#so I have an excuse to write more little snippets between bigger fics

[binbogummy]

Humans are —

An intermission of sorts?

This was originally going to be at the end of chapter 6 or the beginning of chapter 7 but I just decided I didn't like the way it flowed with either, so consider this a little tumblr exclusive intermission I didn't have the heart to scrap completely.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | * | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | *²|

Chapter 10| Chapter 11|

~

As the night settled in, Aziraphale had excused himself downstairs again and Crowley finally returned, sipping something dark from a lowball glass and retaking what was practically his designated seat at this point.

You were currently curled beneath your blankets, still feeling comfortably heavy from dinner, which had been more soup, as an episode of some show Crowley had picked, but neither of you had really been paying attention to, droned in the background to fill the silence.

"Aaaaaand finished~" The demon announced, tossing the pencil down on the nightstand and handing the notepad back to you before reclaiming his glass.

It was a picture.

Of you.

Touché.

Or at least, it was you if you were a sickly orphan, wrapped in a blanket with big, watery eyes and an exaggerated frown. He had even sketched the tiny bell beside you, with a completely unnecessary little ding ding written above it for emphasis.

You scoffed, completely affronted.

"Nailed it, yeah?"

You quickly shook your head, making a dramatic X with your arms before hastily scribbling a message.

You mock me in my time of need?

Crowley barked out a laugh, lifting his glass in a mock cheers gesture. "Indeed I do."

Feeling spurred on by both the demon and the creeping boredom of being in bed all day, you narrowed your eyes and slowly, deliberately, reached for the bell on the nightstand.

His expression barely had time to shift before you gave it a single, sharp ring, making him snort so hard into his drink he nearly choked.

The sound of Aziraphale's hurried footsteps echoed up the staircase before you could even smirk in triumph. The door swung open, and the angel reappeared, his expression immediately shifting from mild surprise to full on maternal panic as he took in the sight of you, upright, bell in hand, looking completely not in distress.

"What is it? Is everything all right? What do you need?" His eyes scanned your face, flickering to Crowley briefly as if he might have caused you some great misfortune in the short time he’d been left alone with you.

Crowley managed to cool his expression into something mostly neutral, except for the barely suppressed twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

You hesitated for only a moment before lifting a single finger and pointing at the demon.

Aziraphale’s expression darkened into something dangerously close to warning. "Crowley."

Crowley scoffed, tossing his head back dramatically. "Oh, come on!" He gestured toward you, feigning offense. "I haven't done a thing."

"That remains to be seen." The angel stated flatly.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, shaking your head as you waved a hand to dismiss whatever false accusations Crowley assumed you were making.

Just wanted to see if you'd actually come, you wrote out silently with an apologetic tilt of your head.

Aziraphale studied you for a moment before sighing, though his disapproving frown was softened by fond exasperation. "Well, I'm glad to see you've still got some spirit, at least." He picked up the ice pack you'd set aside earlier and pressed it to your forehead, attempting to ease you down. "But I do believe it's about time we all turn for the night, don't you?"

"Again with the early bedtime, Angel? Got her on a proper schedule now, do we?"

"She's still ill," Entirely unbothered, Aziraphale made sure the ice pack was resting securely on your forehead before pulling away. "Must I reiterate for you again the importance of rest above all else these cases?" He challenged lightly.

Crowley, of course, was entirely undeterred. " But consider this-" He leaned forward. "What if she stayed up just a biiiit longer?" He suggested, tapping the side of his temple as if this was a groundbreaking thought.

"And what exactly would that accomplish?" Aziraphale shot him an unimpressed look.

"Morale," the demon declared. "You've got to factor in morale, Angel. Can't have the patient feeling too miserable, now can we? Might even set her back. Who knows?" He waved a hand vaguely. "Humans are sensitive like that, you know. Let her stay up a bit. Finish an episode or two~" Not that either of you had been watching whatever was playing in the first place.

Aziraphale sighed, turning his attention away from Crowley's nonsense and toward you, still laying snugly in bed.

