She is being forced into this.

And I am the one standing beside her.

Jaime tore his gaze from yours, looking down at the stone floor, at the way the candlelight cast shadows against it.

Jaime wished he could be someone else.

“Take your place,” came the High Septon’s voice, solemn and expectant.

Jaime forced himself to move, each step toward you heavier than the last.

When he reached your side, he saw the way your hands trembled slightly, though your expression remained cold, impassive. You looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

Jaime exhaled slowly, so quietly only you could hear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath.

You stiffened.

Then, ever so slightly, you turned your head, just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

And when you did, Jaime saw it.

Not just your father’s gaze.

But something else.

Something broken.

Something that would never forgive him.

Jaime clenched his jaw, looking away, his heart pounding against his ribs.

The ceremony began.

And Jaime Lannister had never felt more like a villain.

The ceremony began with a weight that Jaime had never felt before.

The High Septon’s voice was solemn, echoing through the great hall of Casterly Rock, his words ancient and binding. The gathered lords and ladies of the Westerlands watched in complete silence, their eyes trained on the spectacle before them—on the Lannister heir finally taking a wife.

Jaime could feel Kevan’s gaze from his place at the high table. His uncle sat in his father’s stead, his presence a reminder that Tywin still held dominion over this marriage, even from King’s Landing. Jaime had expected some last-minute reprieve, some sign that fate would intervene, that the gods themselves would strike him down before he had to speak the words that would bind him to you forever.

But no such salvation came.

You stood beside him, silent and rigid, your fingers still clenched together in front of you, as if keeping your hands occupied was the only way to keep yourself from striking him, from clawing at the walls and running. Your face was unreadable, but your eyes—gods, your eyes—held a storm within them, a fury restrained only by the knowledge that escape was impossible.

She is looking at you like a man about to carry out her execution.

Jaime swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand taller, to keep the façade of the composed lord he was expected to be.

The High Septon gestured for you both to extend your hands, and Jaime hesitated for only a fraction of a second before reaching out. His golden hand remained at his side—useless, mocking—while his left hand extended, waiting.

You didn’t move at first.

The pause was long enough for the gathered nobility to murmur amongst themselves, for Kevan to shift in his seat, for Bronn—who was standing off to the side—to smirk faintly, as if amused by the hesitation.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, you placed your hand in Jaime’s.

He tried not to react to how cold your fingers were.

The High Septon took a long strip of embroidered silk, wrapping it around your joined hands in slow, ceremonial movements. The fabric was heavy, embroidered with gold, with the sigils of House Lannister and House Stark entwined together in unnatural harmony.

As the binding continued, the words of the old vows filled the hall.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for all eternity…"

Jaime barely heard them.

He was too focused on the way your fingers tensed beneath his touch, on the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed back whatever words you truly wanted to say.

"From this day, you are one flesh, one heart, one soul. Cursed be he who would tear them asunder."

You flinched at that, just barely, but Jaime noticed.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell you that this didn’t have to be a prison, that he wasn’t going to chain you down, that he understood—perhaps more than you knew.

But words felt meaningless now.

And then, the High Septon turned to him.

Jaime felt a heavy weight settle on his chest.

"Do you, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to love, honor, and cherish her, from this day until your last?"

The words sounded like a death sentence.

Jaime looked at you, and for the first time, he saw something flicker across your face. Not anger. Not defiance.

Resignation.

You expected him to say yes.

Because that was what Lannisters did. They took what they wanted, regardless of who suffered for it.

Jaime’s throat felt tight, but he forced himself to speak.

"I do."

The words barely left his lips before the High Septon turned to you.

"And do you, Lady Y/N of House Stark, take this man to be your lawful husband, to love, honor, and cherish him, from this day until your last?"

Silence.

A tense, deafening silence.

The entire hall held its breath, every eye on you, waiting, expecting.

Jaime’s fingers tightened around yours instinctively.

He felt the smallest tremor run through you, your breathing shallow.

Then, finally, after what felt like a lifetime—

"I do."

Your voice was steady. Cold.

A perfect lie.

The High Septon smiled as if something holy had just occurred, raising his hands in blessing.

"Then, in the eyes of gods and men, I declare you husband and wife. Let it be known that the bond between House Stark and House Lannister is now sealed."

The silk was unwrapped from your hands, and Jaime let go of you, not because he wanted to, but because he knew you wanted him to.

There was only one thing left.

The final act.

"You may kiss the bride."

Jaime heard Kevan clear his throat from the high table. He knew the expectation. He knew the eyes on him.

He turned toward you, waiting, searching for some sign that this wouldn’t be an even greater mistake than it already was.

Your face was blank, your gaze unreadable.

Jaime inhaled slowly, then took a step forward.

You didn’t move.

Carefully, cautiously, he reached for your chin, tilting it up just slightly before leaning in.

The kiss was barely a brush of lips—quick, fleeting, meant only for show.

But he felt you tense the moment it happened.

When he pulled away, you were already looking past him, your body still rigid, your hands now clenched at your sides.

Jaime turned back to the hall, offering a tight smile as the room erupted into polite applause.

It was done.

You were his.

But as he glanced at you one final time, Jaime realized something.

He may have won the hand of a Stark in an attempt to save you from Roose.

But he had lost something far greater.

And perhaps, he had never truly had it to begin with.

The feast was a grand affair, as expected of the Lannisters. Gold-lined goblets overflowed with Arbor wine, the tables were weighed down with lavish dishes—roast boar with honeyed glaze, river trout stuffed with herbs, spiced duck, and bread so soft it practically melted on the tongue. Minstrels played lively tunes in the background, their melodies lost amidst the constant hum of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

Jaime sat beside you at the high table, adorned in ceremonial red and gold, looking every bit the heir to Casterly Rock that his father had always wanted him to be. His golden hand rested on the table, unmoving, while his other clutched a goblet he had yet to drink from. He wasn’t thirsty—nor was he in the mood to celebrate.

You were seated beside him, dressed in Lannister colors, the weight of the marriage still heavy upon you. You barely touched your plate, only picking at the food with little appetite, your gaze distant despite the raucous festivities surrounding you. It was clear to anyone paying attention that you were present only in body, not in spirit.

Jaime leaned toward you slightly, his voice low so only you could hear. “You should eat.”

You barely reacted, only shifting your fork slightly on the plate. “I’m not hungry.”

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down. “It’s going to be a long night. You’ll need your strength.”

You exhaled slowly, tilting your head slightly toward him. “For what, exactly?”

Jaime knew what you were implying, and a part of him winced. He was painfully aware of what people expected of them tonight. The bedding ceremony. The consummation. The final act that would solidify this marriage in the eyes of gods and men.

But Jaime had no intention of forcing you into anything.

“For enduring the rest of this wretched feast,” he answered instead, offering a half-smirk.

You turned your head toward him at that, your expression unreadable. “Is that all?”

Jaime studied you for a moment before leaning in closer. “If you think I intend to drag you to bed like some brute, you insult me.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, your lips pressing together as you searched his face. Jaime wasn’t sure what you were looking for, but after a long moment, your shoulders eased—just barely.

He continued, his voice softer now. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Y/N. But I swear to you, I will not make it worse than it already is.”

You blinked, surprised by the honesty in his tone.

Before you could say anything, a drunken noble raised his goblet, his voice booming over the crowd. “To House Lannister and House Stark!”

The hall erupted in a chorus of cheers, though some were more reluctant than others. Jaime caught Kevan watching him from across the room, his uncle’s expression calm but expectant. Bronn, further down the table, smirked at him knowingly before tossing back another gulp of wine.

Jaime turned back to you. Your fingers were curled tightly around your goblet, your knuckles white, but you lifted it nonetheless, playing the part of the obedient bride.

