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[leupagus]

I Write LOLs Not Tragedies

Gus: k can I ask a huge favor

Gus: can you read over this next chapter I'm posting tomorrow

Gus: it's less than 3K

Gus: I just want to make sure it's suitably bitchy

Mardia: Yeah for sure

Gus: thank u

Gus: just finishing the last section

Gus: mostly I just wanna see how it lands, so to speak

Gus: I want to convey this impression:

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 10: Selyse

"Lady Stark," the king replied, or began to, because at that moment the damned direwolf, that unnatural creature the Lord Commander had foisted upon them, came hurtling in from wherever the devils he'd been and lunged for the Stark girl, sending her sprawling to the ground with a scream more chilling than Shireen's had been, horrifyingly cut off as she—

As she laughed, the creature licking frantically at her face with its great tail wagging. The girl brought her arms around its monstrous neck and hugged it close, burying her face in its fur, unconcerned entirely by the spectacle she was making. Her Northern lords looked well pleased, in fact, nodding and smiling at one another in shared understanding. He'll recognize her, Jon had told Shireen when she'd asked how Ghost would know who Sansa was. The pack knows its own. It seemed the whole of the North knew.

The king's people were nearly as susceptible, it seemed. Davos was smiling like a dolt and Shireen looked as though she wanted nothing more than to join in the undignified affair. Lady Melisandre, at least, showed little sign of being moved; she was watching with an air of interest but no warmth. Only the king was truly inscrutable, as he stared down at the tangle of girl and dog with another expression she had never seen before. This time, she could not guess as to what it meant; but it sent a curl of fear running through her stomach. Whatever destiny the Lord of Light had chosen Stannis to fulfill, it had just been knocked sideways into the snows.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 9: Tyrion

"What about House Stark?" Daenerys asked. "This second wife whose victory in the North you're so willing to bet on."

An excellent question. "Sansa won't oppose you," Tyrion said, "but she won't back you. Not at first. She won't be able to; even if she beats the Boltons—"

"Which you've wagered she will."

"—which I would wager, had I anything more than these somewhat threadbare garments to my name," he agreed. "Retaking Winterfell won't be enough; Sansa will then have to hold it, and that might require a different bet altogether. My sister Cersei will send the Lannister forces to bring Sansa back to King's Landing with all due haste. Alive or in pieces, though preferably both. Then there are the Greyjoys, who still hold a fair number of castles and keeps on the western coast along the Bay of Ice. Balon still thinks he can be King of the Iron Islands and the King in the North."

"Isn't that what Robb Stark called himself?" she asked, leaning her elbow on the table and putting her chin on her hand. She was young — about the same age as Jaime and Cersei had been at the start of the Rebellion — but something in her gaze reminded him of this library: vast stores of knowledge, being neatly catalogued and put away for future reference. "The King in the North. Will your Sansa Stark take the same title?"

Sansa Stark was not (and never truly had been) his, but he suspected Daenerys's label was an ironical one. "I don't know," he answered, "but she'll want as much independence for her people as possible. King's Landing hasn't dealt with the North kindly — not even during Robert's reign, and certainly not during your father's."

It was heartening to see her dip her head in acknowledgement at that. Tyrion thanked whatever gods might be listening for Barristan Selmy, who would have told her the truth about Aerys's brutal murder of Sansa's grandfather and uncle: the fire that had burned up the whole of the Seven Kingdoms before Daenerys was ever born.

"It seems she'll have quite enough on her hands for the present moment," Daenerys observed, "without bending the knee to a new queen."

"Give her a year and she'll have the North sorted," he promised, "but now? Enemies to the south, enemies to the west — she's too surrounded to do you much good."

Daenerys looked thoughtful. "Enemies to the north as well, from what I understand."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Yes, the fearsome wildlings. Along with White Walkers and giants and mammoths and snarks and grumkins."

"Snarks and grumkins?" she asked, puzzled.

"Fairy stories, Your Grace. Ones the Night's Watch often swear they've seen just north of the Wall, and will bravely dispatch if only we send them more money and men and supplies." He felt a momentary pang of guilt in saying it; Jon Snow at least had been a good lad, and disinclined to indulge in the same hyperbole as his brothers in black. But he was surely dead by now.

