pitch letter

A Pumpkin Mocha Feud breaks out on instagram.

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chivalrouswarrior  asked:

Why is the fandom so fascinated with the idea that the Others (White Walkers) are somehow good? Many of the characters in the series are clearly evil (Euron, Ramsay, and Gregor come to mind) so why do people have such a hard time accepting that the primary antagonists of the series are evil as well? I apologize if you have already answered this question before, but it's something that has always perplexed me.

Originally posted by spacetool

Yeah, I’ve been strugglin’ with this one for a while now. There’s zero indication in the books that we’re headed for a twist of this kind–even if we get the show’s reveal regarding the Others’ origins (which I have issues with, especially RE the timeline), that’s not the same thing as their intentions being misunderstood, let alone relatable or benevolent. A lot of the argument revolves around this line from GRRM:

“I mean the orc-like creatures who always do dress in black and…they’re really ugly and they’ve got facial deformities or something. You can tell that if somebody’s ugly, he must be evil…We don’t need any more Dark Lords, we don’t need any more, ‘Here are the good guys, they’re in white, there are the bad guys, they’re in black. And also, they’re really ugly, the bad guys.’ ”

This quote, however, doesn’t suggest that there are not embodiments of evil in ASOIAF. It just suggests that it’s lazy and problematic to have your villains always look evil and ugly and your heroes always look heroic and attractive. That’s why Cersei is beautiful, why Qyburn looks friendly, and why the Others resemble not Tolkien’s orcs but his elves. On the flipside, it’s also why Yoren is ugly, smelly, and grumpy while still being the truest of Night’s Watchmen and why Mance is mild-mannered and utterly average-looking despite his reputation (which precedes him by two books) suggesting a larger-than-life badass. And yes indeed, regardless of what he says on the subject, GRRM certainly hasn’t shied away from creating unambiguously monstrous characters; the closest one gets to sympathizing with Gregor is that he has migraines, and Euron… honestly, the Crow’s Eye just ends that particular argument. 

It’s whatcha got inside that counts (GRRM being the world’s biggest Beauty and the Beast fanboy), and despite the Others being beautiful on the outside, they are pure death on the inside, as both Old Nan and GRRM’s pitch letter make unmistakably clear. To grab another relevant quote from the author, this time describing the Others to an artist:

“The Others are not dead. They are strange, beautiful… think, oh… the Sidhe made of ice, something like that… a different sort of life… inhuman, elegant, dangerous.”

So the appropriate reference point for the Others would be fairytales (and as much as Tolkien’s, Terry Pratchett’s Elves), which is why they steal children, kill livestock, toy with their human victims, and walk on the snow like Legolas. Or take this one:

“…and it is important that the individual books refer to the civil wars, but the series title reminds us constantly that the real issue lies in the North beyond the Wall. Stannis becomes one of the few characters fully to understand that, which is why in spite of everything he is a righteous man, and not just a version of Henry VII, Tiberius or Louis XI.”

And what does Stannis have to say about the role of the Others in the storyline?

“When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe.”

The idea that a revelation is coming wherein humanity has misunderstood the Others’ intentions and that the latter are just trying to survive, responding to a pact being broken, or whatever else misunderstands the structure of the story. ASOIAF is not about people being bigoted against the Others and needing to recognize their commonality; that story’s in there, but it’s about the wildlings, not the Others. ASOIAF is about people having forgotten the Others. It’s not dehumanization, it’s mythology and the mists of time obscuring the horrible truth: the monsters in the children’s stories are real, and they’re back.

The argument goes that ending the story with a showdown with the Others (which, for the record, has been consistently set up throughout the series) would betray the anti-war message, but one of the key tenets of the anti-war message is that the war has made us fatally vulnerable to the Others. Take it from the man who’s going to let them in:

“Crow’s Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.”

That’s why it’s so important when Stannis makes the decision to turn his back on King’s Landing and go north to find “the foe I was born to fight.” That really loses its charge if the apocalyptic supernatural threat is not, in fact, an apocalyptic supernatural threat. 

(emerges from a coma)

Guess who got shockingly early interest on her manuscript and had to power through revisions/writing a full synopsis over the course of four days

Publishing, but every time you get better at writing it goes faster

Letters To The Chosen One Chapter Seven

Warnings: Angst, fluff, A sad Simon

Word Count: 1,551




Ever since the other night, Simon and I haven’t fought. We even have small conversations. I’ve been keeping a closer watch on him. I just haven’t felt at ease, knowing that vamp is still out there. We still don’t know who sent it. Simon is so clumsy; he’s never careful. I worry what would happen if he didn’t have me and Penny constantly keeping an eye on him.

