It had been a long Friday for both of them - the blackout blind had been drawn in the early hours of the morning as they staggered home from that ridiculous night out in town, dancing and boozing and getting a touch high. Sleep hadn’t come easy to either of them, fitful and exhausted both from the club and the week prior.
But as usual, she woke first, her bladder screaming at her, and her internal alarm clock sounding off barely two hours after they slumped into bed.
Luckily, sleep embraced her again like a bad boyfriend, on and off and on and off again until finally it was past four in the afternoon.
"Happy Birthday," she mumbled into his ear, girnning as he groaned at the interruption of his deathly slumber.
"S’not my birthday," he sighed, eyes closed, "jus’ a party…"
She sighed, laying her head on his chest, pulling the covers around them once more as his arms held her tight against him.
This is so fucking sappy was all she could think as she looked up at his face, fingers tracing his ears, running through his hair, lining down his bearded jaw. She grinned, scrunching her nose as he opened his eyes, making a face at her.
She laughed softly as he smiled, shifting against her, legs softly twining together.
"I love you," he said, clear as the day outsie that crept around the blind, and yet all she could do was blink.
"I…are you talking to the person behind me?" She half joked, not entirely sure of her own beating heart.
No, he shook his head, just you.
It was with a smile on her lips that she leaned up to kiss him, hard. Who the hell did he think he was, saying that?
Pulling back, she confessed her previous habit of using ‘Love youuuu!’ far too much in daily conversation, the thought that had constantly bubbled up in her throat when she was around him, and the urge to stamp it down because of how casual it was, because of how unsure she was about what it was to actually be in love, and how she didn’t want to just throw it around when she was with him, but that really…
BEST FRIENDS YOU DON’T GET TO TALK TO VERY OFTEN BC YOU’RE BOTH JUST REALLY BUSY WITH SCHOOL OR WHATEVER BUT ITS NOT A BIG DEAL BC YOURE STILL THE BEST OF FRIENDS NO MATTER WHAT, ARE THE BEST KINDS OF FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WORLD
So tell me. How far can I walk on my own at night? How many metres, exactly, can I walk unaccompanied without having to fear for my life?
How many drinks am I, an adult woman, allowed to have after work on Friday night before being dismissed as a “party girl” or “asking for it”? How high can my heels be, and how short a skirt can I wear, before being implicated in any crime against me? And, just so that I’m clear, how many metres can I walk to get myself home?
And if something happened to me, how harshly would I be judged? If I vanished on that walk to my front door, what would you have to say about me? Would I be tut-tutted at for not accepting the offer of an escort home? Would idiots take to Facebook to admonish me for supposedly leading some guy on?
Would do-gooders and commentators and Twitterati-types take my parents to task for not raising me to act sensibly? Would they lambast my friends and lovers for not taking adequate care of me? Would everyone in my life suffer because I exceeded my allocated metres of solo walking?
Would every media outlet in the country view my disappearance as an opportunity to point out that, as it happens, women have more to fear in our world than men?
Would you, quietly, at the back of your mind, think that if I’d just stayed home with my partner, like a good wife and woman, none of this would have happened to me?
Are you just looking for one big, smug fucking excuse to say that you told me so?
And just so that we’re absolutely fucking clear, how many metres am I allowed to walk on my own at night?
“Brienne’s story is an adaptation of a traditionally male narrative, one that usually sidelines or victimises female characters. She swears fealty to a woman, as male knights swear to their liege lord, because she respects that woman’s strength, her bravery and her kindness. She goes on a quest to save the beautiful maiden, but not to marry her or benefit from the quest in any way, but to return her to her mother. Because she cares for Catelyn, and because it is the right thing to do. It is a story of a woman, rescuing a woman, for the sake of another woman. It is a rare story where the mother, the young girl and the shieldmaiden are all given equal weight and worth. Brienne, despite taking on many stereotypically male traits, is not “one of the boys” or in any way dismissive of her gender as a group. She does not fit into the role that society has assigned for her, but she does not disparage those who do. She uses her strength and her skill to respect and help other women in ways that most men in Westeros would never even think to attempt, because she understands, more than any other knight, that women are truly worth something as individuals.”—“There Are No True Knights: Brienne of Tarth” @ Feminist Fiction (via tallandhomely)