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★ LILY GLADSTONE + makeup looks for the awards season 2024.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 7: Jon

You're right about the difference between missing the living and the dead. But Father would be proud, and your mother, and our brothers too. I think so much on that day we left Winterfell, all of us believing a new life was beginning. But it was the ending, wasn't it. My "guest" is a smart man and strong, but hard and suspicious. If you mean to succeed, as you call it, he's made plans to succeed in that same endeavor. Between the two of you I'd lay odds, but gambling's not allowed once you've taken the Black.

-

The Wall hasn't improved your sense of humor. And you never gambled before, did you??? Do you trust him?

-

With the welfare of the North, aye. To speak gently to a widowed crofter, not hardly. But he'll ensure your success, so long as you're firm with him. As for gambling — just with Robb, otherwise Father would've ducked us into the kitchen spring. We passed the same halfgroat back and forth whenever we bet each other on hitting a mark during archery practice or some such. I still have it; he gave it me before I came North.

*note: chapters will be posted once a day from April 18 to May 11. Some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 6: Myrcella

"Ah, ah, this is not your wedding yet, little brother," warned Arianne as she briskly tapped them on their shoulders, pushing them firmly aside so that she could sit between them. "Room enough for the Mother, if you please."

"You're my sister, not my mother," Trystane grumbled. "And there is not enough room for your backside!"

"Trystane!" Myrcella protested, but Arianne had it well in hand.

"If I were Mama, I would spank you on yours," she told him, and swatted at him anyway. Trystane yelped and hit her back, and their end of the table erupted into chaos as brothers and sisters, cousins and friends all shrieked and jabbed at each other, tickling and pinching as one can only do to those one truly loves.

*note: chapters will be posted once a day from April 18 to May 11. Some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 5: Brienne

Before Brienne had sworn herself to Sansa's service, she had wondered what it might entail. King Renly had allowed her a place at his side, but she never had the chance to find out what it would be like to live in service to him; Stannis's treachery had cut off that dream nearly before it began. Lady Catelyn Stark had been a fair and noble lady, even though her command to take Ser Jaime back to King's Landing had been one that would have doomed Brienne if she were caught by either Lannister or Stark men (it nearly had, but for Ser Jaime's interventions). Lady Arya had refused Brienne's service before she could even offer it. So it had been with some trepidation that she had knelt at Lady Sansa's side in that inn, offering her sword and counsel.

Thus far she had been surprised at nearly every turn: for Lady Sansa was both less and more than she had expected. She'd balked at the mere idea of sleeping rough; but at the same time woke up early every morning to start the campfire anew, and had even taught them how to fish for river trout. She shrank from violence, turning pointedly away when Brienne and Pod sparred; but she'd rallied the houses of Glover and Reed and Cerwyn, plus near all the petty lords of the mountains, to retake Deepwood Motte last month. She made faces at any bawdy talk amongst the men or lords; but had stayed up long past the hour of the bat every night tending to the wounded and ill in the camp. She spoke softly and with all the refined manners of a lady from King's Landing; but no one who spoke with her doubted that she would reclaim Winterfell for the Starks — or die trying.

*note: chapters will be posted once a day from April 18 to May 11. Some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 4: Jon

"I think she's come to take back Winterfell, Your Grace," he answered, then dared to add, "just as I think she'll be wanting you to call her Lady Stark."

The king looked doubtful, even as he grasped Jon's meaning. "Lady Stark of Winterfell? A woman as Warden of the North?"

"A woman whose mother rode with her son through every one of his victories," Jon pointed out, though not without feeling the irony of his own admiration for Lady Stark. While she'd lived, her hatred of him had been like the noonday sun: too bright to note any detail of her beyond the outline. Now with her safely dead and gone he could see her more clearly, and in some of King Robb's success he suspected more of the mother's political maneuvering than the son's military brilliance. "A woman who survived King's Landing when stronger men all around her were dropping like flies, including our own father. I haven't seen Sansa since she was a child, Your Grace, but I'd not underestimate her."

"You think the lords will rally to her?" asked Stannis, clearly still skeptical. "They were failed badly by her brother, and she has no call on their loyalty except her maiden's name."

