Feb 16, 2018
effleuresense is great!!
anonymous at @effleuresense
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effleuresense is great!!
anonymous at @effleuresense
effleuresense reblogged your post:’Girls don’t understand Star Wars’ is something...
So now seeing Reylo for the disgusting mess it is, make people sexist? We also are sexist for hating Kylo, a mass murderer? Lmao when will this fandom just collectively choke on something and disappear?
#These reylo crackheads are on some shit again#anti reylo#negativity for ts
When will this fandom just collectively choke on something and disappear?
Never, bitch.
Thanks for asking for prompt, I hope you will get this one. For Jonsa: " The water hears and understands. The ice does not forgive..." The quote is from Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. It always makes me think of jonsa. Thank you in advance.
She does not forgive him so easily. When Jon returns North with Brienne of Tarth and Ser Davos he is welcomed back not with warm smiles and sweet greetings, but with a castle and a Lady so ravaged by winter they are both now frozen beyond repair. Winterfell has suffered, and so has Sansa. She is stoic and rigid with him, her words and gestures so cutting and harsh Jon feels as if the Night Kings blade would sting less. Once so ethereal and pleasant, she now stands with a straightness and poise akin to both her mother and Cersei Lannister. She calls him Your Grace, never Jon. Not anymore.
He who was crowned King in the North, and named a Stark by Sansa alone now feels more an outsider in this castle than he ever had. He is once again that bastard boy seated at the back of the great hall, and she is Lady Catelyn, blue eyes harsh as ice and hair burning with the fire she holds within.
Sansa also holds winter in her bones, and buries summer in her mind within the crypt of childhood and promises. She is the ice that clings to the grey stones of Winterfell, the frost that clings to the weirwood leaves and the sharp kiss of snow that falls upon the ground. Winter is here. And summer is so far away, Sansa will not melt so easily.
Not like Arya. Arya who is like water, rushing and battling against the current of war. She has listened to Jon, understood why he has done what he had to do. Why he bent the knee. Arya has much blood on her hands, the freshest being Littlefingers; a crimson and bright stain against what little soul she has left. She should scare Jon, he knows, he can tell she is much changed when he catches that murderous glimmer in her eyes.
She will not bend the knee, she says, her sister is her only Queen. But she will fight with Daenerys Targaryen and her beasts when the time comes.
Jon is glad then, that he has one sibling who understands. Sansa will not listen, will not ally herself with the foreign invader, and all Bran does is look at Jon with a contemplating look; as if he desires to tell him something. It unsettles Jon greatly, but whatever it is that the three eyed raven wishes to say, he keeps it hidden and secret for now. Perhaps it is not the right time.
She converses with Brienne and Podrick late into the night, dark circles permanently carving themselves beneath her blue eyes and Jon can see she is weary. Weary of talk about grain stores and armories and the imminence of death. He wishes to speak with her, but he has tried and every time she throws some sharp quip at him.
You have no place to speak, Your Grace, you gave away the North. Why not go back to your Dragon Queen, she after all is the one you truly serve.
I serve you, he wants to tell her, I’ll only ever serve you. But he can not bring himself to say it, because he fears winter and it’s horror, and the Lady of Winterfell is the embodiment of it.
She does not even forgive him when the war is over and Daenerys Targaryen is dead. Not even when he knows his last name is not Stark, but one of Old Valyria. Not even when he, as the true heir to the Iron Throne, declares that there shall be Seven Kingdoms again. Or when he names her Queen in the North. She instead chooses to remain as cold as the granite likeness of dead Starks that rest beneath the crypts of Winterfell.
Bran speaks now in hushed whispers, and does not now hide ominous prophecies within his words. He prefers to sit in dark rooms and beneath trees that speak to him in riddles. Jon barely sees him anymore, and he knows there is no use looking for the brother he once knew, that Bran is gone and the three eyed raven is in his place. Sansa speaks to him just as rigid, and when Arya leaves to travel with the Baratheon blacksmith Jon is left truly alone.
Solitude is no longer rare, and Jon seeks it in the shadow of the godswood; the red eyes of gods more company than his own family. The ghosts of Ser Davos and Tormund weigh heavily on his shoulders; and their languid strides more heavy in death shadow every step he takes. The long night is over, and with the finality of it brings a warmth to the North that had not been there before.
But snow still falls, and ice still lives in the castle.
Underneath the red leaves of the weirwood, Jon feels more sheltered than he ever has and he is content to sit there all night long and polish the blade that won him a war. The dim sun makes the surface look even more smooth than it did before, the scratches and indents upon the steel all but invisible in the blur of light. He catches his reflection in it and almost stiffens, for he could have sworn it was the face of his father looking at him. Not the dragon prince; never him. His true father.
But the ghost of Eddard Stark is gone when he looks again, and the spirit of his father joins the others that stand behind him.
The sound of the soft rustling of skirts against the frozen ground makes him look up, and before his eyes walks another ghost. She is as beautiful as ever- Lady Sansa- and he feels the foreboding presence of the gods even greater than before as he eyes her. She always looks like the suns lover when its beams shine on her like a godly beacon. She is protected by some greater force, he reckons, the ethereal beauty of her a gift from above.
She walks towards him, straight backed and hard eyed and in her hands she carries a bunched up scroll. If only they knew, how in this moment they were recreating one that had happened before, one imprinted on eternity that they now walk in the steps of. But they do not know, how very like the Lord and Lady that ruled here in simpler times. Jon has heard the whispers though, of the common folk. How they wish for Jon to marry his flame haired cousin and secure the North even though there are no threats any longer. But he does well not to listen so intently, and he will not allow himself to wish for something so idle.