"My dear," he cooed, leabing over you and smoothing the blankets down for good measure. "Are you feeling particularly miserable?" His tone was indulgent, but there was an underlying sincerity to it, as if he genuinely wanted to be sure you weren't actually upset with the idea.

You blinked up at him, pursing your lips in exaggerated thought and tilting your head slightly as if you were really considering it. You held the act for just a second longer than necessary. Just long enough to make him anticipate a dramatic answer, before shaking your head no.

Achy? Yes. Weak? For sure. Still feverish and congested? Absolutely. But miserable? Nah.

The angel gave you a soft, satisfied hum, looking entirely pleased with himself. "There, you see, Crowley? She's not miserable at all," he said smugly, smoothing a hand over the blanket once more as if sealing the argument with a final, gentle touch. "In fact, I'd say she's quite content. Aren't you, dear?"

You made a faint hum of disagreement.

Content in general? Yes. Content with another early bedtime? Not so much.

"Oh, hush now," he chided sweetly, "No need to pretend you aren't utterly worn out. The signs are all there. You've had another vigorous day of recovery. It's no wonder you're looking a bit droopy-eyed now."

Droopy-eyed?

You frowned lightly, not entirely pleased with the accurate assessment.

But it didn't matter. Aziraphale was already in full-on bedtime mode.

"Rest is just as important tonight as it was yesterday, if not more so," he continued, "And will continue to be just as important tomorrow. So I shan't hear any more complaints."

"Well if that's the case, I'm out of here," Crowley announced suddenly, standing up, stretching and rolling his shoulders. "You two enjoy this little routine you've got going on. I'll see you tomorrow."

Aziraphale gave a knowing hum as he tucked you in more officially. "Oh, I'm sure you will," he mused, casting Crowley a pointedly innocent look over his shoulder. "At this rate, I daresay it would be more surprising if we didn't see you tomorrow~"

The demon's eyes narrowed under this glasses, or at least, that's what you assumed must have happned as he stopped in the doorway to look back at Aziraphale after that comment.

To his credit, though, he seemed to know that acknowledging it beyond that would be backing himself into a corner. So instead he looked to you, giving you a lazy salute as he strolled out the door. "Try to make it to morning, yeah?"

With a surprisingly bright smile, and as much energy as you could muster, you saluted him back. Will do, boss.

Aziraphale huffed as he left, turning his attention back to you.

You gave him your most innocent look as you peered over the blankets, but he was having none of it.

"Come now," he coaxed gently, stepping closer to the bed. "I know you’re not entirely opposed to the idea. Whether you realize it or not, your body has worked quite hard today, battling that fever of yours. Let's do it a favor and give it the rest it needs to keep up the good work tomorrow, hmm?"

Truth be told you'd only been resisting the idea out of principle alone, but he made quite the compelling argument. So after squinting in thought for a moment, you gave a soft smile and a little nod.

Satisfied, Aziraphale dimmed the lights and turned toward the television, moving to switch it off. But before he could, you let out a small, involuntary sound of protest.

It wasn't dramatic, barely more than a little breathy hum, but it was enough to make him pause, glancing back at you with mild curiosity.

You blinked up at him, eyes a bit wide, before lifting a hand from beneath the blankets and giving the screen a small point.

"Oh?" he hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Would you prefer to keep it on, my dear?"

You nodded quickly, lips pressing into a small, pleading frown.

Aziraphale exhaled slowly, his head tilting in that indulgent way of his, as if mulling it over. He should turn it off, really. You needed proper rest, and distractions weren't always conducive to that. But at the same time...

He glanced at you again.

You were already tucked in so snugly, barely peeking out over the top of the covers, eyes half-lidded but still content and hopeful in that way that made it far too difficult to say no.

"Very well," he conceded at last. "But only under the condition that you don't let it keep you up too long.

You nodded again eagerly, making a little crossing motion over your chest. Promise.

That seemed to convince him, and he adjusted the volume down to a soft, barely there hum before setting the remote within easy reach on your nightstand. "There. Now, you just rest. And, if you need anything, just ring, alright?" His eyes flickered briefly toward the little bell on the nightstand before returning to yours. "Though preferably not just for the sake of testing my response time."

