Snape Would Be An Awesome Player Of The Game Of Thrones.

Snape would be an awesome player of the game of thrones. 🙌🙌

Just saw the post on Snape antis and I couldn’t agree more. My bf and I had this conversation and although I am more pro-Snape than him, he agrees that a lot of criticism that Snape gets really isn’t necessary. It is only because of the context of good and evil within the Harry Potter universe that people believe Snape is actually the epitome of all badness.

If we were to compare Snape with a character from the A Song of Ice and Fire series (GoT), he would be seen as a complete saint. Sure, he’s arsehole but he fought to keep as many people alive as possible. This is because within GoT, we don’t think about who is good and who is evil, we think more about the appropriateness of their actions and how their relation to power enables them to do whatever and how they keep that power. I think more people who analyse Snape need to realise the nuance within the book and not scream ‘iNcEl’ every chance they get.

Totally agree! (Also sorry it took so long to reply!!) but yeah. A lot of people who hate on snape fail to grasp the concept that he is morally grey. And I hate to break it to them but loads of characters in lots of fandoms are morally grey; if every character in any fandom was either completely good or completely evil, there would be no interesting story. No plot. Nothing to really get invested in. And I reckon if an author were to create a world like that, with no moral grey area, they’d be creating a very boring world indeed.

And yeah. If Snape was in ASOIAF/GOT he’d definitely be considered a Snape compared to literally everyone in that world. People act like he’s Harry potters Ramsey Bolton and it’s just not the case.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

Chapter Two:

(Y/n) never tired of seeing her extensive selection of gowns. She loved to gaze and run her fingers through the fabric, feeling the softness of the lace and silk. In her afternoon lessons with her grandmother, she learned appearance was everything in the art of manipulation.

“My lady, which gown do you wish to wear today?” asked her handmaiden, Lucille, as she finished pinning her hair up. (Y/n) admired her reflection in the looking glass and sighed. “I think the dark amethyst one I received recently from Beth,” Beth was (Y/n)’s personal seamstress, always creating gowns for her and producing the most beautiful gowns and fabric she’d ever seen in the Reach.

“Of course, My Lady,” (Y/n) smiled and checked her appearance. She was a woman now, ten and six name-days, and with her recent moonblood, she was ready to marry if her Father wished. She was ready to bear children and become a Lady of a Castle or Holdfast.

Lucille came back holding the dark amethyst gown, smiling at (Y/n). She laid the gown across her lady’s made bed and helped her into her corset. Once she was done lacing the corset, Lucille helped (Y/n) into the gown, making sure the cloth draped over her body and did not get caught or tangled with her shift. The dress sported a wide neckline that dipped right above the tops of her breasts, with puffy shoulders and a long sleeve that cinched around the wrists. The gown was loose and flowed out under her breasts, creating an illusion that she was floating. A layer of sheer white organza with gold embroidered roses draped over the skirt of the dress.

Once dressed, Lady (Y/n) smiled at her reflection before departing from her room. The slight heel of her slippers echoed against the marble floor with each step she took. The walls were decorated with green and gold accents, with portraits of Garth the Gardener, Catherine the Thorn of Highgarden, and previous Lords of Highgarden. Many of the walls and ceilings were covered in paintings from many artists over the years of Highgarden’s rule of the Reach, and many of those paintings told stories of sorrow, pain, love, lust, and prosperity.

On sleepless nights, (Y/n) would study and look on vigorously at those paintings, trying to piece every puzzle of the story together. Sometimes she’d be accompanied by her twin or younger brother Garlan, other times she was alone with only the paintings to keep her company.

As she walked steadily towards the dining hall, (Y/n) passed many rooms occupied by her cousins and family members that stayed in Highgarden with her family. Along with music rooms, a sewing room — where she and her sister and their female cousins occupied most days with their Septa, as well as an enormous library, and dance rooms (where they practiced their dancing).

Downstairs, she passed a few servants who stopped and greeted her before continuing their duties, along with a cousin or two and an aunt conversing with an uncle, before she happened in the dining hall. At the head of the table was her father, and next to him her grandmother and mother — and next to her mother was her twin, Willas. Garlan was seated next to her empty seat.