“Your Grace” she calls him as she stops before him, holding out the scroll for him to read. He looks up at her then, and regrets it instantly. The depths the color of the Riverlands water shows nothing of the coldness she so sharply displays around him. They hold a pain in them that Jon himself sees inside his heart.
“Sansa” he greets her, gently taking the scroll from her hands. Their fingers brush off one another’s and she bristles where she stands- her eyes tearing away from him.
“Arya is coming home” Sansa informs him before he can even read one word of the black scrawl “with Gendry. They are to be married here in Winterfell. With our blessings of course”
“Aye, she has my blessing. Gendry as well” Jon remarks fondly with a nod of his head, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lip. He thanks whatever gods he sits beneath that he can live in a world where his sister can be married. It is no longer a world full of the marching dead.
“A Baratheon and a Stark. Finally betrothed and married, it seems rather fitting, don’t you think?” she asks him, once again turning her eyes to his face. He wants to tell her how he wants it to be fitting for a Stark to marry a Targaryen, but he is not Rhaegar and she is not Lyanna. Jon will not thrust the past onto his present desires and hope that he could rectify the union that started a war.
“Aye, it is” he tells her, leaning Longclaw against the white bark of the weirwood and standing. He doesn’t miss how she steps back slightly, her eyes dropping to her feet and back again.
“I’m glad she’s coming home” Sansa says, but he knows the words that are hidden beneath the ones she has spoken. She is glad Arya is coming home so she will have some peace- a relief from all this tension the war has brought between the King and Queen. It must be some cruel jape from the gods, Jon thinks often, that he be a King and she a Queen yet he can not have her as he wants.
“I thought it’d be different” he says, black and grey eyes sweeping around the godswood.
“What would be?” she asks him, a trickle of softness melting the ice in her voice.
“Coming home” he answers plainly with a shrug “I thought when I defeated the Night King and reclaimed the North that everything would be different. That we would be different. But you still haven’t forgiven me”
“You expect me to so easily forgive the fact that you bent the knee to a foreign queen who wanted your people and your family to be submissive to her rule? You wanted me to forgive the fact that you gave away our home? The home I was raped and tortured in, the home that Theon was tortured in. The North that our brother went to war for? The North he and Mother died for? You want me to forgive the fact that you…….lay with her” the end words are a whisper and he can tell with a piercing stab to his heart that the fact he lay with Daenerys is the true reason she can not look at him longer than a minute.
“Sansa please I did it -”
“Don’t tell me you did it for the North. Don’t tell me you did for our family, or for me Jon Snow. Don’t” she warns, a hand held up as she steps away from his attempt to grab her. He is crushed as she backs away, the fact that she has finally uttered his name not even a comfort for him.
“I never stopped fighting for the North, just like I’ll never stop fighting for you. I told you once and I’ll tell you again, the North is a part of me. You, Sansa, are a part of me” he knows then as she backs away from him, eyes watering with tears, that his words have resonated something in her.
“I will write to Arya and give her our blessings” is all she says, voice wavering but hard and Jon’s heart plummets to the godswood floor as she turns and walks away in a flurry of grey cloak and red hair.
She is ice even though the summer creeps back into the North, and he knows then that the winter is eternal in her. A Stark born in summer and tempered in snow, and she, like ice does not forgive.
effleuresense replied to your post: this like idk idealization how fandom used to be...
The Harry Potter fandom has a wikia page that documented all the dramas there used to be in that fandom. catfishing, scams, cons, bullying, etc… ������ It’s fun to see all those problematic BNFs as famous best selling authors now.
harry potter fandom in the mid 00′s is truly a goldmine for fandom wank, nothing has surpassed it yet imo
@winterfelland 💖💕
@effleuresense you’re one of the people I wish I met super early :( If only I wasn’t so damn shy to send you messages hahaha! So thank you for sending me that sweet message and also the editing tips <3 I love your blog! You’re incredibly witty, honest, and I love your style of bringing in the snark! Your edits are gorgeous, I am always in awe when I see them. <3 You are one of my favorite creators <3 I also admire how much you stick up for the fandom. Over all, I just really admire you for having the courage to speak up on some issues and hard truths that needed to be said. You’re an amazing person and I hope we get to know each other more.
@winterfelland I’m such a hard core fan of your fic Freia omg. When I read it you already had 30+ chapters up and I spent my free day completely absorbed in it. I wasn’t on tumblr yet, and I don’t even have an AO3 account then. Freia is probably one of the fics that made me create an AO3 just so I can bookmark it and comment. And when I saw you here on tumblr, I followed immediately hoping for glimpses of an update lol but I stayed because your insights and opinions on got/asoiaf have me nodding yes all the time! I love your Q&A’s.
Want a blog compliment? :)
effleuresense replied to your post: You know I was expected for some disappointments,...
The movie is getting praised because it’s Star Wars. It doesn’t even matter if it was bad. People are going to praise it because of the brand.
Yea but it didn’t stop The Prequels from getting called out as bad movies. Rogue One ever got some mixed reviews from people. I think that there would be at least some mixed reviews by now if it is as bad as these spoilers indicate. Sure some people would still just love it, but I’m seeing everyone claims this film was incredible, and the best since Empire.
Something isn’t adding up.
effleuresense replied to your post: I'm so angry with this show that I'm practically...
Anon ain’t lie though. I don’t want him to come near Sansa’s pussy smelling of dragon with dragonglass dust stuck in his nails. That’s what mingling with that translucent molerat, Dumpster Trashcan got him.
OH MY GOD.
Listen Jon just needs to go back to Winterfell and take a long bath and then he’ll be back to being a character again.