There’s still a feeling of embarrassment that flows through me whenever I think about the occurrences of the other night. I can’t believe I cried in front of Simon Snow. I really was ready to die in that moment. It felt like the perfect opportunity. The war would have been over. My mother would have been proud, and I would have died with the knowledge that Simon was safe. Of course, that was before it had occurred to me that someone else sent the vamp. Simon had pointed it out on our walk back to Mummers. I’m glad now, that he stopped me. I need to be alive if I want to keep him away from any danger. We have a week left to find out who’s sending the letters and we’ve got no leads. None. Not even with Penny’s help. Simon talked Penny into trusting me; just enough for us to work together. She still seems weary. But, she know’s I’m not the one after Simon. She also heard about how I ‘saved him.’ Simon had made me sound like some kind of hero when he told her the story. He left out the part where I almost died. Thank Crowley. I just wish he wouldn’t think of me as some amazing person. He’s been so nice to me lately. It’s strange. I don’t deserve it. Not after all of the horrible things I’ve done to him. He doesn’t even know that I, too, am a monster. Just like the one that tried to kill him. I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell him. I’m too weak. I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing things go back to the way they used to be. Not now that I’ve been shown that I don’t have to fight with Simon. I’m afraid, if he knows what I am, he will never trust me. He may not have complete trust in me yet. But, it’s definitely more than he did before.

I think a lot about how we had linked our fingers together. His adorable smile as he made me pinky promise not to plot. Pinky promise not to die. Simon Snow doesn’t want me dead. Simon Snow cares about me. It feels like a dream. If I think long enough, it’s like I can still feel the warmth of his hand against mine. His soft finger curling around my own.

I’m sitting at my desk now, finishing up my homework, when he walks in. I can feel him before I see him. A cloud of heat follows him. The scent of dry smoke fills the room. His golden curls are a messy mop atop his head. His blue eyes flash over to meet mine. His face looks panicked. His fingers are tearing through his hair with one hand, the other is gripping something. I drop my pen and swivel around in my chair so I can stand up.

“Simon. What happened?” I step towards him, reaching out. I gently take hold of his arms. It’s a risk; touching Snow when he’s about to go off. Especially when it could kill me. But, he’s a risk I’m willing to take.

“I got another letter,” he gasps. I bury my concern deep inside. It takes all my strength to keep my face from dropping. I can’t be worried about that right now. First, I have to keep him from going off. 

“Okay.. okay. It’s okay, Si. Breathe,” my voice sounds unfamiliar, even to myself. I’ve never spoken so soft to him. Or to anyone, for that matter. I rub my thumb back and forth, gently, on his arm. He shakes his head.

“I can’t figure it out Baz. I don’t know who it is,” he looks like he wants to hit something. I shake my head.

Simon. We’re going to figure it out. But, first, you have to calm down,” I whisper. He looks so scared. I don’t think, I just pull him into a tight hug. I’m surprised when he doesn’t push me away. My heart swells when he actually wraps his arms around me. The smoke in the room is clearing out. We stay like that for a minute. I gently brush my fingers through his hair, just like I’ve always wanted. When he’s finally cooled off, I unwillingly pull away.

“Can I see the message?” I hold my palm flat out. He lifts the hand that had been wrapped around something and drops the crumpled, sweaty, paper into my hand. I grimace before unfolding it. I have to be careful not to rip the damp page. The words are written in neat, cursive loops.

“You pose a threat to the World of Mages. I have no choice but to end you. I didn’t make this decision lightly. I’m sorry Simon.”

I want to hurt whoever is doing this. How dare they say they’re sorry? They’re putting Simon through so much pain. They’re threatening his life. Yet, they have the audacity to say they’re sorry? Simon isn’t a threat. Simon is the ‘Chosen One.’ He may not be good at it, but it’s who he is. He’s never been a danger. Even when he goes off, he manages to protect the people that are around.

“Look at it again. The writing doesn’t look familiar? At all?” I hold the paper back out to him. I hope this will work. That, maybe, Simon isn’t totally oblivious. Maybe he picks up on small things like handwriting. I fill myself with hope. But, Simon shakes his head.

“The only people I know who write in such fancy cursive are you and the Mage,” he sighs. “You’ve already proven it’s not you, and it definitely isn’t the Mage. He’s kept me safe my whole life.”

I try to respond. Try to muster up any form of agreement. Even a nod. But, I can’t. Everything inside of me has frozen. The Mage. Of course. Who else would be insane enough to threaten Simon’s life and act sorry about it?

“Snow– Simon,” I take a sharp breath. “Have you actually seen The Mage at all this year?” I’m terrified. If I accuse The Mage, Simon may never talk to me again. The Mage is the closest thing Snow has to a Dad.

“No. Why?” He tilts his head, trying to figure out what I was getting at. Sometimes I’m thankful for his obliviousness.

“No reason. I was just wondering where he’s been during all of this. Why he isn’t helping” I shrug, playing dumb. I’ll talk to Bunce about it. She and I have very similar opinions on The Mage. She wouldn’t be so quick to turn down my theory. She may even be able to talk some sense into Simon. I don’t think he’s ever gotten mad at her.

“He’s been ignoring me all year. It’s annoying! I sent him a letter and he never even responded,” the frustration I had coaxed out of him earlier is building back up.