“Good morning everyone,” she greeted, a smile adorned on her face. A manservant pulled out her chair, and she gave him a polite nod and smile as she sat down. “Good morning dear, how was your sleep?” asked Alerie, giving her eldest daughter a fond smile. “Very well Mother,”

A maid served (Y/n) and poured her cup of milky tea as she reached for a bowl of fruit and spooned some onto her plate. “What about you? How was your evening?” she asked, her eyes meeting her mother’s. Alerie exchanged a look with her husband. (Y/n) noticed the glance and her mother’s worried eyes. “What is it?” she asked, her brows furrowing quizzically.

Willas watched as his parents exchanged a few more glances before his father signed and laced his meaty hands together.

“(Y/n), darling, as you know you’ve just pasted your sixteenth name day,” Mace hesitated, trying to find the correct words. “And well, you’re at the proper age to meet young lords and have a betrothal.” (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding. She knew this day would come, the day her father and mother would start sending her to balls and banquets and maybe even to court to find a suitable husband.

“And we’ve just received your first invitation to an outing.” Mace glanced at his mother and noticed her glare. “Who was it from?” asked (Y/n) as she placed her fork down. She was curious to know what ball she was attending. “It was from Lord Tywin Lannister, my dear. His son Tyrion is having a ball at Casterly Rock.” Silence filled the dining hall, as all the Tyrell’s eyes were on (Y/n), watching her reaction to the news. A beat or two passed before (Y/n) spoke. “Lord Tyrion?”

“Yes, apparently Lord Tywin has grown tired of begging and pleading the Lords of Westeros to send their daughter’s hand in marriage to his imp of a son,” complained Olenna, rolling her eyes. “Mother!!” Olenna snapped her head towards Mace and glared. “Shut up you oaf,”

“Now, my rose,” Olenna shifted her attention to (Y/n) and gave her a look. “This is your decision. If you wish to attend this ball, you may, but if not, I will personally write to Lord Tywin and express your apologies.” (Y/n) knew her grandmother would not be polite or remember her curtseys whilst writing to Lord Tywin; she would let him have a tongue lashing.

“I-I- I’m not sure. May I think upon this?” she asked, trying to weigh the decision of attending Lord Lannister’s ball for his son. “Of course dearest, take all the time you need,” spoke Alerie softly. (Y/n) nodded her head in thanks before she returned her attention to her food.

Later, after breaking fast, instead of joining her cousin’s in the sewing room, (Y/n) was wandering through the gardens. She walked at a slow pace, her fingers were fiddling anxiously. Usually, she would close her mind and enjoy the peacefulness of the gardens, listen to the sounds of birds, enjoy the wind rustling the roses bushes, and the wind breathing against her skin. But today she found no comfort in the scent of the flowers, nor the wind kissing her skin could tear her away from her head. She was deep in her thoughts, her conscious weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her situation, and her fear of leaving Highgarden.

(Y/n) knew nothing about Lord Tyrion except his dwarfism. She knew not if he was kind or gentle, if he liked to sing or hunt. Was he mean and cruel? Would he take out the frustrations of his stature on her? Would he be angry if she slipped up and said something offensive? Who is Lord Tyrion?

(Y/n) was not the person to judge another by their looks. She was gentle and kind, and treated and judge a person by their character — but she would not lie that meeting Lord Tyrion was making her nervous.

She sighed and sat down at a marble bench beneath a marble statue of a maiden. Her hands wove together as she stared at her fingertips. The wind blew through the garden once more, lightly kissing her skin as she bit on her bottom lip.

If she went and met Lord Tyrion, she would help her family and House. Even if she did not have a betrothal with Lord Tyrion, she was still helping by showing her face. If the Lords of Westeros found out that she was at Lord Tywin’s ball, they most certainly will invite her to other balls and banquets, and outings. Either way, she would have a chance at making a possible marriage alliance.

(Y/n) sighed once more before looking up at the sound of someone sitting down next to her. Her twin sat next to her, his crippled leg stretched outwards and his walking stick leaned against his body as he looked at her. Willas gave (Y/n) his charming smile, making her smile in return.

“Are you alright?” his voice was smooth as silk. “I’m not sure.” (Y/n) replied. Her voice betrayed the emotions she was trying to hide.

“It’s very generous that Lord Lannister extended an invitation to me, and it would be rude to decline him. Besides, it would be beneficial if I went to his son’s name day ball.”

“Sister,” Willas placed his hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Do you wish to go? I don’t care what Father or Lord Lannister thinks or wishes, I’m asking you whether or not you wish to go?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked on at her brother with love. “Oh, Willas,” she threw her arms around her twin and sobbed. She wept for her childhood, for her innocence. She was no longer a child, she was a maiden. She was ready to be led as a pig for slaughter to the lord with the highest bid.