"It's a powerful name, Your Grace. The direwolf has flown its banner over the North for centuries; the Boltons can't wipe out that memory no matter how much blood they spill. If Lyanna Mormont and all the rest of them want a King in the North whose name is Stark, well." He tucked Sansa's message into his breast pocket. "It seems you've found her."

*note: chapters will be posted once a day from April 18 to May 11. Some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 3: Tommen

When Tommen was little, he and Myrcella would spend hours trying to find the hidden passageways that their septa told them ran through Maegor's Holdfast. They found a few, mostly ones that allowed for a quick escape should the castle be breached, but the one they used the most often connected their two chambers, so that they could sneak in late at night when one or the other had had another nightmare. They would read each other heraldic tales by the paltry light of the nightlit candles. Sometimes Myrcella would teach Tommen how to embroider, the way the septas had been teaching her, or Tommen would teach her how to fence using the willow branches in her flower arrangements. Myrcella had given him Ser Pounce when she had left, "so you'll have someone else to read to when you can't sleep."

*note: chapters will be posted once a day from April 18 to May 11. Some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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To those shipping these two: I get it

honey you're familiar like my mirror, years ago

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fic rec: ted lasso

all the men and women merely players

rating: T // fandom: ted lasso // pairings: ted x trent, keeley x roy x jamie, nate x jade // length: 50.7k author: @laiqualaurelote tags: theatre, shakespeare, post-apocalypse

"So let me get this straight. You, an American whose career highlights consisted mainly of appearing on Saturday Night Live, decide in the wake of the apocalypse to lead a touring Shakespeare company across the ruins of England." "Oh, I know. Heck, I said as much to Rebecca when she suggested it. I said, 'You could fill two Internets with what I don’t know about directing Shakespeare.' And she said, 'Ted, the Internet doesn’t exist any more.'" Trent Crimm meets Ted Lasso by chance at a Shakespeare play. Five years and the end of the world later, they meet again at another. A Station Eleven post-apocalyptic theatre AU (no knowledge of Station Eleven necessary to read).

rec notes:

a post-apocalyptic ted lasso AU where the richmond players are a troupe of travelling shakespearean actors.

simply one of the best things i've read in a long time. it SO perfectly operates within its genre, one of those beautiful pieces of cross-referential AU fanfic, where there is both a deeply thoughtful blending of references, a wonderfully precise understanding of the characters from the original media, and highly-detailed worldbuilding of its own.

the author nails every character's cadence, the variety of voices, their styles of conversation. the descriptive narrative, is also excellent. achingly poetic, there is so much beauty, and so much compelling, grim horror, too. the happy moments are threaded with plenty of intense, sharply sad moments, but there is so much joy, such hope. it's an ode to art, and friendship, and community.

i had such an amazing time reading this story. it's such a brilliant idea, and its execution lives up to the concept. the amount of detail, research, reference, is evident in every chapter. and it's a wonderful tribute to the show, while also giving such a satisfying conclusion to so many story arcs that were left a little underserved in the series finale.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 2: Daenerys

She had a headache. It sat like stone right above her right eyebrow as she paced slowly around the small council table, the words of her advisors washing past. She'd never had headaches before coming to Meereen. Not even imprisoned at the House of the Undying, nor before that half-dead in the Red Wastes, nor before that pregnant and aching all down her back on the Dothraki Sea, nor before that running after Viserys in the streets of the Free Cities with a hungry belly. Only this place brought on the peculiar pain of political frustrations.

Grey Worm and Daario had caught one of the Sons of the Harpy and had thrown him in the cells, and now her small council bickered about the man's life as though it were a debate to be won. She wasn't quite sure why it had given her a headache, in truth; had their positions been reversed and the Sons of the Harpy had caught her instead, she knew full well they would do the same.

Men had argued over her all of her life. Before she had ever been born, there had been men haggling over how best to kill her. She had little sympathy for this Son, but there was a distant sort of...recognition, perhaps.

"Thank you all for your counsel," she said, coming to a halt just behind her own empty chair. "I will think carefully on what is to be done." She waited until everyone had had risen to take their leave before she added, "But I would ask you all a question first." They settled slowly back into their seats — all except Grey Worm at the door, standing guard, ever-watchful. "What crime has this man committed? In Meereenese law, what is he guilty of?"

"Murder," said Mossador and Missandei.