“Shh. Hey, don’t worry about it. You have bigger problems right now,” I remind him. His blue eyes soften and lock with mine. He steps forward and pushes his lips against my own.

Simon Snow is kissing me.

I’m frozen with shock but I still manage to kiss back. He pulls away after a moment.

“Merlin and Morgana, what was that,” I breathe. Simon’s cheeks are bright red. I’m sure mine would be too if I was capable of blushing.

“I just– I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “You’re just–” he leans forwards and kisses me again.


After… quite some time of kissing. We decide to talk about it. We’re both sitting cross legged on the floor, facing each other.

“Since when have you wanted to do that?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I only started thinking about it the night we were attacked. But… I think it’s been longer.”

Simon Snow has wanted to kiss me? My heart is flipping inside out. My whole world feels upside down. I reach forwards and take one of his soft, warm hands in mine.

“Simon… Y’know… I don’t hate you,” The words are difficult to get out as I’m so afraid he will come to his senses and reject me. But, now feels like the right time. He raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. I want to crawl up inside of myself. Why would I say that? All he did was kiss me. I drop his hand and begin to stand up. He reaches out and grasps my hand, pulling me back down.

“Baz. You don’t have to go. I don’t hate you either. I don’t want to go back to the way things were before. Please. They’re so much better now,” he’s actually begging me to stay. I bite down on my lip. This has to be a dream. Simon really doesn’t hate me.

“I want it to stay this way too,” I admit before I lean in and kiss him softly.




Big day for PST! One of our organizers received this letter from the MLB today!

Someone is seeing our letters and postcards. The biggest someone in Major League Baseball is seeing our letters and postcards. 

 Keep. Writing. 

 Your voice matters.  

 You’re making a difference.

nooneeverlookedforagirl  asked:

Do you think we're going to have an apocalyptic ending where it's humanity vs the Others? Or do you favor the GRRM-pacifist theory where a peace between the Others and humanity can (again?) be achieved?

The former. That’s what all the setup for endgame is pointing at: Old Nan’s story about the Long Night and the Last Hero, the Azor Ahai legend and (as we saw in WOIAF) its variants the world over, Bran’s dream about the heart of winter, Jon’s dream about fighting off the Others with Lightbringer, Dany’s dream about melting an army of ice at the Trident, the very existence of her dragons, etc. “Old powers waken. Shadows stir. An age of wonder and terror is upon us, an age for gods and heroes.” 

I think the theory that humanity and the Others need to make peace misunderstands…pretty much the entire story, to be honest. GRRM hasn’t written a story in which humanity is prejudiced against the Others and needs to learn a lesson. He’s written a story in which humanity has forgotten about the Others and needs to be reminded who the true enemy is. One of the central themes of the story is that the War of Five Kings is weakening Westeros to the point where its residents won’t be able to stand against said true enemy. This is especially true when it comes to the wildlings v. the Watch; they’re the ones who need to find a path to peace, precisely because the army of the dead is on its way and they need to stand together against it. The Others, by contrast, are presented from GRRM’s pitch letter forward as nightmares, winter embodied, “there to give the heroes something to fight.” As I’ve said before: the author wants Westeros to be more paranoid about the Others, not less, and he wants there to be more watchers on the Wall, not fewer. Quoth GRRM:

And it is important that the individual books refer to the civil wars, but the series title reminds us constantly that the real issue lies in the North beyond the Wall. Stannis becomes one of the few characters fully to understand that, which is why in spite of everything he is a righteous man, and not just a version of Henry VII, Tiberius or Louis XI.

And Stannis makes precisely the argument I’m making:

“When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe.”

A letter not for reading


Baz was looking intently at a paper. He hadn’t moved for a solid fifteen minutes. I am pretty sure that he didn’t notice that I came. I lean against the bedframe and look at him. I was trying to see if he was really frozen. He wasn’t. The paper has nothing but scratch outs. I take a step forward, causing the wood to creek. He suddenly spins around and gasp loudly. “You freak, why can’t you be this quiet in the morning?!” He yells at me angrily. “I was just thought you were possessed.” It came out as nervous. He freaked me out when he spun around so fast. “No such luck.” I added before taking the books from my bag. Penny scolded me earlier this morning, my grades have not been looking their best and Penny say it is because I am ‘obsessed with Baz’. I am not obsessed with Baz; he is just a dangerous vampire who I am forced to share a room with. Penny insists that it far worse to fail during the fifth year. How in the world am I supposed to focus on studying when Baz does things like this? He was plotting against me right there. He likes to write out his thoughts when he’s trying to do something big. During our first exams of the year, I found 3 planning lists. He crammed his schedule to the brim with things to do. He is inhuman and I am certain that he is plotting to kill me.