He hated it.

Before the moment could stretch too long, he leaned toward you again, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear.

“This doesn’t have to be war, Y/N.”

You turned to him fully at that, your expression unreadable. “Then what would you have it be?”

Jaime met your gaze, his throat tight. “Something better.”

You studied him for a long moment before looking away, exhaling softly.

The feast continued, the minstrels played, the guests laughed and drank. But Jaime only had eyes for you.

He wondered in silence if there would ever be a way for you to look at him without seeing your enemy.

The night stretched long, the feast becoming more of a drunken revelry as time dragged on. The halls of Casterly Rock pulsed with the sound of laughter, goblets clashing, and the occasional bawdy song that filled the air with drunken cheer. The wine flowed freely, and the golden light of the torches flickered against the stone walls, casting long, swaying shadows.

Jaime sat stiffly beside you, his goblet untouched. He had lost count of how many men had stumbled past the high table, offering slurred congratulations and crude jests about how lucky he was to have a Stark warming his bed. He had smiled through gritted teeth, offering half-hearted smirks, but his patience was running thin.

You, however, had remained eerily silent.

Your expression had not wavered once throughout the night, your goblet lifted only when required, your voice never raised in conversation unless absolutely necessary. But Jaime could see it—the way your fingers curled tightly around the stem of your cup, the way your shoulders remained taut, the way your breath came just a fraction too slow, as if you were bracing yourself for what was coming.

And it was coming.

The moment was inevitable.

Jaime knew it the second one of the drunken lords of the Westerlands stood up from his seat, his face flushed red with wine, his tunic slightly askew. He swayed on his feet before throwing an arm around the nearest man, raising his goblet with a lopsided grin.

“Well, now, it’s been a fine evening, hasn’t it?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the laughter and music. “A mighty fine evening for a mighty fine wedding! And what’s a wedding feast without a proper conclusion?”

The crowd chuckled in anticipation. Jaime felt your body stiffen beside him.

“Come now, Lord Jaime,” the drunken lord continued, slurring his words slightly. “Surely, you wouldn’t deny us a bedding ceremony?”

The room erupted into cheers, laughter spilling from the lips of men too drunk to care about anything other than tradition and spectacle. Some of the ladies tittered behind their goblets, their eyes gleaming with amusement. A few of the men slammed their hands against the table in encouragement, eager for the show to begin.

Jaime clenched his jaw.

And then—Kevan turned to him.

His uncle’s expression was calm, but there was a quiet expectation in his eyes. He didn’t have to say anything. The Lannisters upheld tradition. It would be seen as an insult if Jaime refused.

Jaime exhaled slowly, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. He could feel the weight of the entire room pressing in on him, waiting, watching.

And beside him, you sat still as stone.

Jaime turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you, to see the barely concealed tension in your features. Your hands were hidden beneath the table, but he could guess they were clenched into fists. Your breath was slow, measured, controlled.

He knew what you were waiting for.

You were waiting for him to say yes.

You were waiting for him to be like every other Lannister before him—to drag you from this hall, to let these men tear you from your clothes, to parade you like a trophy into a bed you did not want.

And gods, Jaime hated that you thought him capable of that.

The room was still waiting.

Kevan was still waiting.

Jaime let out a slow breath, then pushed his chair back slightly, rising to his feet.

The crowd leaned in.

He lifted his goblet.

“To tradition,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough authority to silence the room.

A few men cheered, raising their goblets in agreement.

Jaime waited for them to quiet.

Then he turned to face them fully, his expression unreadable.

“But as my lady wife has endured much already, I think we can all agree that she need not endure more tonight.”

The laughter faltered. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confused and surprised. The drunken lord who had started the jest blinked at him, his wine-addled mind struggling to process the words.

Kevan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Jaime smirked faintly. “You are all welcome to drink until your bellies burst and your legs give out, but the bedding is over.”

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then—Bronn laughed.

A loud, sharp, amused laugh.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the sellsword drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Jaime Lannister refusing a bedding ceremony. I never thought I’d see the day.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, though most were uncertain. Kevan sighed through his nose but said nothing.

Jaime turned back to you, finding you watching him carefully, searching his face.

“Shall we?” he murmured, extending his hand.

You hesitated for only a second before nodding, rising from your seat without a word.

The crowd parted as Jaime led you from the hall, the weight of a hundred eyes on his back. But he didn’t care.

Because for the first time that night, he saw something flicker across your face.

Not gratitude. Not warmth.

But something close.

And it was enough.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quiet as Jaime led you through them, away from the feast, away from the prying eyes of the nobility. The warmth and noise of the great hall faded behind you, replaced by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs and the flickering of torches that cast elongated shadows on the cold stone walls.

Your hand was still in his, though neither of you spoke of it.

Jaime could feel the rigid set of your shoulders, the way your steps were measured and purposeful, as if you were trying to remind yourself you still had control over something. He wanted to say something to ease it, to reassure you, but words felt clumsy, inadequate.

When they reached the heavy doors of the chambers that had been prepared for them, Jaime hesitated before pushing them open.

Inside, the room was exactly as expected—lavish, warm, filled with rich reds and golds, the colors of his house drowning everything. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting an orange glow over the thick furs draped over the grand bed, over the fine silks that adorned the room. It was meant to be inviting, meant to be the place where a newly wedded couple would consummate their marriage.

Jaime hated the sight of it.

Because he knew what you saw—a prison dressed in gold.

You stood in the doorway, unmoving. He could feel the way your breath slowed, controlled, as if bracing for something inevitable.

Jaime exhaled softly, then turned to face you. “You can breathe now, you know.”

You glanced at him sharply.

He smirked, tilting his head. “I imagine you’ve been holding it in all night.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you said nothing. Instead, you stepped inside slowly, surveying the room like a wolf scanning unfamiliar terrain, your posture tense.

Jaime closed the door behind you both, then turned toward you fully. “You’re safe,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “Safe,” you repeated, voice hollow. “That’s an interesting word for this.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Nothing will happen tonight unless you wish it.”

You turned to face him at that, studying him carefully, as if trying to find the lie in his words. “And tomorrow?”

Jaime hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow, and every night after, that remains the same.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his tone. For a moment, the firelight cast something softer across your face, something unsure.

Jaime took another step closer, reaching for your hand once more, his touch light, careful. “I know you still hate me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “I don’t expect that to change overnight.”

Your fingers twitched in his hold. “Then why are you doing this?”

Jaime studied you, his throat tightening. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t know, that there was something about you that unmade him, that had made him question everything. He wanted to tell you that the thought of you crying in his arms the night before still haunted him. That he hated seeing you afraid. That you were different from everything he had ever known.

But instead, he smirked faintly, tilting his head. “Because it’s the one thing I can do for you.”

You exhaled, looking away for a moment before finally, finally, allowing yourself to relax. Just a fraction.

Jaime stepped even closer now, his free hand rising slowly, hesitating before brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers lingering just slightly as he tucked the strand behind your ear.

You let him.

For the second time since you had been brought to Casterly Rock, you didn’t recoil from him.

Jaime swallowed, his gaze flickering between your eyes, your lips, the curve of your jawline. He had kissed you today, at the ceremony, but that had been for show. This… this was different. The pull from the night before.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice lower now, softer.

You inhaled, your breath ghosting against his lips, but you didn’t pull away.

His left hand held onto yours as if grounding himself. “Say the word,” he whispered.

You hesitated. Just for a moment. Then—

“Goodnight, Jaime,” you whispered instead.

Jaime let out a slow breath, his lips curving into something wry. “Goodnight, wife.”

Then, with great effort, he let you go.