The little giggle you let out seemed to have been exactly what he was aiming for because his expression softend with satisfaction as he finally stepped back, wishing you a quiet goodnight and leaving you be with a soft click of the door.

After that, the room fell into an easy stillness, save for the quiet murmur of the television. It was just enough noise to keep the space from feeling too empty, but soft enough to lull you into the heavy warmth of impending sleep.

You probably would have crashed pretty fast if the day hadn't left you feeling so utterly aware of everything around you right now.

Of the way your head throbbed against the pillow. Of the way your body ached with that deep, feverish exhaustion. Of the way the congestion pressed thick and heavy in your chest, making each inhale just a little too labored. You thought for a moment and then swallowed experimentally. Nope. That was still awful too.

But you weren't going to dwell on it.

Because if you let yourself focus too much on the bad, you'd start thinking about how good everything else was in comparison. About how thoroughly the good of the last two days had outweighed your discomfort in heaps.

And then you'd begin to think about how, if you weren’t sick right now, if you weren’t confined to this bed with a fever that had left you fatigued to you very core, then today, and yesterday, and the night before, would have looked a whole lot different.

You would have woken up in your hotel room. Would have gone about your day alone, trying as many restaurants as you could find or jumping from shop to shop.

You would have kept wandering around the city, with no real plan, sightseeing in a forcefully casual attempt to not impose on the two main reasons you'd even bothered coming back to London in the first place

And that would have been fine.

But it wouldn’t have been this.

~

[a-baleful-howl]

I’m about to go full-on petty mode. So if you don’t care about my personal gloating and back-patting, scroll on by lol

This post contains spoilers for episode 1 of season 8, and also spoilers for my fic The Lone Wolf Dies.

I recognize this post is really only for me. I’m a salty bitch.

This is fanart the wonderful and lovely @cathcacen drew for me when I was at my lowest and receiving the most hate I’ve ever gotten for a fic. 

I ranted about it for a bit, deleted the worst of the flames I could off of FFN, and I haven’t actually been back to FFN since this all happened. Don't think I havent noticed the love and support I got from the JonsaFam, either. I very much appreciated it, and I know many people enjoyed my fic (and are begging me to finish it...).

Here’s some highlights of the comments I received on FFN accusing me of being “unrealistic” or of committing “character assassination” (sad thing is, these aren’t even the worst reviews I got):

“Arya would never let Sansa or the Northern Lords do that to Jon[...]This story is making Jon a bit of a wimp and Arya willing to betray him even though she loves him more than Sansa.” [saphirablue25 on chapter 1]

“Another story about Jonsa, and Anti-Dany, and pro-norte and pro-stark? these crap stories are becoming common since season 7.[...]and this kind of stories, without any artistic or literary value, just deserve to be vilified. is just another excuse to be myopic and criticize character without reason, especially when it is already something practically canon that Jon / Daenerys will be in the books too, as one producer of the HBO series said, who was told George Martin. waste of time.” [flayjunior15 on chapter 1]

“this story is rubbish, more crap without sense…” [guest on chapter 1]

“This is character assassination. Arya Stark would never betray Jon Snow; no matter what;[...]Of course now it’s a Jon and Sansa pairing ignoring everything that happened in season 7 b/c why not?[...] The leaps you Jonsa writers take to mischaracterize daenerys just b/c you’re not getting the ending you want in the show or the books is a little ridiculous. You can’t write a story that’s based on show-canon and then ignore all obstacles presented in said canon just to put your two favorite characters together. That’s not how good storytelling works.” [FanofLogic (lol) on chapter 1]

“I don't think Arya would ever betray Jon, it's just not plausible.[...]There are gaping plot holes, that need to be seriously addressed, the writing and the punctuation are fine, it’s well spaced and makes sense in a linear sense, but in terms of plot and story, it crumbles to dust before you even finish reading the chapter in its entirety.[...]I don’t want to stop you from writing, that’s not my intention, you just need to sit back and ask yourself, if it really makes sense.” [carpenoctem20 on chapter 1]