What in the world was I thinking? Why did I decide to write a love letter for Simon in our room? I am losing it. The fact that I am experimenting with methods to fall out of love is already ridiculous. I was trying to write a letter technically aimed at Simon. I did not ever intend to have him read it. I have not reached the level where reasoning is completely worthless to emotion. At least I haven’t yet. I cannot even write a simple letter, there is a chance that I am completely hopeless. Getting your feelings out on paper usually helps you understand them to get rid of them. I could not even do that. I feel so much. My feelings are complicated and there is so much I want to tell him. There is nothing that he needs to hear. I go into the woods because I needed to get away from the school. Every fucking corner is able to force me to think about Simon. I tracked down a wolf and spelled it frozen. I drained it dry and left it somewhere only other animals, who would eat it, could find it. I sat down on a large rock and pulled out the first draft of the letter and a pen. The first draft consisted of four crossed out sentences and frustration. There was a small pencil in pocket. It was too short to hold properly but throwing away a pencil feels ridiculous. I ditched the letter format and start writing out sentences. They grew and more coherent. Loose sentences became linked paragraphs. I grew tired and rolled the paper into a ball and put it in my pocket before heading back. I felt lighter. It eased the tightness in my chest but I discovered something I knew already. I am beyond any help.


Baz returned very late. I was considering leaving bed and go searching for him. I pretended to be asleep. I practiced it before. If Baz is a vampire, he must have good hearing. When he is asleep, I’d practice breathing at the same pace as him as he sleeps. I watch him when I am sure that he is not looking. I watch him strip. Pulling off his trousers, unbuttoning his shirt, hanging his tie. I was thinking that it was it, but I was wrong. He strips off his under shirt then pulls off his briefs. I cannot stop watching. He pulls on his pajamas over his nude body. I felt myself blushing. I really wanted to look away but it would give away that I’m not asleep. He soon gets into bed and looks at the ceiling. I find myself relaxing enough to fall asleep.

My dreams turned very bitter that night. I wish I could say I dreamt of fighting something or the Humdrum. Yet no. It was summer. It must have been after the first year because I felt small, helpless, and alone. I was in an orphanage. Everyone was glued to one window and I stood a few steps behind them. They were watching a small toddler who was holding the hands of his new parents. They were all sad but I was hollow. If a couple ever came up and decided to adopt me, the Mage would interfere and I would be taken to a different home. I saw them feeling hopeless. I had nothing to hope for. I’d remain unloved. Parents seem to have this unconditional and unfading love for love for their children. They hold them so tightly and tell them that they love them. It is also so much more than that. Kids love their parents doing their chores, feeding them, tucking them into sleep. Their love is shown more in those acts more than hugs and words. I envy them so much. They don’t appreciate it. I wish to be loved like them so much I was stuck in that moment. Watching that lucky child leave over and over again. I was miserable.

“SNOW WAKE UP! SIMON! Wake up!” Baz shook me. I gasped, waking up. I realized I was dripping in cold sweat. “What happened?” I fell back on the pillow. I felt more tired when I did when I went to bed. “You were trembling and mumbling something incoherent. I would have left you but you were to loud. Go back to sleep. If you wake me up again, I am kicking you out to the stairs.” He gets into bed and rolls away from me. I relax into my pillow but I feel bitterness in my mouth, wanting to cry.


Please don’t cry, Simon. I won’t be able to stop myself. After a while, he falls asleep again and doesn’t really heave nightmares again. I watch him sleep. I know it is not good for anything but I just want to protect his dreams.

I wake up, turned to him. I must have fallen asleep watching him. I’m exhausted. Fuck this. I roll in bed, tired. It is Saturday and he is making so much noise. I flinch when he spits in the sink, twice. I needed to sleep some more but when he finally left, I couldn’t sleep. I added a few lines of text to the rough and messy paper but then I wanted to make a proper one. I took one of my nicer papers. It was silky to the touch. I get a heavier black pen to write. I never use them anyway; I just hope it burns well. I look over what I wrote and started writing.

My Dearest Simon,

The world is full of hate. Anger. Resentment. We both get to encounter each every day. I know very well that I am a great source of such emotions for you. You, on the other hand, is one of the few things keeping me from getting consumed by such emotions. You are stupidly kind, brave, and loyal. Watching you every single day is excruciating pain because I want nothing more than protect you from what the world holds. I promise that in the end, no matter happens, I will protect you from myself. I will never truly harm you. If I managed to outsmart you or act quicker, I would regret it forever.

I am in love with you, Simon. When you are away, I think about when I will see you again. I hate when the Mage forces you to go and fight for him. I want you to be with me, safe and away from it all. I want to see you asleep and not always question if you are having nightmares. I want to see you eat after you always return so thin at the end of every summer. I watch to heal each wound. I want to kiss you when you are hurt. I want to sleep with you when you have nightmares. I want to tell you it is alright and that we will be alright. I want to talk you down when you get worried.

I love you, Simon. I want everything to be alright.


I sealed it and put it away to carry it to the fire place.

I did not notice how it fell out of my pocket and floated to Simon’s bed.


I get back late to our room. The Mage was chewing my brains out for hours. I wanted to talk about my dream but he did not really have the time or care. He said dreams are dreams and don’t mean anything. I spot something on the floor by bed. It could only be Baz’s. It was open. I got very curious. What if I get a clue to what Baz was plotting? I know I shouldn’t but I wanted to know. I felt like I had to.