He turned toward the fire, grabbing the nearest chair and settling into it without another word. You watched him for a moment longer before moving toward the bed, slipping beneath the furs with careful movements.

Jaime didn’t turn to look, but he listened.

Listened to your breath slow, listened to the shift of fabric as you settled.

And as he sat there, staring into the flames, he realized something.

Jaime Lannister did not long for battle anymore.

He longed for something much more dangerous.

And it was sleeping only a few feet away from him.

The morning light seeped through the heavy crimson drapes of Casterly Rock, casting an amber hue over the grand chambers. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving only embers glowing faintly beneath the blackened logs. The scent of wax and cold stone lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest traces of perfumed oils used the night before.

Jaime stirred first, blinking against the soft morning light, his body stiff from having spent the night in the chair. His muscles ached slightly, a dull reminder that he was not as young as he once was, nor as invincible. He let out a quiet exhale, rubbing his face before turning his head toward the bed.

You were still asleep.

Curled beneath the thick furs, your form was relaxed, your breathing even. A few strands of hair had fallen across your face, and for the first time since he had met you, there was no tension in your features, no guarded expression, no silent fury burning beneath the surface.

Jaime watched you for a moment longer before forcing himself to look away.

A knock at the chamber doors shattered the quiet.

Jaime straightened as the heavy doors creaked open, and a line of Lannister servants entered, their movements swift and efficient. They carried trays of breakfast—warm bread, honeyed fruits, and roasted meats, along with fresh jugs of milk and wine. Others carried linens, their purpose clear.

Your eyes fluttered open at the noise, blinking against the morning light before focusing on the movement around the room. Jaime watched as you slowly sat up, your expression shifting as you took in the sight of the servants preparing the room, the way some moved toward the bed with practiced ease.

The bed linens.

Jaime saw it before you did—the way one of the older chambermaids stepped forward, ready to strip the furs and assess the sheets beneath.

His jaw tightened.

There was an expectation here. A tradition as old as Westeros itself.

The bedding had to be checked.

Had to be proven.

Jaime felt your body stiffen beneath the covers as you realized it, too.

The chambermaid reached for the sheets—then hesitated.

Because the linens were clean.

Jaime could see the pause in the servants' movements, the quick, darting glances between them. It was subtle, but it was there.

There was no proof of consummation.

No blood to stain the white linen.

The chambermaid, to her credit, said nothing. She only folded the sheets neatly, placing them aside without reaction. The other servants followed her lead, their expressions carefully neutral.

But the silence in the room had shifted.

Jaime glanced toward you, noting the rigid way you sat, the way your fingers curled into the furs, your jaw tight. He exhaled slowly before turning back to the servants.

"That will be all," he said smoothly, his voice calm but firm.

The chambermaid bowed her head slightly before gesturing for the others to finish their tasks quickly.

Jaime stood, stretching slightly before crossing the room. He poured himself a goblet of wine, more out of habit than need, before glancing over his shoulder at you.

"You should eat," he murmured. "It’s going to be another long day."

You didn’t move at first, still staring at the clean linens, still processing the unspoken weight of it.

Then, finally, you looked up at him. Your expression was unreadable, but there was something in your eyes—something uncertain.

Jaime met your gaze, tilting his head slightly. "Did you expect me to force you?"

You swallowed, glancing away. "I didn’t know what to expect."

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down. "I told you last night, didn’t I?" His voice was quiet, lacking its usual sharp edge. "Nothing will happen unless you want it to."

You exhaled slowly, nodding just slightly before shifting to the edge of the bed, reaching for the plate of bread and fruit. Jaime watched as you took a slow bite, your hands steady, but your shoulders still stiff.

He smirked faintly. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You shot him a look, but there was no real heat in it.

The animosity in the room softened, just a fraction.

Jaime took his goblet again, leaning against the table as he sipped.

The servants moved efficiently, pretending not to notice the silence between you, pretending not to acknowledge what they had noticed.

And Jaime, for once, was grateful for the discretion.

[delicioussshame]

In the never ending series of “things that aren’t wips because I can’t, I have to finish something before starting something else”, have this thing I posted as a wip before, featuring a version of PIDW where LBH collected his harem... differently, with guest star NYY.

Luo Binghe immediately recognises the man dressed in cultivator garb as Yingying’s shizun.

Beautiful and serene, she said. The perfect image of an untouchable immortal, dressed in white and pale greens. Always holding a fan of exquisite manufacture.

But more than her vivid descriptions of her shizun’s loveliness, he remembers what she said next.

She’d been lying on her side, her long cascading hair not managing to hide her luscious curves.

Luo Binghe had known she wouldn’t be ready for another round just yet, and so had been pleased to listen to her lighthearted pillow talk.

Today’s topic had been her exasperation with her shizun’s lack of sex life.

“Sometimes I can’t believe how obtuse he is. Liu-shishu has been courting him for years, and I don’t think he ever noticed. And don’t get me started on the sect master! All Shizun would have to do is bat his eyelashes and the sect master would drop everything to worship him! But no, he never takes him on it. For a while I thought maybe Shizun just preferred women, but more than one female disciple has tried her hand at him, all to no avail.”

Luo Binghe could imagine the type. Cultivators could be lofty. They think they’re above the needs of the flesh.

He always enjoys teaching them how wrong they are.

If the demonic part of his heritage revels in desecrating those pompous righteous cultivators, no one else could tell. Luo Binghe was too good at his chosen hobby to let his personal feelings interfere.

“I love and respect Shizun more than anyone. Without him, I would never have become the kind of cultivator who can afford A-Luo’s company. So I am motivated by filial piety and nothing else when I say that I have never met anyone who needs to get laid more than Shen Qingqiu.”

Luo Binghe had laughed. “Oh? Is Yingying going to replace me with her old teacher?”

Her scandalised look had sent him into another bout of laughter. “A-Luo! I would never!”

“Then why is she telling me this? Does she want me to take care of him?”

Ning Yingying had stared at him, a glint in her eyes. Luo Binghe could see the plans form in her head as she spoke. “Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would do wonders for Shizun, and I know A-Luo loves breaking people like him.”

Luo Binghe had blinked, inwardly caught off-guard. He wasn’t blind. He knew Ning Yingying was a lot more observant than she appeared. It wasn’t the first time she had made that kind of comment. “Yingying knows me so well. Should I be worried?”

She had swapped at him. He could have easily evaded the blow, but he didn’t bother. “A-Luo doesn’t have anything to fear from me. But honestly, if I sent Shizun your way, would you take care of him? I really think he could benefit from it. And Shizun is very beautiful! Many will definitely be jealous if they ever find out.”

Luo Binghe had nothing against the idea of taking a peak lord to bed. He bet Xin Mo would love to feed on such high-quality cultivation. “I would be honored to entertain your teacher.”

He could tell from the way she had brightened he was about to be thoroughly thanked.

She had paid him too, both for herself and for her shizun’s future visit. Generously enough that Luo Binghe had wondered if he should praise her filial piety to her shizun.

She didn’t lie either. Shen Qingqiu really is exquisite.

Not as handsome as Luo Binghe himself, but nobody is. “You must be Shen Qingqiu.”

“Luo Binghe, I presume.” Luo Binghe cannot quite decipher the look he’s being given, which is rare enough to catch his attention. He’s pretty certain there’s some attraction there, but the rest? Trepidation? Outright fear? Disdain? Excitement?

He’s sure he’s going to find out. He gestures for Shen Qingqiu to sit down as he moves to prepare tea. He could have one of his servants handle it, but Luo Binghe has always preferred taking care of things himself. That personal touch has seduced more than one client, if they didn’t visit him only for his food.