Willas held her in his arms as she mourned her childhood, while he kissed her head and rubbed her back.

Once she calmed down and dried her tears, she inhaled deeply. “I wish to go, brother,”

He nodded his head and held her hand in his. “Let’s deliver the news to father,”

Currently me at the moment ☺️😂

Fanfic writers and readers watching the new Bridgerton show on Nextflix:

…the cleverest of Garth’s children, who kept three husbands, each ignorant of the existence of the others…

ASoIaF Minor Ladies Week — Day 3: Historical/legendary ladies

Florys the Fox moodboard

ASoIaF characters (63/?)

Characters’ moodboards: (452/?)

@asoiafminorhouses

Here is the dress the reader wore in today’s chapter:

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

Chapter Two:

(Y/n) never tired of seeing her extensive selection of gowns. She loved to gaze and run her fingers through the fabric, feeling the softness of the lace and silk. In her afternoon lessons with her grandmother, she learned appearance was everything in the art of manipulation.

“My lady, which gown do you wish to wear today?” asked her handmaiden, Lucille, as she finished pinning her hair up. (Y/n) admired her reflection in the looking glass and sighed. “I think the dark amethyst one I received recently from Beth,” Beth was (Y/n)’s personal seamstress, always creating gowns for her and producing the most beautiful gowns and fabric she’d ever seen in the Reach.

“Of course, My Lady,” (Y/n) smiled and checked her appearance. She was a woman now, ten and six name-days, and with her recent moonblood, she was ready to marry if her Father wished. She was ready to bear children and become a Lady of a Castle or Holdfast.

Lucille came back holding the dark amethyst gown, smiling at (Y/n). She laid the gown across her lady’s made bed and helped her into her corset. Once she was done lacing the corset, Lucille helped (Y/n) into the gown, making sure the cloth draped over her body and did not get caught or tangled with her shift. The dress sported a wide neckline that dipped right above the tops of her breasts, with puffy shoulders and a long sleeve that cinched around the wrists. The gown was loose and flowed out under her breasts, creating an illusion that she was floating. A layer of sheer white organza with gold embroidered roses draped over the skirt of the dress.

Once dressed, Lady (Y/n) smiled at her reflection before departing from her room. The slight heel of her slippers echoed against the marble floor with each step she took. The walls were decorated with green and gold accents, with portraits of Garth the Gardener, Catherine the Thorn of Highgarden, and previous Lords of Highgarden. Many of the walls and ceilings were covered in paintings from many artists over the years of Highgarden’s rule of the Reach, and many of those paintings told stories of sorrow, pain, love, lust, and prosperity.

On sleepless nights, (Y/n) would study and look on vigorously at those paintings, trying to piece every puzzle of the story together. Sometimes she’d be accompanied by her twin or younger brother Garlan, other times she was alone with only the paintings to keep her company.

As she walked steadily towards the dining hall, (Y/n) passed many rooms occupied by her cousins and family members that stayed in Highgarden with her family. Along with music rooms, a sewing room — where she and her sister and their female cousins occupied most days with their Septa, as well as an enormous library, and dance rooms (where they practiced their dancing).

Downstairs, she passed a few servants who stopped and greeted her before continuing their duties, along with a cousin or two and an aunt conversing with an uncle, before she happened in the dining hall. At the head of the table was her father, and next to him her grandmother and mother — and next to her mother was her twin, Willas. Garlan was seated next to her empty seat.

“Good morning everyone,” she greeted, a smile adorned on her face. A manservant pulled out her chair, and she gave him a polite nod and smile as she sat down. “Good morning dear, how was your sleep?” asked Alerie, giving her eldest daughter a fond smile. “Very well Mother,”

A maid served (Y/n) and poured her cup of milky tea as she reached for a bowl of fruit and spooned some onto her plate. “What about you? How was your evening?” she asked, her eyes meeting her mother’s. Alerie exchanged a look with her husband. (Y/n) noticed the glance and her mother’s worried eyes. “What is it?” she asked, her brows furrowing quizzically.

Willas watched as his parents exchanged a few more glances before his father signed and laced his meaty hands together.