"Treason," said Ser Barristan.

"Conspiracy," said Daario.

"Theft," said Hizdahr.

*note: chapters will be posted once a day from until May 11. Some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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A Gale of Wolves, Chapter 1: Sansa

She was tired of worrying about danger, she realized. Tired of asking how she could keep herself safe. It was time for different questions, with better answers. She mounted her horse, a sweet little filly that Littlefinger had purchased for her back in the Vale. Lady Brienne and Podrick followed suit. They went out to the main road, but not until Sansa turned north did Lady Brienne speak. "My lady," she said, clearing her throat, "I know the Vale is no longer a refuge, but I thought if we could make for Wickenden, we could sail to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." "Take me to Jon, you mean." For a blinding moment she could see it: running to him, having him lift her up in his arms the way he had when she had been small and unafraid of Mother's disapproval. She'd never been Jon's favorite, nor he hers, but there was love there. It might be all the love she had left in the world. "No," she said, though it seemed to tear her throat to say it. "I'm not going to the Wall." Lady Brienne blanched at this; but it was Podrick who asked, tentatively, "My lady, where do you intend to go?" "Home," she told them. "I'm going home."

*note: chapters will be posted once a day for the next three weeks; some will be shorter than others, but hopefully this schedule will work for people who a) like to know when they can read the whole thing in one go and b) like to read chapter by chapter as they come.

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Renegade Nell textposts part 2

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Selyse is not a "who's this bitch" kind of person but honestly, she should be forgiven for meeting Sansa like this and going "who's this bitch"

Just then there was a call from outside the tent, asking for the king. Davos opened the flap and a young solder ducked inside, bowing low to the king first, then to Lady Melisandre, then to Selyse. "Your Grace," he said, "riders were just spotted on the pass below, making their way up to our camp."

"Spotted on the pass?" snorted Davos. "Are they riding snow bears? Or elks?"

As though in answer, an horn sounded in the distance. The king started, his expression as queer as any Selyse had seen on his face in their near twenty years of marriage. It seemed almost...hopeful. "That call," he said, as though to himself.

Davos shook his head. "I don't recognize it, Your Grace. Do you?"

"Oh, yes," said Stannis softly. "I remember it very well."

The party climbing up the pass was small — a hundred men at most — in two long rows, the banners of all of Stark's promised houses unfurled. They were mounted on the great lumbering beasts that passed for horses in the North. In the pearl-grey of dawn, Selyse could see the front pair dragging behind them a curious leather-and plate device. It was shaped for all the world like the prow of a ship and it cut through the snow with ease. The party moved only slightly slower than a full canter; even as she watched, the two horses affixed to the contraption slowed and stopped, their riders giving them full rein to blow out great puffs of air into the snow. The whole party halted in an orderly queue behind them, and the two mounted soldiers directly behind circled round to unhook the lead pair (without bothering to dismount) and attaching their own horses. The party then resumed its swift pace up the mountain pass. The two who had been in the lead rejoined smoothly at the end, where the snow been packed down to a tidy path.

"Ingenious," remarked Davos. Lady Melisandre said nothing, only quirked an eyebrow. Shireen asked some imbecilic question about something, and the king made a patient response.

"Perhaps these men of the North will bring you the miracle you seek, Your Grace," said Lady Melisandre, as the riders at last drew level.

"Certainly they seem to have performed the miracle of moving in this snow," Stannis observed.

Most of the riders remained at the foot of the camp, but a small group began to make their way toward them, their behemoth horses even more ridiculous as they drew closer, with their hoofs near as wide as platters and their tails cut short as a broomstick. As they halted before their king, the riders dismounted. Despite the bitter cold, not one of them showed any sign of discomfort, their thick boots and cloaks making them appear almost as outsized as their horses.

The king took a breath, as if to ask for their leader, when a hooded figure on a great chestnut beast came out from the midst of them. Her cloak and skirts were dirty from the road and snows, her copper-bright hair in a simple peasant's braid as she pushed back her hood. A half-dozen young men surged forward to hand her from her horse, but it was a giantess in armor who helped her down and followed closely behind as she approached them.