Shen Qingqiu drinks the offered tea in silence before he starts talking. “If you would please tell me your fee, I will be refunding Ning Yingying a corresponding amount. I am sorry for wasting your time, but I have no interest in procuring your services.”

Ooh, that’s cute. If Luo Binghe wasn’t an expert at perceiving the signs of physical attraction, he might even believe him. Shen Qingqiu is interested, he’s sure of it. He’s just a prude, like Yingying said. “Yingying won’t accept it. Why refuse her most thoughtful gift?”

“My disciple should put her money to better uses.”

“I assure you, employing me is money well spent. You could find that out yourself.”

Luo Binghe bites back his amusement as the man stumbles, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t… a credit to your profession. Please don’t take it personally. As I said, I have no interest in finding out myself.”

“But how will it look if you were to leave without finding out? My reputation will be hurt.”

“How could something this insignificant hurt the reputation of such a famous courtesan?”

Luo Binghe grins. “So even renowned cultivators have heard of me? Nothing bad, I hope?” And where did an isolated scholar like him caught wind of such lowbrow rumours, huh?

The sigh he’s answered with does not cloak a hint of amusement. “How many of the sect’s disciples have you seduced? You even managed to steal away Liu-shidi’s little sister, whose beauty and virtu are known across the land. Of course I have heard of you. More than I would have liked, if I am allowed to be honest.”

Ah. He should probably have expected that. Cang Qiong is full of eager young men and women. Apparently, Shen Qingqiu isn’t such a recluse that gossip doesn’t reach him. “I see. Still, you must have heard good things, or you wouldn’t have come into my parlour.”

Red is a good look on the man. Luo Binghe feels the first stirrings of desire rise into him. He just knows Shen Qingqiu would be stunning, lying despoiled on those formerly pristine robes, trying to discover what he’s begging for more of.

Not to mention he can almost hear Xin Mo purr. What a feast Shen Qingqiu will be.

Time to press on.

Luo Binghe reaches for the now empty cup of tea he’s certain Shen Qingqiu drained without tasting, making sure to caress the fingers still holding it with a touch just light enough to possibly be accidental, if one were very dumb or very blind. “Let me serve you again,” he says as he pours more tea with deliberate grace.

Instead, Shen Qingqiu rises from the table. “Don’t bother! I am obviously wasting your valuable time. If you won’t share with me how much Ning Yingying paid you, I will compensate her otherwise.”

Like Luo Binghe is letting him leave like this. “Would you have me waste the tea already prepared?”

“Drink it yourself! Surely it’s nothing compared to your usual breaches of propriety.”

Damn it. Luo Binghe miscalculated. Shen Qingqiu is too spooked to be open to further advances. Really, what a prude, to be so destabilised by a simple brush of hands.

If he can take a step back and defuse the tension enough for him not to leave… “You seem in such a hurry. Do you think I force myself on my visitors? I’m hurt.” As if he ever needed to use force to have someone.

Well, never without their consent, at least.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t seem like he’d be into that, but then again, people can surprise you.

“I’m not scared! I just have no reason to be here any longer. Thank you for your time. I’ll be leaving my student in your care.” For a moment, there’s a glower in his eyes that Luo Binghe wouldn’t mind seeing more of. “Be good to her, or my next visit will be far less pleasant.”

Aww. Shen Qingqiu cares! How cute. “So I have to get a bit rough if I want to see you again?”

His outraged face almost makes him laugh. “Don’t you dare!”

“Or are you looking for an excuse for our paths to cross again? I assure you it’s unnecessary. I’d welcome you anytime.”

“I will keep that in mind,” says Shen Qingqiu absentmindedly, already crossing the door.

Luo Binghe lets him leave. Obviously, this will be going nowhere today.

Really, he’s offended. He cannot remember someone rejecting him so blatantly, ever. Worse, Xin Mo will be cranky. A treat was dangled in its metaphorical face, and then was cruelly taken away before it could have a taste.

He can’t let this humiliation stand.

He won’t have to. The delicate fan Shen Qingqiu came with, red spider lilies on a stark white background, is still on the table, forgotten in his haste to leave.

Luo Binghe’s customer service is impeccable. He’ll be returning the abandoned item himself.

It’s not like finding the peak lord of Qing Jing will be a challenge.

[biggamebrass]

another point on why brass is noticeably happier in nyi: he finally opened up his real feelings without being labeled as a crybaby or as a primadonna. he’s enjoying his time here, it’s apparent that he likes being with the team and they like having him too. fans rallying around to support him, a stark contrast from how they felt towards him earlier. first time in a while he felt appreciated again. those who mock him don’t understand how much his FA decision impacted his play and mental health.

yes! i think that him opening up made a wooooorld of a difference, it’s almost like a weight off! now he can just keep going and keep growing!

it’s also nice to feel appreciated, so that def def def helps

[lynne-monstr]

Flufftober Day 15: Books

ao3 link

Underhill ran a hand through his unruly hair as he stepped into his office at the end of a grueling day. The breach alarm had gone off no less than four times, and though the root cause was traced back to a damaged ward, there were still security protocols that needed to be followed. And follow them, he did. All four times.

Detouring to the half empty bottle at the bottom of his filing cabinet, he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and got to work.

Today’s ward replacement was going to run them $80,000.

It was the latest figure added to a growing list of warlock consultations. In fact, looking at the numbers, the Institute’s yearly average had increased over 500% in the past year alone.

He frowned at that. Surely there must be some mistake. It wasn’t time for his yearly audit of the books, but this merited a further look. A quick search of the file system yielded scanned copies of every invoice in the past six months. It was no surprise that the most expensive ones were courtesy of Magnus Bane, former High Warlock turned current High Warlock.

Underhill opened several of them at random. Some were straightforward bills. However, others had what looked to be handwritten notes alongside the printed fee breakdown. The first one read:

Ley Line Diversion – $150,000 (-$50,000 Credit) = $100,000 (base fee + hazard bonus + exhaustion bonus) *credit issued as a thank you to Alec Lightwood for standing up for the warlocks of nyc xoxo

Underhill smiled as he took a sip of his drink. He had been the one to escort Raj and his cronies from the premises. It had been his pleasure; the stunt they pulled to lock down the Institute had put the entire city at risk.

And okay, that was a perfectly legitimate item. Truth be told, it had been a hectic six months. It wasn’t unlikely that the increase in warlock expenses was merely a function of increased activity. But it was part of his duties to make sure.

The next few bills were fairly straightforward, even if the second one was slightly odd.

Confirmation of Demonic Possession - $10,000 (1hr min. consultation fee applies)

Consultation –provide information to NYI on Lilith Queen of Demons—$20,000 (2 hrs @standard rate; For what it’s worth, if it was us at Lake Lyn, I would have done the same for you too xx) 

Six coffees – $40.56 (receipts attached)

The reference to Lake Lyn was strange. That was the place Clary Fray defeated Valentine.

What was it that Magnus would have done the same, he wondered. Perhaps the note was referring to wanting to be the one to kill Valentine, but Underhill didn’t think so. This was something Magnus Bane would do personally for Alec, he was sure of it.

He contemplated the possibilities as he brought his glass of whiskey to his lips again. No answers came, except that whatever it was, it was important. Possibly life or death.

A wave of melancholy passed over him. A love like Alec had found was a rare thing. Underhill might have been slightly, fiercely jealous. He had noticed the intimate looks they exchanged in the Institute, the way they gravitated towards each other when in the same room, the way they hugged like they could overcome all of life’s cruelties if only they were pressed close together enough.

It was no secret that Alec looked at Magnus Bane with his heart in his eyes. And Magnus Bane loved him back with a strength as powerful as the magic he wielded. Underhill could only hope to be so lucky to find someone who would look at him like that, like he held their entire world.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tossed back the last of his drink, feeling the bitter burn in a hot line down his throat.