“(Y/n), darling, as you know you’ve just pasted your sixteenth name day,” Mace hesitated, trying to find the correct words. “And well, you’re at the proper age to meet young lords and have a betrothal.” (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding. She knew this day would come, the day her father and mother would start sending her to balls and banquets and maybe even to court to find a suitable husband.

“And we’ve just received your first invitation to an outing.” Mace glanced at his mother and noticed her glare. “Who was it from?” asked (Y/n) as she placed her fork down. She was curious to know what ball she was attending. “It was from Lord Tywin Lannister, my dear. His son Tyrion is having a ball at Casterly Rock.” Silence filled the dining hall, as all the Tyrell’s eyes were on (Y/n), watching her reaction to the news. A beat or two passed before (Y/n) spoke. “Lord Tyrion?”

“Yes, apparently Lord Tywin has grown tired of begging and pleading the Lords of Westeros to send their daughter’s hand in marriage to his imp of a son,” complained Olenna, rolling her eyes. “Mother!!” Olenna snapped her head towards Mace and glared. “Shut up you oaf,”

“Now, my rose,” Olenna shifted her attention to (Y/n) and gave her a look. “This is your decision. If you wish to attend this ball, you may, but if not, I will personally write to Lord Tywin and express your apologies.” (Y/n) knew her grandmother would not be polite or remember her curtseys whilst writing to Lord Tywin; she would let him have a tongue lashing.

“I-I- I’m not sure. May I think upon this?” she asked, trying to weigh the decision of attending Lord Lannister’s ball for his son. “Of course dearest, take all the time you need,” spoke Alerie softly. (Y/n) nodded her head in thanks before she returned her attention to her food.

Later, after breaking fast, instead of joining her cousin’s in the sewing room, (Y/n) was wandering through the gardens. She walked at a slow pace, her fingers were fiddling anxiously. Usually, she would close her mind and enjoy the peacefulness of the gardens, listen to the sounds of birds, enjoy the wind rustling the roses bushes, and the wind breathing against her skin. But today she found no comfort in the scent of the flowers, nor the wind kissing her skin could tear her away from her head. She was deep in her thoughts, her conscious weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her situation, and her fear of leaving Highgarden.

(Y/n) knew nothing about Lord Tyrion except his dwarfism. She knew not if he was kind or gentle, if he liked to sing or hunt. Was he mean and cruel? Would he take out the frustrations of his stature on her? Would he be angry if she slipped up and said something offensive? Who is Lord Tyrion?

(Y/n) was not the person to judge another by their looks. She was gentle and kind, and treated and judge a person by their character — but she would not lie that meeting Lord Tyrion was making her nervous.

She sighed and sat down at a marble bench beneath a marble statue of a maiden. Her hands wove together as she stared at her fingertips. The wind blew through the garden once more, lightly kissing her skin as she bit on her bottom lip.

If she went and met Lord Tyrion, she would help her family and House. Even if she did not have a betrothal with Lord Tyrion, she was still helping by showing her face. If the Lords of Westeros found out that she was at Lord Tywin’s ball, they most certainly will invite her to other balls and banquets, and outings. Either way, she would have a chance at making a possible marriage alliance.

(Y/n) sighed once more before looking up at the sound of someone sitting down next to her. Her twin sat next to her, his crippled leg stretched outwards and his walking stick leaned against his body as he looked at her. Willas gave (Y/n) his charming smile, making her smile in return.

“Are you alright?” his voice was smooth as silk. “I’m not sure.” (Y/n) replied. Her voice betrayed the emotions she was trying to hide.

“It’s very generous that Lord Lannister extended an invitation to me, and it would be rude to decline him. Besides, it would be beneficial if I went to his son’s name day ball.”

“Sister,” Willas placed his hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Do you wish to go? I don’t care what Father or Lord Lannister thinks or wishes, I’m asking you whether or not you wish to go?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked on at her brother with love. “Oh, Willas,” she threw her arms around her twin and sobbed. She wept for her childhood, for her innocence. She was no longer a child, she was a maiden. She was ready to be led as a pig for slaughter to the lord with the highest bid.

Willas held her in his arms as she mourned her childhood, while he kissed her head and rubbed her back.

Once she calmed down and dried her tears, she inhaled deeply. “I wish to go, brother,”

He nodded his head and held her hand in his. “Let’s deliver the news to father,”

hands down my favorite scene in Bridgerton is when Daphne and Anthony wish to warm up the milk but have no clue how to light the stove

rich people not being able to do basic tasks is hilarious across time