@weirseer

[ ... ]

[greensght-arc]

independent    &    exclusive    𝙱𝚁𝙰𝙽   𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙺    from    george    r.r.    martin’s    𝙰    𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶    𝙾𝙵    𝙸𝙲𝙴    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴   ,   book    &    headcanon    based .    written    by    kait    (    she  /  her    )    low    activity .  

carrd   .   .   .   pinterest   .   .   .   spotify   .   .  .

[greensght-arc]

@weirseer

[greensght-arc]

i really want to restart this blog

[greensght-arc]

plotting call 

[classic-starters]

starters from the 1910s novel, THE CHILDREN OF HÚRIN, by j. r. r. tolkien

“that oath is still on us.”

“but you live, and so does the enemy who has done this to us.”

“that was a great battle, they say.”

“what is fate?”

“it may be that we fled from the fear of the dark, only to find it here before us, and nowhere else to fly but the sea.”

“we are not afraid any longer.”

“grief is a hone to a hard mind.”

“what lies under your words?”

“where else is hope?”

“i shall be far away and all alone.”

“i would rather look on my foes with my true face.”

“what do you desire?”

“i see that i am mistaken.”

“we take their lives as forfeit, unless they can ransom them.”

“a strange way to gain entry to a fellowship … ”

“outlaws know no law but their needs.”

“then choose a new captain!”

“now tell your tale, and be brief.”

“is it farewell, then?”

“it is growing dark.”

“there is blood on the hill - top.”

“do you fear that you have followed a spider to the heart of his web?”

“why do you look upon me so?”

“i offer you freedom.”

“maybe the tale is too sad yet to tell.”

“i will flee no more.”

“we are hemmed in this land.”

“where all lies on chance, to chance we must trust.”

“you come at last; i have waited to long!”

“it was a dark road. i have come as i could.”

[greensght-arc]

a  chatter  of  leaves,   the  call  of  a  crow     ...     sounds  of  the  godswood,   sounds  of  the  gods,    as  familiar  as  his  own  name.          but  if  that’s  so,   then  why  does  he  feel  so  afraid?          in  his  arms  he  bears  gifts     :     a  handful  of  coins,     a  sack  of  wheat,     the  lead  of  a  goat  clutched  knuckle - white.     no  true  offering,   but  a  start.     an   introduction     ...     a  memory  stirs.     full  of  hands  that  clutch  his,     of  words  whispered  too fast.      of  what  it  means  to  be  the  stark  in  winterfell.    of  his  duty.      something  cold  brushes  along  his  spine,   and  for  a  moment  he  feels  he  is  being  watched.     that  it  is  here  already,   just  beyond  the  trees.     watching  him,   waiting    –     but  for  what?     he  is  here,   is  he  not?     was  he  meant  to  stay,  or  should  he  go?     

*     he  turns,     meaning  to  call  for  luwin,    for  his  men,      but  instead  finds  the  goat,     watching  with  eyes  slitted and steady.     the eyes of the damned      ––     and  suddenly fear turns to panic.     

his  hand  jerks,   coins  spilling  to  the  ground,    soon  joined  by  the  sack  of  wheat  and  the  goat’s  lead,   all  lost  to  the  dirt     ...      fingers  stumble  over  stone,    seeking  purchase  on  his  too - smooth  seat  as  his  body  twists  from  side  to  side,   eyes  running  a  frantic  search.     for  he  knows  now  that  it  must  be  there,   that  feeling  turned  to  surety.      and  he  must  find  it,   find  it  now,   find  it  before   ...     but  he  must  not  think  of  that.     his  father’s  face  swims  up  from  the  depths  of  his  mind,   solemn  and  stern.      and  at  once  he  stills,     though  his  heart  still  hammers  in  his  chest,   as  he  tries  to  mimic  that  face.     to  slip  off  the  fears  of  bran  the  boy.     to  be  the  stark  in  winterfell.          ❝        i  have  brought  your  gifts.     i   . . .    i  am  brandon  stark,     lord  of  winterfell,    and  i  have  come  to  great  you.        ❞

@pennywise

[greensght-arc]

greenseeing is so interesting to me because it’s so markedly different from the other magic we see in asoiaf. like with melisandre’s magic everything is so firmly rooted in binary  (i.e. there’s light and darkness / good and evil, everything has it’s opposite) but with greenseeing everything seems a bit more... mushy? for lack of a better term. one of the focal points of bran’s final adwd chapter, where most of his training takes place, is the sort of timeless-ness that the cave seems to exist in. there is no sleeping and waking, there’s only dreams. there is no past or future, it’s all here at once and capable of being watched. hell, in some sense there’s not even any ‘you’, because the moment you die you go into the trees and become a part of the hivemind just like the rest. you stop being ‘yourself’ and become a part of the nameless, faceless godhood that watches from the weirwoods.