I sat at the foot of my bed and started to read.

Music Spells

So I was thinking about all the different ways music could be used in spell writing.. and coming up with meaningful correspondences is fun but what if it was something more formulaic? Like something along the lines of sigil making.

A spell could be as simple as a motif. It doesn’t have to be a full piece with complicated details. It could be just a few notes you would hum to yourself because they have meaning to you and they resonate a certain energy with you.

One idea I have is corresponding pitches to the letters of the alphabet.
There are 12 pitches in an octave, so the letters would be divided into 12 groups. For example,
(0) A, M, Y
(1) B, N, Z
(2) C, O
(3) D, P
(4) E, Q
(5) F, R
(6) G, S
(7) H, T
(8) I, U
(9) J, V
(10/t) K, W
(11/e) L, X
or if you would like to stick to a specific scale (let’s use an arbitrary major scale for this example),
(Do) A, H, O, V
(Re) B, I, P, W
(Mi) C, J, Q, X
(Fa) D, K, R, Y
(Sol) E, L, S, Z
(La) F, M, T
(Ti) G, N, U
For these examples I grouped the letters by having the letters follow the notes alphabetically, and then repeat notes when they ran out. But there are many other ways you could group them, for example, you could divide the alphabet by 12 pitches, and have the first 3 letters be pitch 0, the next 3 pitch 1, etc.

So for the actual spell!
This would be similar to sigils in the sense that you can write a sentence, respresenting your intent, and then using the formula, turn those into pitches!

For example, the phrase “I am safe” would be “8 0 0 6 0 5 4” using the first method, or “Re Do La Sol Do La Sol” using the second.
One you have the pitches you can be creative, by adding rhythms (maybe build phrases based on word or sentence lengths?), harmonies, articulation (maybe accents on capital letters?), etc.

I hope this gives peoples some ideas!

(Also if it’s just for small motifs like this, I am willing to do spell requests! And I can have them played or sung in whatever instrument you like!)

anonymous asked:

Hello, are there any jon/arya parallels in asoiaf the same there is for jon/dany? what about jon/dany and jon/dany/arya parallels? doesnt it sound weird how all of them are connected and have parallels with eachother? what is george trying to say with this?

There are tons of Jon/Arya parallels, but if we’re strictly talking about ones that expand to include Jon, Arya, and Dany, there are a few. All three have intense connections to magic, and more specifically the animals by which their Houses are represented in sigil; Arya with Nymeria, Dany with Drogon, Jon with Ghost. And all three animals are alphas in a way; Nymeria is obvious with her at the head of her pack (constantly described as a monstrous she-wolf), Drogon is obvious as well because he has been described as Balerion reborn, and Ghost is more subtle. He was the last to be discovered of the litter, thought to be the runt, but he ends up growing quickly and larger than his brothers or sisters. He’s also shown to be one of the only presences that can calm Nymeria or make her submit, so that’s something. 

Then there’s their connections and time with the groups of smallfolk in the areas they occupy. Arya, Jon, and Dany come to sympathize with people typically discriminated against, and act as their champions of sorts; Dany on her various tours, beginning in Vaes Dothrak and currently in Meereen, Jon with the wildlings, and Arya with the riverfolk and those in Braavos. All three also find a love interest within these ranks: Drogo, Daario, Ygritte, Gendry.

The next parallel is one that is quite admittedly reaching, but enough for me to comment on it, and it’s how they relate to Rhaegar. Dany is obvious; his sister, his beauty reincarnated in female form. Jon is his secret son, unbeknownst to (almost) everyone living. Arya is Lyanna reincarnated, the latter of which was Rhaegar’s lover, whether willing or unwilling we have yet to find out. Despite Arya’s lack of solid connection to him, it is still significant that it’s hammered home so often that she resembles in looks and personality her late aunt. 

It’s also significant that each character has references to the other with no subtlety, but directly. I’m going to omit Arya and Jon’s relationship here because it’s too obvious for analysis. Arya has the profound moment in the dungeons of the Red Keep where the dragons lead her to safety, and she also thinks of them as “old friends.” Jon has a moment where he wishes for “a dragon or three,” and Dany often hears wolves howling but never so significantly than when she is alone, miscarrying, and starving in her final chapter of the last book.

Perhaps my favorite of their parallels are the king/queen references for all three. Dany’s have always been there, in her slow but steady process of turning herself from princess to conquering queen, but Arya’s and Jon’s are more subtle, though no less meaningful. Arya has several queen references (as I’ve went into detail in this meta), and Jon is constantly called “king” by Mormont’s raven which is thought to be controlled by Bloodraven. He’s also (one of) Robb’s heir(s) so that’s something too. 

