my favorite genre of asoiaftwt
sheepfilms

roma★

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Love Begins

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Keni
will byers stan first human second

JVL
we're not kids anymore.

tannertan36
noise dept.
One Nice Bug Per Day
Claire Keane
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Kaledo Art
d e v o n
Cosimo Galluzzi
Game of Thrones Daily

oozey mess

seen from Somalia

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@daenerysapologist
my favorite genre of asoiaftwt
added some random piercings
daeron, respectfully, why
GIVE ME MY WIFE BACK
— ROBB STARK ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
summary: robbs family are obsessed with his wife to the point he can’t get a moment alone with her
content: fluff, robb going insane, no war au!!
notes: this fic gave me an unmatched sense of joy. I love house stark!! I’m actually sansa starks biggest fan on my editing account I’ve posted 128 edits with her in. I saw we dub me head sansa stan. Also I will do a THOUSAND of these happy house stark fics w robb x reader it’s my fav
Robb should have known this would happen.
He married you in the godswood beneath the heart tree, snow drifting softly through the air, his entire family watching with shining eyes. It had been perfect. Quiet. Sacred.
He had thought, foolishly, that marriage would mean more time with you.
Instead, it has meant that the entire Stark family has decided you belong to them.
It begins before breakfast.
Robb wakes with you tucked against his chest, your hair a mess across his shoulder. For once, the castle is quiet. Pale morning light creeps through the shutters.
He presses a kiss to your temple.
“This,” he murmurs, half-asleep, “is what I imagined marriage would be.”
You hum sleepily. “You imagined me drooling on your shoulder?”
“I did not say it was dignified.”
You laugh softly, and he feels victorious already.
Then the door bursts open.
“Robb!”
Arya’s voice.
No knocking.
No hesitation.
He doesn’t even move at first. Surely this is a dream. Surely..
“Robb, Ghost stole my boot again and Jon won’t help because he says it builds character! oh.”
There is a pause.
You pull the blankets up instinctively. Robb stares at the ceiling.
In the doorway stands Arya, hands on her hips, entirely unrepentant.
Behind her, Jon leans casually against the frame, smirking.
“You’re married,” Arya says flatly. “Not dead.”
“Out,” Robb says, voice muffled in the pillow.
Jon grins. “Father says breakfast waits for no man.”
“I am not just any man.”
“You are when you’re late.”
You are trying very hard not to laugh.
Robb finally turns his head to glare at them. “This is my chamber.”
Arya shrugs. “It’s our castle.”
And just like that, they leave, satisfied.
Robb groans.
“It is too early for this,” he mutters.
You kiss his cheek. “Your family loves you.”
“They love you,” he corrects darkly.
Breakfast is worse.
You barely make it to the table before you are intercepted.
Sansa is immediately beside you, discussing fabric choices for a new gown. Bran wants you to hear about something he saw from the battlements. Rickon climbs into your lap without permission.
Across the hall, Theon raises an eyebrow at Robb.
“You look troubled, Stark.”
“My wife has not sat beside me once,” Robb replies.
Theon glances toward you, currently laughing as Bran animatedly gestures about something involving ravens.
“She did marry into a large family.”
“She married me not them.”
“And yet she appears to be preferring their company over yours. Shame.”
Robb shoots him a look that promises violence.
At the head of the table, Ned watches the scene with quiet amusement.
Catelyn leans slightly toward him. “He is sulking.”
“He is learning,” Ned replies mildly.
Robb finally manages to reach you… only for Jon to clap a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re needed in the yard.”
“I am needed here.”
Jon looks pointedly at you being tugged away by Sansa and Arya simultaneously.
“I think you’ve lost this battle.”
The yard offers no relief.
Grey Wind bounds toward you the moment you step outside later that morning, nearly knocking you off balance. You laugh, dropping to your knees to bury your hands in his fur.
“Traitor,” Robb mutters.
Ghost appears at your side as well, serene and watchful. Even the wolves have chosen you.
Shaggydog barrels past, chasing Rickon, who is shrieking in delight.
“See?” Theon says, nudging Robb with his elbow. “Even the direwolves adore her.”
“They are my wolves.”
“They are her wolves now.”
Robb watches as you rise, brushing snow from your skirts, only to be immediately handed a practice sword by Arya.
“She said she’d spar,” Arya announces.
“You said you were terrible,” Robb protests.
“I am,” you reply cheerfully. “But she insists.”
Arya grins wickedly.