He poured himself another. Smaller this time. He didn’t know what happened at Lake Lyn, but he decided that unless something specifically came up around it, he wouldn’t go searching for it.

With that, he opened the next one.

The original invoice amount was crossed out so heavily it was no longer legible, but the length of the figure implied an obscene number of zeros.

Round Trip, Edom $0 (If I charged the full value of what this trip cost me, this Institute would be in debt for centuries. In lieu of monetary recompense, Alexander Lightwood’s pretty face owes me homemade French toast every morning for the rest of my life, however long or short it may be)

Everyone had heard about Magnus Bane losing his magic, of course. It had spread like a flashfire, reactions ranging from shock that it was even possible to smug satisfaction at the fall of such an infamous figure. Those that had nothing good to say learned quickly that voicing their opinion in range of the Head of the Institute was a dire mistake. Alec prowled around like a ghost during those initial weeks, heavy bags under his eyes and itching for a fight that wasn’t there.

Publicly, Magnus Bane appeared to deal with it in the same blasé way he dealt with everything. He dived into the management of his nightclub, making public appearances flocked by a sea of hired warlock bodyguards. Between the heavy magical security and his Shadowhunter boyfriend, anyone who thought they had a free shot at the former High Warlock turned mundane was quickly and violently shown the error of their ways.

This invoice was an unexpected personal glimpse into that time. He imagined their morning breakfasts were a stark contrast to the personas they both displayed in public.

A sense of guilt crept over him for reading what seemed more and more like private correspondences between his superior and his boyfriend. He reminded himself that these were public invoices and he had every right to review them. Magnus Bane had been around long enough to know that nothing submitted to official Institute keeping stayed private.

Besides, there was only one left.

Reconstruction of North Wing - $290,000 (You haven’t been answering my texts. Did you drop your phone in demon ichor again? Meet me outside the Institute, in front of the main doors. I have a question for you.)

It had almost become a game at this point, figuring out what the little messages meant.

He remembered that day like it was stamped into his brain. The Institute almost fell under the weight of Jonathan Morgenstern’s vicious attack. It was the worst physical destruction the building itself had seen in living memory, and it would have been much worse had the warlocks not shown up in the eleventh hour, led by the newly reinstated Magnus Bane.

The invoice was dated three days later. And that’s when it clicked.

Alec had been at the Institute that day, and the pure happiness he radiated could have powered the entire building. For days afterwards, the biggest gossip topic was whether anyone knew that their leader was even capable of smiling that much. He had so much spring in his step he practically bounced.

Underhill had chalked it up to a little too much caffeine, until Alec had set the record straight. Or not so straight, Underhill thought, smiling to himself at the lame joke.

It was the day Alec announced his engagement.

Underhill didn’t know what significance that spot outside the Institute doors held for Alec. Whether it was a first kiss or an important make-up, or simply the spot they had laid eyes on each other and realized they were in love.

If he dug for it, he could probably find out. All that security know-how made him pretty handy with a keyboard. But it was one thing to review a few invoices, and a whole other to go deliberately searching for personal information. He respected Alec too much, as a boss and (he hoped) as a friend, to ever do that.

He swirled the remains of amber liquid around in his glass a few times before finishing the drink and calling it a day.

All was well within the halls of the Institute and as long as Underhill was around, he planned on keeping it that way.

[dachi-chan25]

Game of Thornes- Season 7 episode 2 Recap (Pt.2)

Warnings: Spooooooilers; not a D@nee fan my dude, no hate either just critizism; Jonsa shipper so most of the fandom thinks I’m delusional.

————-

6.- Dat raven from Oldwarts reaches WF (OK but like where is Edd’s raven about Bran???) and Jonny boy is in Brooding mode, he calls for the Lords to tell them the situation, they are not happy at all about being all buddy-buddy with a Targ (and rightfully so) but Jon has a good reasons for going himself (even if I don’t like it):

- He is KitN and unlike other rulers J0n has already proven (remember when he wanted to have a 1 on 1 fight with Ramsey so no one else would die??) he takes responsability over his people and if it’s a trap he’ll rather sacrifize himself than an innocent.

- He is the only one who saw and fought a WW and the only one who can explain how much of a threat they are.

-The raven asked specifically for his presence, and to be allies (they both seek that) there should be some amount of trust, he NEEDS their help after all.

Of course it’s not so simple, because D@nyy has Melissandre with her (you know the same J0n exiled) and she wants him to surrender the North to her (which wasn’t mentioned in the raven and OH!! That if we believe the leaks she is gonna send him on a pointless stupid hunt to prove he says the truth (so no trust on her part I see)

Also, Sansa speaks up to remind him about their grandfather and how he was invited and then killed by a Targ (very fair point) and of course she doesn’t want him to leave!!!

“You’re abandoning your people! you’re abandoning your home!”

Some fellow shippers (I’m not saying your feelings/thoughts aren’t valid guys you are allowed to have your own reading and I am in no way trying to impose my view) mentioned they were wating for her to include ‘you’re abandoning me!’ but she already did in adding home, what makes WF his home is not the fact that he was raised there but that his family is! So in a subtle way she did acuse him of abandoning her.

And can you all blame her??? Sansa already lost so much, and wheter you ship them or not, it’s clear she loves him and doesn’t wanna loose him.

Problem is Jon is the same, y'all remember he wanted to fuck off to Essos after being brought back?? He had nothing left to loose and no fucks to give anymore, Enters Sansa giving him a purpose to live and someone to give a fuck about so of course he is gonna do anything in his power to protect her and the home she fought so hard for!! He is once again gonna fight for her now on the political side and honestly I dig so much this ship!!!

Anyway Jon is not getting much support (even Little Lyanna doesn’t want him to go) but he already made up his mind, Sansa is worried about who the fuck is gonna run the place in his absence and, be still my heart, because he says the North is hers (my shipper heart!!!!) and she is sooooo touched. Also that Jaime/ Brienne parallel.

Creepyfinger is pleased and honestly I can’t wait for Jon to choke the slimy bitch.

7.- Back in the Citadel, Sam says to Slughorn (I can’t remember his actual name, sorry) he knows how to cure greyscale (how very convinient) but hold your horses Potter!!! the thing is dangerous and you really shouldn’t do it. But of course he is gonna do it anyway, because I guess it’s more important to cure his ex-Lord Commander’s son than keeping his place on the Citadel (Slughorn said the procedure was forbbiden so I’m guessing they could expell him for this) to become a Maester for the NW like he was supposed to. Honestly this is all so convinient to have one of D@€nerys stans out and about again *sigh* Also the dialogue was like a porn and I was laughing way to hard even though the scene was disgusting.

8.- Eww that transition was just ewwww I’m glad I wasn’t eating when I watched it, so now we have Arya on her way to KL, and Yay! Hot Pie, I Love him so much, and LMAO Arya and her pies.

So at last Arya hears about the BoB and in that moment she forsakes her revenge to go home (Imma cry again) I think that’s the best damn decision because things are going to be ugly in the south.

