Michelle Fairley at the Donmar
but why bake bread when you could bake cake
good morning, here’s your newspaper.
…and a little dance.
He’s so proud of himself.
“We just got a letter, we just got a letter, we just got a letter, i wonder who it’s from!”
"My dear Mr Bennet! Have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"
When their father announces her betrothal to his bannermen, the other lords of Northern lands, Lyanna sits still in her seat. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t blink, she doesn’t breathe.
He didn’t tell her, Ned thinks with panic. She didn’t know.
The lords come up to congratulate her. They tell her that her husband will be a lucky one, laugh that she’ll boil in the South, remind her not to become too much of a Southron lady, and still Lyanna does not move. She does not smile. She nods, tight lipped, at each one.
The more her lips thin, the more Ned’s heart sinks. She will never forgive me this, he thinks.
As the night wanes, and the other men file out, finding their way to bed, Lyanna still does not move. She sits perfectly still, back straight, head high. She is the portrait of a lady, everything their father has worked to make her, and everything she hates.
Ned has never felt so guilty.
When the hall is empty, save for him, Benjen, and their father, then and only then does Lyanna speak.
Their father, who’d been reaching for his ale, paused midway.
"End what?" he asks, confused. "Everyone has gone to bed. The feast is over."
"I see that," Lyanna says through clenched teeth. "I cannot very well ask to you to end something that is over. I meant that you must end the betrothal."
Rickard Stark sits up in his seat, grips the direwolves on the arm.
"What are you saying, Lyanna?"
"Have I misspoken? I was sure I was clear. End it."
Ned sees his father search for words for a moment, unsure of how to approach his daughter. It unnerves Ned. Rickard Stark has never been unsure.
"I will do no such thing," he says, after a fashion. "You will marry Robert Baratheon. It is done."
"It is not," Lyanna says. "And it never will be done."
Their father sighs.
"Lyanna, I haven’t time for these tantrums. You are a lady. You are meant to wed a lord, and keep a castle, and bear children of your own. I pray your children won’t be as trying as you are."
Lyanna grits her teeth. “I will die before I marry Robert Baratheon, father. I will not do it. Winterfell is my home! I belong here!” She turns her accusatory eyes to Ned. “This is your doing. You talked him into this.”
Before Ned can respond, their father speaks, his voice stern and cold, indicating that he was ending the conversation.
"And Ned was right in doing so. You need a husband. The match is a great one. You will be the Lady of Storm’s End. And that is final."
"Brandon would never allow this! You could not do this if Brandon were here," Lyanna screams. "Brandon would never force me to do something I did not want."
Ned cannot help but think she is right. By rights, their father should have waited until Brandon was back from Barrowtown to announce Lyanna and Robert’s match, but he had done it early, probably anticipating that his heir would be against it.
"Last I checked," their father says, his voice even colder, "I was the Lord of Winterfell, not Brandon."
"Then I hope you die," Lyanna says savagely, blotches of red bright in her face. "I hope you die for this."
Benjen’s soft voice makes Ned jump. He had almost forgotten that his younger brother was in the hall. Lyanna whips around to face Benjen, some of the anger leaving her face, as she regards her youngest brother.
"That was unkind, Lyanna," he says weakly, merely trying to keep the peace, and though Lyanna does not snap at him, she snorts.
"What’s unkind is selling your daughter off to some stranger. I am a wolf, not a sheep. I will not be given away."
She stands abruptly, without asking to be excused and begins to make her way back to her chambers.
"You are the daughter of a great house," Rickard Stark says sharply, freezing her in her tracks. "And you will wed Robert Baratheon."
Lyanna laughs then, colder and with more cruelty than Ned ever believed his sister could manage.
"And just how do you plan to make me?"
I actually read this as “When you’re being vulnerable, the bravest act is cake”.
Not sure which one I prefer.
anne hathaway in drag
anne hathaway in drag
this is one of few things that I cannot look at without compulsively reblogging
I love this picture and I have no clue what the fuck is going on but oh my god
i don’t know what’s happening but it’s good
someday i’m gonna write a faux-historical queer drama and people will ask “what was ur inspiration” and i’ll be like that one picture of anne hathaway in drag kissing the pretty lady
For the record, this was Anne in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
she played Viola. Since a lot of people are like WHERE IS THIS FROM????
You might also know its adaption with Amanda Bynes: She’s the Man.
“Viola is shipwrecked on the coast of Illyria and she comes ashore with the help of a captain. She loses contact with her twin brother, Sebastian, whom she believes to be dead. Disguising herself as a young man under the name Cesario, she enters the service of Duke Orsino through the help of the sea captain who rescues her. Orsino has convinced himself that he is in love with Olivia, whose father and brother have recently died, and refuses to see any suitor until seven years have passed, the Duke included. Orsino then uses Cesario (Viola) as an intermediary to profess his passionate love before Olivia. Olivia however, believing Viola to be a man, falls in love with Cesario (Viola), while Viola has fallen in love with the Duke.”
so pictured is Olivia, Viola, and the Duke Orsino.
Correction. It’s Anne Hathaway making out with Audra McDonald while Raul Esparza fawns over her shoulder.
✔ Letting my hair flow in the wind as I ride through the glen, firing arrows into the sunset
john oliver is really not fucking around