You take a stance.
Jon folds his arms, intrigued. “This should be interesting.”
You swing too wide. Arya disarms you in seconds.
You laugh.
Robb does not.
He is watching the way your cheeks flush from the cold, the way you push hair from your face, the way you beam at his sister like you have always belonged here.
He loves that they love you.
He does.
But he would also like to hold his wife without an audience.
You finally slip away from Arya, cheeks flushed, hair slightly wild.
Robb finds you in the library.
Alone.
Reading.
Hope surges.
He shuts the door behind him quietly.
You glance up, surprised, and smile.
“There you are.”
He crosses the room in three strides.
“You vanished.”
“You were sparring.”
“I would have stopped.”
You tilt your head. “Would you?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for your hand…
The door opens.
“Ah!” says Sansa brightly. “I thought you might be here.”
Robb’s shoulders drop.
Sansa steps inside with a stack of fabrics.
“I need help choosing trims.”
You blink between them.
Robb says very evenly, “Now?”
“Yes,” Sansa replies innocently. “It will only take a moment.”
It takes an hour.
Robb sits in the corner like a storm cloud while the two of you debate silks.
By midday you are seated beside Jon at lunch, discussing archery techniques you learned watching him.
Robb sits across from you.
Again.
Again.
Theon leans over. “You’ve spoken to her… what, twice?”
Robb counts silently.
“…something like that.”
Jon is demonstrating hand placement using your fingers.
Robb nearly inhales a bone.
“That is enough,” he mutters.
You look up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
But he doesn’t stop staring.
After lunch you all find yourselves in the yard again. Snow crunches beneath your boots as you cross to where Robb is.
Robb is sparring with Theon, wooden swords clashing sharply.
You pause to watch.
Theon spots you first.
“Ah,” he says, ducking a swing. “The true ruler of the North arrives.”
Robb rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”
You laugh softly and lean against the fence.
Within minutes, Arya Stark appears at your side.
“Bet on Robb,” she mutters. “He sulks if he loses in front of you.”
“I do not sulk!” Robb calls.
“You do!” Arya shouts back.
Theon grins wickedly. “He fights worse when you watch.”
Robb lunges at him.
You clap when Robb finally disarms Theon.
He looks immediately toward you.
Victorious.
Breathless.
Snow in his hair.
You smile at him like he’s done something extraordinary.
He forgets entirely that Theon is still speaking.
Then Bran tugs your sleeve. “Come. You promised.”
Robb’s expression falls.
“For what?”
“She said she’d read me all the books and fairytales she brought from home.”
Robb lowers his sword slowly. “You promised?”
You hesitate. “Briefly.”
“How long is briefly?”
Bran answers for you. “Long enough.”
And just like that…
You’re gone again.
Jon steps beside Robb.
“You look wounded.”
“I just want my wife.”
“She will return.”
“She said that yesterday.”
From the tower above, your laughter drifts down.
He softens instantly.
“Gods,” he sighs. “I cannot even be angry.”
Late afternoon.
Robb finally corners you in the corridor.
“You are avoiding me.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I have been busy.”
“With everyone except me.”
You soften. “Robb,”
“Reader!” calls Sansa’s voice from the stairwell. “Oh!! there you are! I was hoping,”
Robb goes very still.
Sansa approaches sweetly.
“Could you walk with me? I wanted to ask you about court etiquette.”
Robb stares at his sister like she’s declared war.
You hesitate.
He sees it.
He sighs through his nose. “Go.”
You squeeze his hand before leaving.
“Not as if she had time with you before.” He mumbled under his breath.
He stands alone in the corridor.
Again.
It’s nearly evening when you finally return to your chambers.
Robb is there.
Sitting on the edge of the bed.
Waiting.
You close the door gently.
“Are you angry?”
He shakes his head once.
“No.”
“Robb.”
He stands slowly.
“I woke with you this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And since then I have seen you in passing.”
Your chest tightens a little.
“They love you,” you say softly.
“I know.”
“And you love them.”
“I do.”
He steps closer.
“But I married you.”
The words are quiet.
Honest.
And for a moment, it feels like the world narrows back down to just the two of you…
A horn sounds.
Dinner.
Robb closes his eyes.
You almost laugh.
The Great Hall is loud.
Warm.
Full.
You are seated between Arya and Sansa.
Robb is three seats away.
Three.
You’re laughing at something Arya says.
You haven’t noticed him staring for several minutes now.
Theon leans in. “This is painful.”
Jon adds, “I almost pity you.”
Robb stands.
The bench scrapes loudly against stone.
Conversation dies down.
He walks around the table deliberately.