Off the top of my head, they’re also all great horseriders, outcasts/underdogs steadily gaining power and momentum, defy stereotypes, befriend sex workers, fiercely loyal to their families, extremely cunning, and are kind-hearted yet firm with bouts of malice for their enemies. All in all, it’s no surprise that Arya, Dany, and Jon mirror each other in so many ways. They’re three of five characters singled out in GRRM’s pitch letter, each with their hands dipped in pots that hugely affect the moving storyline, and will no doubt have big parts in the war against the Others as well as where the Seven Kingdoms end up by the finish of the story. 

Letters To The Chosen One Chapter Two

Warnings: slight angst I guess

Word count: 840

Click here for chapter one



My eyes scanned the letter over and over. The only person who has access to my room that also wants to kill me is Baz. He has wanted to kill me from the moment we met. This is our last year sharing a room. So, of course, he would want to do it now, while it’s still easy. Once we graduate, we will no longer share a room. He won’t have simple access to me.

But, why he would leave a letter? I don’t understand. All he is doing is striking suspicion. He’s giving me a warning. I always thought he was smarter than that. He’s given me the chance to prepare myself, to fight back. Maybe that’s part of his plan. Maybe he wants me to think I’m prepared. He’s setting me up to be ready in two weeks. He probably plans to strike sooner. When I’m least expecting it. I study the letter once more and scoff. He thinks he’s so prestigious by using words like ‘succumb’ and ‘mortality.’

The door to our room swings open and I lift my head. Baz walks in, flipping on the light switch. Brightness fills the room, and I glare at him. He looks like he just got back from football practice. He’s sweaty and wearing the team uniform. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with loose strands falling into his face. He sneers.

“What’s your problem?” He drops his bag onto the floor next to his bed. I jump up and shove the paper at his chest. He gives me a bored look and takes it.

“You know what my problem is,” I snap. He’s such an arse, acting like he did nothing wrong. Like he didn’t just write me a death threat. Baz looks down at the paper and then back up at me.

“ A piece of paper? That’s what you’re so bloody upset over,” his voice is condescending and he raises an eyebrow.

“Not the paper. What you wrote on the paper. Stop acting innocent,” I just want to punch his stupid face. But, I hold back. Anathema. My magic is boiling inside of me. My palms are sweating. Why does he have to be like this? Why can’t he just admit he wrote it? Baz looks down and scans the short letter. He manages to hide any reaction he may have had.

“I wish I wrote that. But, no. It wasn’t me,” he shakes his head. “It looks like another person wants you dead. Why are you even surprised?” He rolls his eyes. I need to leave, now. Before I do something that will get me kicked out of Watford.

“What is the point, Baz? Why are you trying to cover this up? You are the only person at Watford that hates me enough to kill me,” I shout. Baz shakes his head again.

“Seriously, Snow. It wasn’t me,” he glances back down at the paper. “I’m offended that you even think I would leave a letter. I’m not that idiotic. That’s like me just shouting out to the world ‘Hey! I killed Simon Snow!’ It’s the most evidence a detective would need. I’d be arrested on the spot. But, that very clearly is not my handwriting. My lettering is much neater”

He’s acting like he knows everything. Like he’s too good for even a piece of paper. But, I had been thinking the same exact things. Now I know for sure that it’s all part of some plot. I bet he even changed his handwriting for the letter. I roll my eyes and shove past, purposefully bumping him with my shoulder. I storm out of our room and down the twisting staircase. My skin is burning with magic. I can taste the hot smoke. If I don’t do something now, I’m going to go off. I head outside, into the cool air, and take a deep breath.

It’s okay if he doesn’t admit it. I still know well enough to be ready whenever he’s around.

The fresh air is already working. My skin is cooling off and my chest feels less tight. I continue further out onto the lawn and sit under the yew tree. I close my eyes and think of ways to stay cautious. I can’t give up sleeping, can I? I would tell the Mage. But, he’s not around.

I’ll talk to Penny about it tomorrow, I decide. I consider sleeping out here. But, the ground is far from comfortable. I should be fine in our room. As long as the anathema works in my favor. I stay outside until I can trust that I won’t go off at the sight of Baz.

I stand up and head back to Mummers House.

When I get back to our room, Baz isn’t there. He’s probably in the catacombs, doing potential vampire things. I slip into bed for the second time tonight. I check under my pillow. Nothing. I let out the breath that I had been holding and quickly fall asleep.


Tagged: @ailecstuff

samwpmarleau  asked:

Since I know you're a fan of stupid theories being debunked: do you have any favorite SSMs or the like that have rendered those theories moot? Or more broadly, any bits of information that you've found particularly intriguing or which challenged any assumptions of yours?

Ummm… hmm. Re crack theory debunking, the first thing that comes to mind is when GRRM said Darkstar is in his late twenties, and therefore very definitely not the real Aegon Targaryen, or Jon’s twin, or any of the weirder identity theories that hovered around him for a while. Oh, and along those lines, the SSM where he cleared up (for people without reading comprehension) that Edric Dayne is 12 and did not nurse from Wylla at the same time the four-years-older Jon did. (And so obviously he isn’t Jon’s twin either. There are wayyy too many Jon twin theories.)