It took Selyse a long moment to realize who the girl was: Sansa, Catelyn's eldest daughter. (Eldest child, now that the usurper Robb Stark was dead — and Catelyn too, and Lord Stark before them.) She had more of her mother's look to her than her father's, which must have pleased the Imp when he married her; Tyrion had always liked his whores pretty and clever. There was something in the way that she carried herself, however, that made Selyse suspect Sansa might be rather too clever.

The girl made no move to bow to the king, merely drew within a length as her retinue fanned out behind her. "Your Grace," she greeted Stannis. At least she had the good sense to recognize her rightful king. "I am Lady Sansa, of House Stark."

"Lady Stark," the king replied, or began to, because at that moment the damned direwolf, that unnatural creature the Lord Commander had foisted upon them, came hurtling in from wherever the devils he'd been and lunged for the girl, sending her sprawling to the ground with a scream more chilling than Shireen's, horrifyingly cut off as she—

As she laughed, the creature licking frantically at her face with its great tail wagging. The girl brought her arms around its monstrous neck and hugged it closer to her, burying her face in its fur, unconcerned entirely by the spectacle. Her Northern lords looked well pleased, in fact, nodding and smiling at one another in shared understanding. He'll recognize her, Jon had told Shireen when she'd asked how Ghost would know who Sansa was. The pack knows its own. It seemed the whole of the North knew.

The king's people were nearly as susceptible. Davos was smiling like a dolt and Shireen looked as though she wanted nothing more than to join in the undignified affair. Lady Melisandre, at least, showed little sign of being moved; she was watching with an air of interest but no warmth. Only the king was truly inscrutable, as he stared down at the tangle of girl and dog with another expression she had never seen before. This time, she could not guess as to what it meant.

At long last, the beast allowed Sansa Stark to rise, once again accepting help only from her giantess. "My apologies, Your Grace," she said. Her smile was broad and bright even as she wiped at a streak of mud across her nose. "But as you might guess, Stark reunions are rare these days."

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LOL I looked up the context for this quote and it's from A Storm of Swords, where Davos is telling one of Stannis's advisors (who I don't think is in the show) that his battle plan sucks and he should be ashamed; after which Stannis sends everyone else out of the room, bickers with Davos for a while, and then:

"I shall bring justice to Westeros. A thing Ser Axell understands as little as he does war. Claw Isle would gain me naught…and it was evil, just as you said. Celtigar must pay the traitor's price himself, in his own person. And when I come into my kingdom, he shall. Ever man shall reap what he has sown, from the highest lord to the lowest gutter rat. And some will lose more than the tips off their fingers, I promiseyou. They have made my kingdom bleed, and I do not forget that." King Stannis turned from the table. "On your knees, Onion Knight." "Your Grace?" "For your onions and fish, I made you a knight once. For this, I am of a mind to raise you to lord." This? Davos was lost. "I am content to be your knight, Your Grace. I would not know how to begin being lordly." "Good. To be lordly is to be false. I have learned that lesson hard. Now, kneel. Your king commands." Davos knelt, and Stannis drew his longsword. Lightbringer, Melisandre had named it; the red sword of heroes, drawn from the fires where the seven gods were consumed. The room seemed to grow brighter as the blade slid from its scabbard. The steel had a glow to it: now orange, now yellow, now red. The air shimmered around it, and no jewel had ever sparkled so brilliantly. But when Stannis touched it to Davos's shoulder, it felt no different than any other longsword. "Ser Davos of House Seaworth," the king said, "are you my true and honest liege man, now and forever?" "I am, Your Grace." "And do you swear to serve me loyally all your days, to give me honest counsel and swift obedience, to defend my rights and my relm against all foes in battles great and small, to protect my people and punish my enemies?" "I do, Your Grace." "Then rise again, Davos Seaworth, and rise as Lord of the Rainwood, Admiral of the Narrow Sea, and Hand of the King." For a moment Davos was too stunned to move. I woke this morning in his dungeon. "Your Grace, you cannot…I am no fit man to be a King's Hand." "There is no man fitter." Stannis sheathed Lightbringer, gave Davos his hand, and pulled him to his feet. "I am lowborn," Davos reminded him. "An upjumped smuggler. Your lords will never obey me." "Then we will make new lords."

Like my dude everyone already thinks you're fucking.

GET HIS ASS DAVOS

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GET HIS ASS DAVOS