Stops behind your chair.
Places both hands on it.
“My lady.”
You look up, smiling. “Yes?”
“I require you.”
“For what?”
“For my sanity.”
Laughter ripples.
You open your mouth…
And he doesn’t wait.
He lifts you straight from the bench.
The hall erupts.
“Robb Stark!” Catelyn scolds, though she’s smiling.
“You have all had her since dawn,” he declares. “I am reclaiming my wife.”
Grey Wind barks.
Theon laughs.
Jon shakes his head.
Arya shouts, “That’s unfair!”
Robb ignores them all.
He carries you out of the hall, up the stairs, down the corridor.
Into your chamber.
He shuts the door.
Turns the key.
Leans back against it, breathing out like he’s just survived battle.
You’re laughing in his arms.
“You’re dramatic.”
“I am patient,” he corrects.
“Since when?”
“Since this morning.”
You wrap your arms around his neck.
“And now?”
He presses his forehead to yours.
“Now,” he murmurs, voice warm and low, “they can knock all they like because I am not stopping.”
Right on cue…
A pounding hits the door.
Rickon’s voice rings through the wood.
“We know you’re in there!”
Robb closes his eyes slowly.
You dissolve into laughter.
And this time…
He laughs too.
But he does not unlock the door.
Title: Blue on Black Pairing: Ser Duncan the Tall x Princess!Reader Rating: T + usual Westeros shenanigans Word count: 6k+ Summary: No one else ever had eyes so blue and kind as his…and only the seven can help a fool who falls in love. Or in which a Targaryen Princess and Dunk keep meeting under a series of unfortunate events.
...sometimes a spark that's in the dark, it catches fire and burns you up...
THE WHITE CLOAKS of the Kingsguard flutter as they move through the streets of King’s Landing, leading and trailing the funeral procession from the Red Keep to the Great Sept of Baelor. The smallfolk gather along the way and in the terraces above, watching solemnly as Dyanna Dayne passes by in a shroud of lavender and scarlet on a bier of summer blooms carried by pale horses—their harness bells ring softly.
It is a sad day for the Seven Kingdoms and a sadder day still for the House of the Dragon.
Prince Maekar Targaryen holds little Rhae close against his chest, her small face pressed into his shoulder. He envies the small princess in the moment, ignorant of the cruelty of the world—the aching pain and sadness of losing someone so dear. The rest of his children ride in an open carriage. Their eyes downcast, with only sniffles and dry heaves exchanged, and every so often, Daeron wipes Aegon’s tears with quiet patience.
But Prince Baelor keeps his own—a boy and a girl—at the rear. This is a day reserved for his youngest brother, not one to be overshadowed by the Prince of Dragonstone.
girl dad valarr ⋆˙⟡
the court was not subtle. after the third daughter, the whispers began. after the fifth, they were almost loud enough to hear. valarr heard them all, and each one was a personal offense. he never once showed you anything but pride and joy, but you would catch him sometimes, staring down a lord who made a comment about "securing the line" with an expression so cold it could freeze fire. he wasn’t angry about not having sons. he only ever wanted a family with you, and you gave him a beautiful, loud, chaotic army of girls.
his favorite tunic has a tiny, hand-stitched embroidery of a flower on the cuff, courtesy of his four-year-old. tucked away in his study, beside the ledgers, is a small wooden box containing his most prized treasures- a perfectly smooth river stone, a crow's feather, a dried four-leaf clover, and a dragonfly wing, all gifts presented to him with the solemn gravity of a royal tribute.
valarr commissioned a new signet ring for himself, not with the royal crest, but with the clumsy, wobbly outline of a cat his daughter had drawn in charcoal.
his title at the dinner table is not "your highness," but "father, can you please pass the bread?" and "papa, she's looking at me!" he has mastered the art of negotiating peace treaties over who gets the last honey cake.
he doesn't care if the lords are scandalized, the sound of his girls' happiness is the only music that matters.
he knows his daughters will grow up. he knows they'll fall in love, have their hearts broken, and face the world. the thought terrifies him more than any battlefield. his greatest mission isn't securing the throne, but raising a generation of women who are so strong, so smart, and so fiercely loved that no one in the world could ever dare to treat them as anything less.
you shifted, gently placing the newest born in his arms. he froze, holding her as if she were made of spun glass and starlight. he looked down at her, and the hard lines of his face, the worries of the realm, all of it melted away. he was no longer a prince, no longer a knight. he was just a father, looking at his daughter.