Ooh, and the fact that someone asked GRRM about the Corn Code crack theory and he didn’t do a typical “just wait and see” but actually replied with a straight-up “no” is hilarious. As was the theory creator’s response, OMG.  edit: And @goodqueenaly reminds me that GRRM also said that Rhaegar was cremated, and so is very definitely not still alive and pretending to be someone else.

Intriguing info… ah, gosh, the SSMs are full of really cool stuff. I can’t even quantify it. But some of my favorites, for theory proving and debunking – that Targaryens are not immune to fire (also) (so Jon getting his hand burned does not disprove R+L=J); that Princess Rhaenys looked like a Martell (so Jon looking like a Stark does not disprove R+L=J); and of course “Dany was most like named by her mother, Tyrion by his father, Jon by Ned”. GRRM being ever so careful in his wording is always a joy. :)

Like, oh, his very careful statement about whether Sandor and Sansa would meet again. (And so much more that I have in this tag.) Though when he’s not at all careful, it can be amazing, like when he said the third head of the dragon will not necessarily be a Targaryen. Or when he said all of the Stark children are wargs.

As for challenging my assumptions and theories – probably the biggest one was his “NO” response to when his editor asked if Coldhands was Benjen Stark. That was very annoying, because I really did believe Coldhands was Benjen. (Hell, the GoT guys seem to have said fuck it and gone with that theory anyway, which should tell you a lot about the show and its relationship to the upcoming books, rather.) I don’t think the Waterstones pitch letter actually challenged anything I believed, even though it was extremely revealing about GRRM’s original ideas about ASOIAF – because, like, when people do try to bring up the original plot as proof of something or the other, I respond “so you think Jaime’s going to murder everyone and take the throne, then? And that Tyrion’s going to have a deadly rivalry with Jon over Arya’s love?” because honestly that’s just as valid. :D

Anyway, unfortunately I don’t tag posts with SSMs or interviews (I should, I haven’t, it’s probably too hard to fix now) so I can’t find all of my favorites right now, alas. (My GRRM tag has a lot, but I know not everything.) I very much recommend going to the So Spake Martin archives and reading them all, though, there’s so much good stuff in there. A lot which aren’t picked up by the SSM search engine, too, because they’re links to interviews, and oh man can those interviews be amazing. (Like this one! And this one! And this one! And… ok, I’ll stop now.)

A letter to my 5th year self (Carry On Count Down)

Simon to Simon

The one only advice I would give myself is to see. I was looking in all of the right directions, but I couldn’t see. It was impossible to tell what was real.
My long time crush and finally then girlfriend. I looked at her enough but it was not enough to see that I was wrong for her and she was wrong for me.

My arch nemesis, the person who hates me most, wants to cause me harm. Baz. My lover. Looking back, I realize I would look at you more than anyone else but I should have looked closer. I couldn’t see who you were.
You were powerful, wicked, cruel, harsh, unafraid, secure, emotionally stable. I was half right. The other part makes me what to laugh. You were always so sure of yourself and acted like you knew what you were doing. I envied that. I had no idea you were alone, scared, confused, reckless, and worried like I was. I wish I didn’t hurt you. I wish you didn’t hurt me. I wish I saw what you were hiding. I wouldn’t have let you be. I would have chased you.

My greatest enemy was myself and my self-control issues.
Thank you Penny for never changing.

Baz to Baz

I wish I stopped. I was loosing my mind. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. I was scared. I had looked at Simon and saw everything I wanted. I got to look at him every day. I got to enjoy feeling the misery of knowing I will never have him. Not in my arms. Not playing with his hair. Not feel how he relaxed into me. Not be able to tell him what I feel. Not get to kiss him. Not get to know that he is casually standing in his boxers in the kitchen of our apartment. I was wrong.
I see now that I could have done it so much better. Saved myself some nerves. Focus on myself. My identity. My body, all of it, fangs including. Find myself on my own and with Simon. Expectations were always held high for me and I met those expectations. I didn’t notice that it was not the same as seeing the extent of my potential.

Everything changed. Nothing new was made. It was just waiting for us.

Letters To The Chosen One Chapter Eight

Warnings: None 

Word count: 1,221



That night, we end up cuddling each other to sleep in my bed. I never thought there would be such little space between Simon and I. It seemed like something that could only happen in a fantasy. I study his moles up close while he sleeps, his even breaths landing on my cheeks. He’s so alive. I gently reach out and trace his freckles with my finger tip. Everything about him is so beautiful. No one in the world can compare. He’s so amazing, so perfect. That night, I fall asleep in Simon Snow’s arms.

I wake up in the morning to Simon slipping away from me. I pout and sit up.
“ ‘morning,” I stretch my arms over my head. He stands up and turns towards me.
“Good morning,” his cheeks are flushed and he’s smiling. I smile back. Everything feels so right. I just hope it doesn’t end when he finds out my theory on The Mage. We don’t talk much as we get dressed and head down to breakfast. It’s not that we don’t want to talk. It’s just far too early for conversation. We keep our distance as we walk so no one will have any reason to question us.