“Well, I read your story. It is sad really because your writing style is good and enjoyable but the stupidity of your character's actions[...]Too bad, your writing is promising but the story lacks logic…[...]Also, thank you for butchering Arya’s character - she is my favourite and you completely ruined her.” [malb901 on chapter 1]

“I realize that this story is an AU because our characters are written not how they are portray in television or books…” [GUEST VIII on chapter 1]

“If your goal was to write Arya completely out of character and Sansa as a short sighted idiot with the northern lords as her peanut gallery...then good job. Otherwise your characterization needs a lot of work.” [guest on chapter 1]

“Arya...well how she is written is so absurdly offbase from canon you would have been better off write my that part as an of to avoid having preconceived about the character.” [guest on chapter 1]

“What a load of complete garbage. So much character assassination across the board is an injustice to GRRM’s work!” [guest on chapter 1]

“Another junk Jonsa story, I see that many of these losers, are very salty, because their crackship (because that’s the Jonsa, a crack) shipwrecked last season.[...]The author of this story is another salty loser with no sense, just like all the Jonsa fans of this crack ship.[...] even Arya has a stronger relationship with Jon than with any member of her family, she would care less about the North, even threatening to kill the Northern Lord, if they hurt Jon. Only two idiots of Jonsa, defend this story.” [JonsaSucks on chapter 1]

“Highly questionable characterization and plot holes big enough to fly a dragon through...pass” [guest on chapter 2]

“With Arya, she's so OC in this that it would have made more sense to make her a new character. She would never choose Sansa over Jon.” [saphirablue25 on chapter 2]

“So disappointing! This story is a complete disservice to anyone who is not a blind Sansa worshiper.[...]The plot holes don't do you any favors either.” [Zmrzlina763 on chapter 3]

“Poorly written, plot holes, unrealistic” [guest on chapter 3]

“What a pile of crap. So many plot holes and character assassination. You should be ashamed to publish such garbage.” [guest on chapter 4]

“I hated this story...thought it was really ridiculous.” [guest on chapter 4]

“I would highly recommend rereading GRRM’s work as it’s obvious you are basing your characterizations on contrived reimaginings with no basis in the work you claim to be a fan of. Please do us all a favor and quit polluting the fandom with this nonsense.” [guest on chapter 4]

And finally, for the piece de resistance!

“Oh boy that story became retarded real quick” [guest on chapter 1]

Now, I might be biased but my brain kept pointing out similarities to the first episode of season 8 and my fic - which I never claimed to be writing what I thought was really going to happen, but that this what I wished in a best case scenario would, my interpretation of all the info we got from Season 7, and it was always only ever supposed to be a Jonsa one-shot but it kept growing.

Now, one of the biggest complaints I got was “character assassination” - saying that the characters would never behave the way I wrote them to. This is mainly what I want to focus on as clearly the fic is not exactly the same as the episode - and I never expected it to be. Fanfic is fanfic for a reason. For one, Sansa and the North refuse Jon and Dany, and that's kind of the catalyst to everything else that happens in the fic. Thats a big change - so I’m not saying “My fic was exactly like the show!!” I just wanted to point out all the moments while watching the show I was like “See! I didn’t assassinate anyone’s character!” since that’s apparently a crime I was committing against all of fandom.

If you haven’t read the fic, I highly suggest you do since many of these quotes are small snippets taken from a bigger context.

All the text is from my fic, the pictures are the moments I thought were similar from the show.

Daenerys had chosen to forgo her dragons to mount a horse instead, as a show of equality and peace to the Northern people.

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, rode beside them, seemingly reluctant to be there, in his own way.

“Greetings,” she announced. “How gracious for you to meet us.” Though her words were not sweet - they never were - and she measured the air between the two parties cautiously.

“You’ve traveled very far,” Sansa responded, her horse shifting impatiently under her. Her voice did not waver, and it carried loud and clear across the void. “It would be rude of me to not turn you away personally.”