9.- Jon in the crypts!!! (It’s happening y'all!!!) I must say that’s a pretty good looking statue of Ned tho. So LF is supposedly trying to get in his good graces but is he really??? I mean his words and tone are polite, he talks about how HE was the one who sent Ned’s bones back to WF (ya you trick ass bitch but you got him killed!!!) and wistully talks about how despite their differences they both loved Cat, and then smoothly reminds Jon about how Cat didn’t care about him and even says she was wrong (I called it!!! That LF was gonna say the last best chance quote from the trailer to Jon) but why was he talking about such a thing, we know Cat (and his bastard status) is a very touchy subject for Jon, as a matter of fact on a deeper level one starts to think maybe he was trying to provoke Jon (Starks. Quick tempers, slow minds is his motto afterall) and even I was surprised by how calm he acted when LF wanted a thank you for saving my life (that FUCKING creep). Until we get the ‘I Love Sansa, like I loved her mother’ it’s such an intresting way of phrasing it, isn’t it?? Because moments before LF states he loved Cat in a romantic way, and when he says he loves Sansa adds the last sentence to leave no room of doubt about what kind of Love is it and what his intentions are. What shaked me was Jon’s expression, he was furious, while moments ago he let LF words slide, a single mention of Sansa and he wants to kill the creeper. Jon’s threat is both terrifying and unexpected ( also I know everyone was freacking out about the sister but Jaime also called Cersei that and they had like 3 children together, same applies to but J0n said D@ny’s name OMG twu wuv, like LMAO Qyburn also said her name and I don’t see anyone shipping them) if LF wanted to provoke a reaction out of him it wasn’t that one definitely. Far to raw and protective to be brotherly.

Jon’s anger doesn’t fade even when he let’s the little creeper go!! He is downright murderous. But then he looks at Sansa and it’s like his whole demeanour changes, I was like what in the Seven hells is this!!!! And the little wave gives me hope they’ll see one another again in this season.

Now what I find real intresting is that last bit with LF. He gets outta those crypts, baffled and massaging his neck, when suddenly he seems to figure something out (you can see it in his eyes) and his first reaction to whatever he was thinking was looking at Sansa (she is looking at the spot Jon just left in such a wistfull and sad manner) and I think he knows something is happening there… Or maybe I’m delusional.

10.- Arya and Nymeria reunite and all is sad, but I think it linda makes sense, Nymeria is not her because Arya herself is not her fully, she had to strip from her identity to become a faceless man, and was using that to take revenge, but now she is stepping back from that destructive path because she has the option to come back home and it’s beginning to be herself again. maybe when she finally does Nymeria will come to her.

11.- I totally lost my shit in here, so Yara and Ellaria are flirting and drinking (so much for this is a war!! ) and far to relaxed and distracted to be part of a group that wants to take the Iron Throne, (Theon is super done with them btw) suddenly all hell breaks loose and Euron’s armada is on da house (he got to get that gift for his Lady) everyone gets crushed, the snakes are murdered and Ellaria/Yara taken prisioners. Also Theon is like LOL no I’m out. But are we supposed to think OMG Euron is totally GOT’s Jack Sparrow!! Cuz I think Ellaria and Yara (also Varys and Theon) were total dumbasses. In being sneaky 101 we learnt that if you wanna smuggle someone somewhere you gotta be disguised (see: LF getting Sansa on the Eyre and Varys taking Tyrion to Essos) Ellaria and Yara had those huge Greyjoy banners like 'here we are!!! The enemy!!!) and they also already knew about Euron’s armada but they choose to believe he was just gonna stay in Pyke pouting.

Like I said totally moronic!!! They could have disguised the ships and the people, traveling in broad daylight and maybe then they could have succeded.

Problem is everyone underestimating Cersei (except Sansa) even when they worked for her (Varys) and lived with her (Tyrion) and that’s what is allowing her to gain footing. As of now D@nys lost her armada and Dorne, her only allies are the Tyrell and with the Unsullied gone her only option is to go dracarys on KL (fuck the writers for this tho, she was actually making a good decision and you force her to hurt people, but maybe it’s intentional)

Also Sam is helping Jorah, but the leaks said the Tarly were going to die by D@nys hands. Looks like someone is gonna regret his decisions.

Anyway, leaving out the Stark bit I wasn’t very happy with this episode because the leaks keep being confirmed and they are still such bullshit (still I’m hoping some or most are fake)

That’s it. And yup I know I didn’t mentioned Greyworm/Missandei sexy time but I am very meh about it, yes it was tender and all but kinda pointless to me even if I like these two a lot.

[thrashermaxey]

20 Fantasy Hockey Thoughts

Every Sunday until the start of the 2018-19 regular season, we'll share 20 Fantasy Thoughts from our writers at DobberHockey. These thoughts are curated from the past week's "Daily Ramblings".

Writers: Michael Clifford, Ian Gooding, Cam Robinson, and Dobber

  1. If Buffalo were to make a huge turnaround, a lot of things have to go right: both Rasmus Dahlin and Casey Mittelstadt have to be Calder-worthy, Ryan O’Reilly probably can’t get traded, Kyle Okposo has to be the player they signed in free agency two years ago and not the player he’s been since, Sam Reinhart’s production progression needs to continue, and they need to make a splash in free agency to reinforce their defense corps. They should probably add a couple good bottom-six forwards, as well. I get that the East is tough but if a few things go right, they can pass teams like Ottawa, Montreal, the Rangers, and Detroit. Depending on what happens with trades and free agency, they can pass teams like the Islanders and Hurricanes as well. It doesn’t leave them that far from playoff contention.

Of course, if Buffalo were to even make a playoff push rather than be out of contention by Christmas, Jack Eichel must be one of the top producers in the league. He’s coming into his fourth season (we love our Year-4 guys here at DobberHockey) and hopefully he’s healthy all year long. It might be a longshot that the Sabres can turn their fortunes around in one season but we saw two stark examples of this in 2017-18, and if they can pull off the miracle, a monster season from Eichel will be a big reason why. (june21)

  2. The big winner of the first round at the NHL Draft was the New York Islanders. They landed Oliver Wahlstrom and Noah Dobson at 11 and 12, respectively. Those two could have easily gone in the top six and no one would’ve blinked an eye. Just imagine for a moment: Mat Barzal feeding Wahlstrom for the next decade? Drool. (june23)

  3. Despite rumors of trying to move the pick for immediate help on the blue line, Edmonton kept the 10th overall selection and grabbed Evan Bouchard. The volume-shooting, right-shot defender feasts on the power play and will add a dangerous weapon to the Oilers man-advantage unit in the near future. As a late-1999 birthdate, who is already physically mature, he may be ready to step into the NHL lineup next season. (june23)

  4. A puck-moving defenseman like Quinn Hughes is something that the Canucks have been missing since, well, ever. I think the one takeaway from this draft – at least the first round – is the type of defensemen that were drafted. After years of teams drafting bigger and bigger, the smaller defensemen were all the rage as teams move toward a faster style that stresses the importance of moving the puck out of your zone and keeping up with the play. Here’s the height and weight of the first seven defensemen drafted in the first round:

Rasmus Dahlin (Buf): 6-2, 181 pounds Hughes (Van): 5-10, 173 Adam Boqvist (Chi): 5-11, 165 Evan Bouchard (Edm): 6-2, 195 Noah Dobson (NYI): 6-3, 176 Ty Smith (NJ): 5-11, 176 Ryan Merkley (SJ): 5-11, 167

Not one of these defensemen is over 200 pounds, and there are more that are under six feet tall than over. Of course, these are still kids who could continue to grow and should also fill out a bit more. But, the trend of blueliners scoring more should continue, while fewer enormous-bodied stay-at-home defensemen will be able to survive in the NHL. (june24)

  5. Dobber provided the Fantasy Take on the Ilya Kovalchuk signing, which includes how top-six forwards in LA might be impacted. I’d expect Kovalchuk to be a decently productive fantasy option next season but at age 35 he’s already seen most of his peers his age drop off from their prime (or drop out of the league by now).