Later that day, Bunce is up in our room. Simon isn’t here yet, and I’ve told her my suspicion. She seems surprised, but she doesn’t shoot it down. Neither of us can figure out why though. Why would the Mage want to kill his best chance at winning the war? We wait impatiently for Simon to come up from the dining hall. It’s hard to get Bunce without him. He follows her around like a lost puppy. I had to send him down to get some tea so that I could actually talk to her alone. Finally, he stumbles into the room, his hands full with a plate of scones and three mugs. I don’t know how he managed to balance it all. He quickly places the mugs down on the nearest desk, mine.

“Si,” Bunce starts softly. She know’s how to talk to him. She know’s how to keep him calm. “We need to talk to you.”

Simons’ mouth is stuffed with a scone. “Aboot wha,” crumbs fall out of his mouth onto the floor as he sits next to me on my bed, the plate of scones in his lap. Simon Snow is sitting in my bed. I kick his ankle with my foot.
“Merlin, Snow, don’t be so disgusting,” I roll my eyes. He swallows his scone before repeating himself.

“About what?” I share a look with Bunce. I don’t know which one of us should tell him. I’m hoping she will. He’ll be less likely to flee.

“Simon. What happened the last time you saw The Mage,” She begins. I’m filled with relief, knowing all the blame for this theory won’t be poured on me. Even if it was my idea.

“The end of last school year. I told him about the Humdrum. I think the last thing I asked was if he had any ideas about why the Humdrum had my face,” he shrugs. “Why?”

Simon didn’t tell me that the Humdrum looked like him. I give him a look. “You never told me that. The part about the Humdrum.”
I don’t know why I’m so disappointed, it’s not like we sit around spilling our deepest secrets to each other. I guess I just hoped Simon had begun to trust me enough to tell me something that important. Especially after last night. But, I guess we have only been close for less than 24 hours. Not enough time to have serious talks. He shrugs again and moves the plate of scones to my nightstand. (Simon always shrugs.)

“I did now. Anyways, why does it matter,” I turn to face Bunce, hoping she will tell him the rest. Her mouth is open and her eyes are wide. She looks like someone just told her she won an award for ‘greatest magician.’ Except, there’s a glint of fear in her eyes too. Like, the price of being the greatest magician was death.

“That’s it!” She shouts suddenly. “It all makes sense now!” Simon tilts his head.

“What makes sense now? The Humdrum?” I know what’s coming next though. I’ve pieced it together too. The Mage must think Simon is the Humdrum. I reach over and grip his hand. He wraps his fingers around mine. His palms are warm, and kind of damp, but it’s comforting to my own cold, lifeless, hands.

“Simon,” Penny begins carefully. “The Mage– Baz and I think he’s the one leaving you these letters.” I raise my eyebrows at her. I know I have to take some blame. But, I’m not ready. I’m scared. Simon looks at her, then at me. He lets go of my hand, and my heart falls down to the pit of my stomach. I knew I’d lose his trust.
“No. The Mage wouldn’t do that. Why– I don’t–” he stands up and tugs at his curls. “It isn’t him.”

“Simon,” I whisper. I can’t meet his eyes. I opt to look down at the floor instead.

“No!” He snaps. I bite my lip. Thankfully, Bunce steps in.

“Simon. We can’t know for sure. It’s just that… Well, the last thing you told him was basically that the Humdrum was you,” she gently rests her hand on his shoulder. He lets go of his hair and shakes his head.

“I didn’t say that. I’m not the Humdrum,” his voice cracks at the last word. I want to be able to comfort him. But, I don’t know what I’d do if he rejected me. I sit up straight and look at him. I’m not going to allow myself to look as afraid as I feel. Simon is going through much more.

“Snow. If I told you there was a monster walking around that looked just like me; wouldn’t you be suspicious?” I question him. He gives me a small glare. His way of showing that he’s been defeated, that I have a point. He sighs.

“I don’t think he would want to kill me though,” Simon whispers. I stand up and take his hand into my own. I share a look with Bunce, one that says ‘we should give him a break.’ She must have read it right because she drops her hand from his shoulder and nods.

“Okay. It’s just a theory,” she sits down on Simon’s desk chair. I tug his hand and lead him back to the edge of my bed. He sits and reaches over for another scone from my nightstand.

“How many of those do you eat in a day,” I nudge him with my arm.

“I tried to count once,” Bunce exclaims. “But, it was so many. I lost count at 50 in a week.”

My jaw drops. I probably eat like two sour cherry scones a month. I don’t understand Snow’s obsession. They’re not all that great. I prefer the chocolate chip ones my family gets at the shop.  Simon sees my face and shoves me.

“Fifty really isn’t that many,” he rolls his eyes. The conversation lingers in lighter topics and soon we have all forgotten about the events of earlier.

That night, Simon sleeps intertwined with me again.


Tagged: @ailecstuff