Daenerys remained silent.

“We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.” Lyanna Mormont bellowed from her own steed. Her eyes were glowering, stern and furious. Not little Lyanna…

“First the Wildlings, and now a foreign whore,” Lord Glover spat, his horse just as wide as he was. “You’re not a Northerner. You’re anything but.”

He looked to Sansa for an answer. Surely Sansa would not leave him to the wolves. Yet she avoided his eye.

“I missed you too, Jon…” she called back, and his heart knew that she meant it. “But Starks stick together. I know that now. What would Father think?” His heart broke. If only they knew…

Jon had warned her. He knew before heading to Dragonstone that the Northerners were not likely to kneel to a foreign ruler. Sansa had said so herself many times. He resisted the urge to gloat, to remind the Dragon Queen of his words.

“Sam?” he whispered. Surely he must be imagining it. Sam was here? In Winterfell? The round man came stumbling towards him, his arms waving madly by his sides to catch Jon's attention.[...] The two clasped each other in a strong embrace for a moment before Jon pulled back. [...] “Gilly?” Jon asked absently. “And the baby?” “They're fine!” Sam answered, finally with a dim smile. “They’re here.”

Arya . Oh, Arya! She’s safe. He frantically grabbed her, sweeping his hands over her hair and face, feverishly kissing the top of her head, thanking the old gods that she was here. Thank the gods his little sister was alive. She had wrapped her arms so tightly around him he could barely breathe.

“You leave him alone!” Arya barked, running swiftly down the hall towards them.

“Don’t you understand what this means, Jon?” Sam insisted. “You’re the heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jon didn’t care about that. Not now. Suddenly everything he thought he knew was a lie. His father- no, his uncle... had lied to him his whole life. This meant that Daenerys was his aunt by blood. And Sansa was his…

He suddenly felt very ill.

[...]Everything tasted bitter to him now. Everything he had ever known was a lie, but oddly, it made sense. Eddard had gone south to save his sister and had returned with a child. It made sense. How - how - had he not seen it before?

[...]People die and stay dead. That was a fact. Unless he had believed more lies than the one his uncle had told him his whole life.

He had traveled on horseback many times, but never alone. [...] When he drew nearer to Winterfell, the snow and winds were so strong he was forced to cover every inch of skin but his eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen the seven hells.”

“You don’t look any better,” Sandor replied. Jaime tried to ignore the slight. It was true he was unshaven, unwashed and frozen to the bone.

“It’s too late,” Bran interrupted. Jon’s blood ran cold at the words.

“What do you mean it’s too late?”

“The Wall is gone. Eastwatch is gone. There is a dragon that breathes blue fire.”

Now, I’m not trying to say “I’m Nostradamus and I guessed the entire first episode.” No. That is absolutely not what I’m saying. I thought I made an informed guess into how the characters might react to the events in season 7 and amongst each other, and used my own opinions on the characterizations to write a story based around one thing: Jon realizing he loved Sansa because she died. Everything else was secondary to me. 

It’s only because I got such immediate and hostile push back to something I saw as obvious foreshadowing that made me feel so vindicated when the first episode had so many similarities to what I wrote. Anyone could have come up with these same lines as I did - because the evidence was there and the Jonsa fam was pointing it out the whole time. 

I just reallllly hate how fanfiction, especially in ASOIAF and on FFN, has the default accusation of “character assassination” to use when you just hate a story, when all fandom characterizations are just opinions. Only the author of the original source material can decry character assassination. Fanfiction is everyone’s personal choices when it comes to things like this, and it appears that a whole shitload of Dany Stans descended on my story, and instead of saying “I hate Jonsa and Dany can do no wrong” they personally attacked me for horrible writing - when in fact I was the one more on point than they were. I never expected Sansa and the North to literally turn Dany and Jon away at the gates - but thats why I wrote a fanfic about it. Because that was the only way I was going to see it told.

I was so upset by this (can’t you tell? lol) that seeing this episode really made me feel good and feel more proud in what I wrote. 

okay. rant over.