As productive as Kovalchuk was in the KHL (over a point per game over his last two seasons), I can’t help but think that someone like now-34-year-old Rick Nash is a comparable at this point in his career. And Nash isn’t someone you should be reaching for in next season’s drafts. But, don’t get me wrong, I’d still rate Kovalchuk over Nash. (june24)

  6. Dobber also gave you the Fantasy Take on the Calgary/Carolina blockbuster. Fantasy-wise, this trade has a major impact on the Flames’ top line, with the forwards swapping places on it. As far as the trade goes, I’m going to concentrate on the forwards in the deal.

I really like this move for Elias Lindholm – more so than anyone else involved in the deal. The previous relationship with coach Bill Peters should result in Lindholm receiving at least a long look with Johnny Gaudreau and Sean Monahan. There was no real continuity when it came to Lindholm’s linemates last season but both Gaudreau (1.05 Pts/G) and Monahan (0.86 Pts/G) scored at a higher pace than any Carolina forward. This is a significant upgrade for Lindholm. If Micheal Ferland can score 21 goals while (mostly) playing on that line, then the more talented Lindholm should score at least that many. Lindholm has never scored more than 17 goals in a season.

Conversely, the main reason I decided to take a flier on Ferland last season was his place on the Flames’ top line. Of his 41 points, 35 were even strength. And, of those 35 even-strength points, only three were without either Gaudreau or Monahan. There could be more turnover with the Canes’ forward group, particularly if Jeff Skinner is traded. But, for now, Ferland is buried among a large pile of wingers, which means that he should probably only be targeted in leagues that count hits. (june24)

  7. The Avs grabbed themselves the most sought-after backup goaltender on the market in Philipp Grubauer. The Cup winner was dealt alongside Brooks Orpik and his $5.5 million in salary for next season. The Caps cleared cap space in order to try and re-sign John Carlson and also grabbed the 47th overall selection in the draft.  This was a nice piece of work by Joe Sakic. The recent history of teams purchasing Grubauer-level assets has been higher than a mid-second, so taking on the salary clearly decreased the cost.

The Avalanche have been toiling away with sub-par goaltending for far too long. This move doesn't assure them anything but Semyon Varlamov now has a true competitor for his crease. The oft-injured and inconsistent Russian netminder's value in fantasy leagues hasn't been high but the Avs are clearly a team on the rise.

Grubauer should get a good amount of attention on fantasy draft day as a potential sneaky pick that could pay massive dividends. He'll need to be signed as a restricted free agent and that dollar amount will provide further insight into how much value the Avs will be placing on him. (june23)

  8. This probably goes without saying, but the Grubauer trade all but assures that Jonathan Bernier will be headed to unrestricted free agency. The UFA goalie market is thin but Bernier should be considered a top-five option in that group. That probably should net him a goalie timeshare situation of his own at best, with the more likely scenario of him being signed as a team’s backup.

As for the vacant Washington backup goalie job, recently-signed goalie prospect Ilya Samsonov is expected to play a lot in the AHL next season. That would make Pheonix Copley the little-used backup behind Braden Holtby. The native of North Pole, Alaska has played in just two NHL games – both with the Blues. (june24)

  9. Florida’s Vincent Trocheck in 2017-18: 287 shots on goal, 54 PIMs, 145 hits, 55 blocked shots. The evolution of Trocheck’s fantasy value is really something. He was a third-round pick (2011) who spent four years in the OHL and parts of two seasons in the AHL. None of his numbers at any level screamed 30 goals and 70 points in the NHL. And yet, here we are in June of 2018 with Trocheck having reached both of those marks.

I remember a few years ago after his 50-game season that he split with the AHL some people in the DobberHockey forums glowing about his potential real-time stat value. I did not see it and boy was I wrong. He now has three straight seasons of at least 125 hits, 40 blocked shots, and 40 PIMs. Those numbers will play in multi-cat leagues.

It’s the shots that are really something to behold. He’s nearly doubled his shots per game from ’14-15 (1.78) to ’17-18 (3.50). His TOI per game going up 50 percent is certainly a part of that but he’s increased his shots/60 at five-on-five every season as well. It’s just been a natural progression of a player who was unheralded just getting better and better every year.

If I have one concern it’s the TOI. I would assume that the coaching staff prefer not to have to play their top two centers 22 minutes a night. The addition of Mike Hoffman could allow them to lengthen the lineup as Jared McCann turns into a viable third-line center. Trocheck should still be a big minutes guy but maybe it’s 20 a night instead of 21:30? It would hurt his numbers across the board but not enough to avoid him. Even if the production falls off a bit to, say, 25 goals and 40 assists, there is more than enough production in other categories for Trocheck to remain one of the elite forwards in multi-cat leagues. (june22)

  10. The potential loss of Ryan Kesler undoubtedly hurts the Ducks if he indeed misses the 2018-19 season, but he was injured and largely ineffective last year as it was. A full season from Ryan Getzlaf and Sam Steel making his way to the team should go a long way in shoring them up down the middle. Don’t forget that Hampus Lindholm started the season injured, as well. Just this team being healthy, Kesler aside, should mean improvement from the Ducks. Despite the injuries last year, John Gibson was still one of the best goaltenders in the league. He just needs to stay healthy himself.

Anaheim still boasts a pretty good top-four defense corps with Lindholm, Josh Manson, Brandon Montour, and Cam Fowler. They can still ice a pretty good top-three lines, so it’s just really tinkering with depth that they need. A healthy year from this roster, and Gibson playing like he can, should have the latter in the Vezina Trophy conversation. As always, though, goaltending is very uncertain. (june21)

  11. Pekka Rinne and his Vezina Trophy win: It’s truly a remarkable turnaround from just a few years ago. Remember that from 2012-2016, he posted three seasons with a save percentage of .910 or less, averaging .913. He’s posted a .923 over the last two years and then that wonderful playoff run in 2017. He has one year left on his deal, though, and we’re all waiting for the reigns to be turned over to Juuse Saros. It'll be interesting to see what the Preds do in 2018-19. (june21)

  12. Rumors are that the Flyers’ Wayne Simmonds is available in a trade. Per Cap Friendly, Simmonds has a limited NTC which has him able to submit a 12-team no-trade list. That kind of cuts things down a bit. But, for the teams not on the list, he has one year left on a very cheap cap hit and is one of the elite power forwards in the game. As a net-front presence on the power play, there probably aren’t any better in the game. (june21)

  13.Connor McDavid lapped the field in five-on-five points last season – he had more 5v5 points than Sidney Crosby and Patrik Laine combined – and was held back by an abysmal team. This is where the semantics between ‘most outstanding’ and ‘most valuable’ separate the Ted Lindsay Trophy from the Hart. Just imagine what his point totals might look like next year if the power play isn’t awful. (june21)

  14. Regarding Shea Weber: I’m wondering where his average draft position (ADP) is going to be next season. Injuries limited him to 26 games in 2017-18 but if you worked out his ‘on-pace’ numbers, this is what we get for 78 games, a number he reached in eight straight 82-game seasons: 18 goals, 30 assists, 42 PIMs, 225 shots, 198 hits, 177 blocks.

That number of goals would have led the NHL among defensemen. The 30 assists would have been one off a four-year high. The 225 assists would have been the highest mark in three years. Those PIMs would have also been a three-year high. The blocks would have been a career high. The hits would have been his highest mark since 2010-11. In all, *if* he could have kept up those marks for a full year, he would have been an excellent fantasy commodity.

Back to my question: what’s his ADP going to be? He was probably drafted in the top-10 defensemen in your fantasy drafts for 2017-18. Does he fall out of the top-10? Where does he have to go for you to feel comfortable drafting him?