"she has your eyes," you said softly, your heart so full it felt like it might burst.
he let out a shaky breath, his thumb stroking her impossibly small cheek.
and so it was. prince valarr, the man who was born to rule, found his true purpose not on a throne, but on a rug by the hearth. he was the one who would hold them when they cried, who would tell them stories, you would often find them like that, the mighty prince and his tiny daughters, lost in their own world of whispers and wonder.
- cherry wine is about domestic abuse. it’s now called a cute proposal song.
- too sweet is about seizing the day and ignoring healthy habits in favor of having more fun with unhealthy ones. he’s actively critical of himself in the song. it’s now called a song about thinking you’re superior for drinking black coffee.
- take me to church is about worship as a metaphor for sex. it’s called a religious song.
- eat your young is a song about war and political greed. it’s called a song about sex.
- now, the strongly political message of nobody’s soldier is being ignored in favor of calling it a metaphor for hozier’s relationship with his fans.
when are we going to stop simplifying hozier’s music down to cute little cottagecore bogman forest music? maybe you dont want to hear this but i don’t care. quit listening to hozier for the aesthetic. there’s a reason why empire now, foreigner’s god, butchered tongue, etc. songs with unignorable political messages are among his least popular songs.
He's not human.
you have a visitor. will you let him in?
I love all the crossover art I've been seeing for this game!
my life lately
Endlessly diabolical how you can't say words like rape and suicide uncensored without either being criticised by idiots or punished by conglomerates.
It's not r*pe, it's rape. It's not su*cide, it's suicide. Not unalive, dead. The backbone needs to be reintroduced en masse because softening the blow of these concepts with advertising language does absolutely nothing but allow people unaffected by them to feel not even a sting of what they can do, prompting inaction.
And it's been proven that on certain websites, you don't even face a repercussion for using the words as they are. People just started censoring themselves because they feared the potential lack of views and likes and followers which is so nasty itself.
I attended an anti-suicide seminar in college. One of the big takeaways from it was that stigmatizing suicide increases the rate of suicide, because people who are feeling suicidal feel like they can't ask for help. Every time I see babytalk garbage like 'unalive', I think of that.
Use the real words. Words have power, and they matter.
did you hear. the sun loves him
go see my son, the poster child for uncomplicated good
glasses are the sluttiest thing a man could wear.
I started using Head and Shoulders ten years ago for itchy scalp and dandruff, and then for ten years I have not had itchy scalp and dandruff, so I thought “why do I still buy shampoo to combat itchy scalp and dandruff when I do not have itchy scalp and dandruff,” so I stopped buying the shampoo for itchy scalp and dandruff and can you guess I have now? Can you predict what currently afflicts me? It’s alright if you can’t because apparently I fuckin couldn’t either
Cutting something out of your life because you think you don’t need it any more only to realize that it was in fact working as intended and preventing a problem that will return should you stop doing this is a good experiment to run periodically with something small like dandruff shampoo, lest you start to think it would be a good idea to do this with like let’s say public health and the social safety net and vaccines
I had a liver transplant when I was 14 and like six months later I was chatting with my surgeon and he said “there’s gonna come a time, probably when you’re a teenager, where you’re gonna think, ‘I feel great, why am I still taking all this medication? I haven’t needed it in years.’ and you’re gonna want to stop taking all this medication. Guess what’s gonna happen then? You’re gonna go into rejection and your liver is gonna start failing, and you’re gonna be dying again, and we’re gonna have to find you another liver. So don’t do that.” And I said “why the fuck would anyone do that?” and he said “people are stupid.”
every once in a while when I get annoyed by a pharmacy or don’t wanna get out of bed to do my drugs I think “ugh, this is dumb, why do I do this?” and that conversation slams into me like a truck and I remember that I am, in fact, stupid
#you are not immune to the recency bias(via@arrows-for-pens)
Every person on earth needs to read this post. It will make people’s lives a lot better and lessen the crises everyone faces in day-to-day lives.