I won’t start my projections until free agency settles down but assuming Weber doesn’t lose his power play slotting – which I cannot imagine he does – is there a reason, other than health, that Weber takes a step back next season? He’s getting older, but he didn’t really seem to take a step back last year, at least for fantasy production. If he plays 25 minutes a night with top PP time, maybe he can be the guy we have seen for the last few years. If I can grab him as a second defenseman in 12-team leagues, I’ll be hard-pressed to pass that up. (june19)

  15. I said it months ago in a Ramblings and I stand by it: I would love to see John Tavares go to Vegas. This is a team with a young core that is only going to improve but we saw them run into problems with scoring depth at times. With the uncertainty of David Perron and James Neal, it’s 40-some goals that they may need to replace. It would provide a buffer and some safety for youngsters Nick Suzuki and Cody Glass while providing the team with a true, bona fide superstar.

The most likely conclusion here is just Tavares re-signing with the Islanders. We all know that. It doesn’t mean we can’t speculate. That’s the point of fantasy hockey! (june19)

  16. If a new team signs Carter Hutton and anoints him their savior … they’ll be as disappointed as Carolina was with Scott Darling. Worse, because I still think Darling can be a starter under a better coaching system and upgraded defense. I’m not as sure about Hutton. (june18)

  17. You may have caught this the other day, the Blackhawks re-signed a couple of under-the-radar players, the main one being Vinnie Hinostroza ($1.5 million per season, two years). He of a career-best 25 points, who did most of that between December and February because initially he didn’t even make the team … and then finished the year off very slow. But, there was a stretch there where he posted 23 points in 36 games. He’s a sleeper for 50 points next season and an upside for 60, depending on linemates.

John Hayden was the other guy signed but his contract was for $750,000 per season, which is not a deterrent from the team sending him to the minors. He’ll stick with the big club but just saying that it won’t be because the contract keeps him there. Hayden’s a potential 55-point, 100-PIM player but as a big power forward, he’s several years away from that. In the meantime, enjoy your 30/90 out of him. (june18)

  18. Innocent or guilty, girlfriend’s fault or his fault, I think Mike Hoffman could be done. Sure, maybe he posts another huge season of 65 or 70 points just to immediately prove everyone wrong. But, being under a microscope, with so many people looking for the slightest misstep, is going to catch up with him. An injury or slump will get compounded and maybe Year 2 sees him get just 55 points. And then 40. And then lots of healthy scratches. And then done.

I’m not condemning Hoffman. What I think about that situation is irrelevant. I’m just looking at it from a fantasy hockey standpoint – and in my keeper league I want nothing to do with him. Actually, check that. There is one scenario where I would have liked to own Hoffman: a trade to Edmonton (Ed. note: after two trades, Hoffman finally landed in Florida this past week). But, aside from that, today I’m placing pretty strong odds that he has two more fantasy-relevant seasons left. Not a certainty, just strong enough odds that I’m going to steer clear.

That’s what fantasy hockey is, it’s about playing the odds. If there’s a 30 percent chance that X happens, a 25 percent chance that Y happens, a 20 percent chance that Z happens, and a 25 percent chance of ‘other’, then you run your team based on X while still allowing for Y, Z or ‘other’ to possibly take place. Well, Hoffman gradually failing over the next several seasons is (for today) my X. (june18)

  19. Arizona is really wheeling and dealing. Hudson Fasching (from Buffalo for Brandon Hickey) has been a disappointment but could turn out to be a depth winger in a year or two. The change of scenery will help. It has only been about one year since we were kind of high on him as a power forward. (june18)

  20. Here’s my take on the Alex Galchenyuk for Max Domi trade: I think Galchenyuk is on the cusp of a breakout. Yes, he’s played six full seasons in the NHL but with injuries (twice) and a terrible team (last year), he’s been held back. Not that Arizona is this amazing Cup contender, but we can all agree they have a lot of good young pieces in place that offer the skill and depth Galchenyuk needs to hit his potential. It was the absolute worse time to trade him – and I mean that for both fantasy hockey and real hockey.

Not that Max Domi is a pushover. I think he’s got plenty more to give and he’s entering his fourth NHL season. However, breaking out on a Habs team with very little talent is different from breaking out on an Arizona team with plenty of potential. If Domi gets 50 points this year, even though he’s done better (as a rookie – 52 points), to me that would be a breakout because of the team around him.

Once again, general manager Marc Bergevin loses a deal even though what he gets isn’t ‘that bad’. Every deal he does, his return is ‘not bad’. The problem is, it’s never ‘good’. You can’t succeed as a GM if nothing you do is good. A ‘not bad’ move is fine, mixed in among good ones. You can even get away with a terrible move. But, you need to have good moves with some regularity. And Bergevin hasn’t done that. (june18)

  Have a good week, folks!!

  from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/20-fantasy-hockey-thoughts/20-fantasy-hockey-thoughts-29/

[nyiikii]

I danced for the first time in nine years…it’s not like riding a bike went from Step up to squidwards interpretative dance

[nyiikii]

I grew up on dance movies and musicals, mostly for the dance elements. I’m talking everything from the 1930s to the 2000s to the 2010s. They hold a special significance to me as well as who I shared them with. I’m a self taught dancer, I learned by watching the movies and tutorials on YouTube. I danced for the first time in over a decade today, it ignited that spark again to relearn something I love.

[nyiikii]

Y’all know that you can send free valentines cards to St. Jude patients. Even if you can’t donate you can still send them a card for valentines

[nyiikii]

TikTok is very different we all noticed this after the quote on quote ban. I say quote ban because if you know anything about software you know apps are ran on servers, these servers can change or go dark. To ban an app that doesn’t run off American servers youd have to get rid of the servers completely. TikTok switched servers to meta, meta is what Facebook, twitter (X), instagram and messenger run on. They’re all now owned by people who campaigned for Nazis.

But Nyi why switch servers? Because now they can control the information and narrative being pushed in their favors. TikTok was the last source of unbiased news and information world wide. Now we hardly see international videos on our FYPs in america.

People in Canada and Thailand also got the error banned messages which is further proof it switched servers.

I’m saying this here because unbiased news gets buried on apps ran by meta.

[nyiikii]

Practice your Spanish babes ;)

[nyiikii]

To my native brothers and sisters and two spirits, now is the time we protect our indigenous cousins who were born over the white mans borders. The white man that’s telling us it’s illegal to come home! The colonizers aka the real illegals who are calling us immigrants and sending their attack dogs after us. Now is the time to push the fuck back, Native Americans born on what’s considered US soil are currently the ONLY ones who are not at risk for deportation. This is our land, this native refuses to stay silent so the colonizers can stay comfortable in their fascism.

[nyiikii]

To be ungovernable is to cause issues for the government.

New laws? Nah fuck you

It’s keeping people informed on unbiased news, reminding them of their rights, being an ally, not only on line but in your communities

It’s asking the mayors and governors the questions the press is too afraid to ask. It’s calling out the injustices as you see em.

The US Nazi party sees anyone who goes against them as a threat it’s why they wanna buy TikTok, especially the younger generation they’re afraid of us.

Organize protests, donate, host community dinners, food and clothing drives, hand out flyers of where people can find free immigration, law, and medical resources and lawyers.

If you’re like me and live in a blue state, stock up on plan b and make it known you’ll send it to anyone who can’t access it for free.

Teach yourself law and policies, politics, political science, and how to spot propaganda

Download banned books PDFs save them to your docs or files and post them to your social medias for the world to see.

Use a VPN

Apple products are great because if you turn on a VPN and search in private browser it literally shows on anyone checking or tracing that it never happened. Mind you this technology was created by a paranoid tech company, ofc they’re encrypted.

Learn how to hack and code trust me ;)

If you want to do this and you’re in an unsafe environment, take a page out of anonymous’ book. Cover your face and change your voice. Show up online and to protests like that.

[nyiikii]

This is what tumblr allows on its platform btw especially on POCs posts and accounts