[greensght-arc]

magic as a consuming force  ,  denial of fate and begrudging acceptance  ,  that creeping sense of unease  ,  childhood / godhood  ,  a horrible sense of stasis  ,  feeling like a ghost in your own home  ,  loss of time / days spent in dreams  ,  unheeded warnings  ,  crushing loneliness  ,  and on and on and on

[greensght-arc]

boystark ,

⚔     . . .     @greensght       —      you’re angry.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he is resolute. silent, vexed. when he does face bran, lips tighten into a grimace, jaw at once shut and bolted with an almost audible click. a shared breath, robb the lord is glad for it — his heart'd been at his throat, bolting, galloping fast like the mare 'neath him. if i had been a moment later, even by the second . . . ❝ i'm not angry. ❞ a lie that is allowed to settle in the space 'tween them. anger wouldn't be the word he'd use, assuredly there must be something even greater. wroth with theon, with himself. even the wolves. and irregularly, bran, appearing as powerless and vulnerable as he'd felt in that moment, a scornful mirror of what he must look like in the eyes of wildlings and men alike. ⠀⠀⠀⠀❝ i'm not angry, ❞ repeats the lordling, quieter. reaching for his younger brother feels as if he's fallen to shipwreck, wading through the sweeping torrent, grasping his hand akin to driftwood, his last anchor from the perilous sea and his drowning thoughts. ❝ are you alright? let me see your dressings. ❞

even  his  denials  reek  of  it     . . .     not  a  knife’s  gab  of  anger,      but  a  sneaking  sort  of  wroth  that  settles  in  the  spaces  between  them,     settling  over  his  sloped  shoulders  and  downturned  gaze   :   solemnity  in  the  face  of  his  brother’s  rage.      his  brother,   or  robb  the  lord ?     nowadays  the  two  feel  more  and  more  separate   –   another  thought  that  settles  itself  somewhere  in  that  aching  part  of  his  chest.     the  part  that  longs  for  what  was,    for  mother  and  father,  arya  and  sansa,   his  brothers    .  .  .     then  robb’s  hand  is  in  his,     lifting  his  gaze  with  a  quiet  squeeze.     and  for  a  moment  he  knows  his  brother  has  returned,     and  he  greats  him  with  a  soft  squeeze  back,     a  silent  hello.          ❝        i’m  alright        ❞           fingers  worry  at  his  dressings,     pressing  at  the  rip  in  his  leg,     expecting  pain  and  yet  feeling  nothing.          ❝        robb   . . .        ❞          the  question  sticks  in  his  throat,     lost  for  a  moment  in  the  land  of  needing  to  know  but  not  wanting  the  answer.     and  yet  still  it  presses  forward.          ❝        would  you  really  have  killed  them ?   greywind  and  summer ?     just  because  the  wildling  said ?        ❞

[toadmemes]

* 400 RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS (READ MORE) ,

“i never noticed your eyes were this pretty.”

“i’ll stay in tonight, thanks.”

“i can’t even trust myself anymore.”

“anything to eat around here?”

“i hope to repay your kindness someday.”

“you’re a terrible flirt you know.”

“the only time you talk to me is when you need something.”

“how did you find me?”

“how can i possibly trust you? after all you’ve done.”

“i take orders from your father, not you.”

“you’re not a very convincing liar.”

“i thought i’d never see you again.”

“why can’t i come with you?”

“it was my fault. it was all my fault.”

“all this anger and hate, it’s not good for you.”

“this is the part where you apologize.”

“is being drunk an excuse?”

“let me out of here! let me go!”

“aren’t we in a good mood today?”

“i was making sure you weren’t dead, since you never called.”

“there’s nothing left for me here.”

“i know i lied to you. you can hate me and it’s all right.”

“i’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

“what happened? i heard a crash.”

“was it you? did you do all this?”

“don’t come any closer!”

“looking for something?”

“you’re too scared to do it, aren’t you?”

“i thought you’d like this.”

“you came back!”

“i like seeing you smile.”

“i must warn you, i won’t go easy on you this time.”

“it’s better to expect disappointment.”

“sorry to put you through that. i guess i owe you one now.”

“no way, i’m not doing that.”

“it’s you! you came for me.”

“could you be happy here with me?”

“let me buy you another drink.”

“why should i trust you?”

“he’s only mostly dead.”

“knowledge is power.”

“i screwed up. i know.”

“we’re going to have to stay here tonight.”

“help me choose something to wear?”

“i do care.”

“i’m sorry, i’m not what you think i am.”

“how many more people need to die before you’re satisfied?”

“you scared me.”

“just try to hang on.”

“i risked my life for you!”

“two years later and you haven’t changed.”

“we’re not so different after all.”

“i need you to trust me.”

“why are you being so stubborn?”

“you don’t scare me.”

“i’m scared of what you’re becoming.”

“you look like you just saw a ghost.”

“that’s quite a scratch you’ve got there.”

“i’ve always hated it.”

“this is the part where you leave.”

“don’t treat me like a child.”

“you were talking in your sleep.”

“what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“wait. i’ve heard that sound before.”

“would it be alright if i borrowed this?”

“i think i have a bit more experience with this thing than you do.”

“it’s not stealing if it was mine to begin with.”

“it’s nothing personal.”

“you were going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“i’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“don’t you fucking dare!”

“you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“it’s too dark, i can’t see anything.”

“i swear it wasn’t me.”

“that is not an appropriate question to ask a lady you’ve just met.”

“i’ve got your back, okay?”

“how long have i been asleep?”

“just who do you think you are?”

“i think i might’ve broken something…”

“i wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

“is this what you wanted?”

“what do you want in exchange for it?”

“did you miss me?”

“i’m trying my best and it’s not good enough.”

“it’s not safe for people to see us together.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i see a lot of myself in you.”

“take a seat, we’re gonna be here a while.”

“i won’t hate you. i know you think that’s what you deserve but it’s not.”

“who do you fight for?”

“it’s rare to see your kind around here.”

“walk with me?”

“i know you better than you think.”

“why did you bring me here?”

“what did you want to tell me?”

“you don’t even know my name.”

“it’s nothing, i’m just tired.”

“of course i care. you’re my family.”

“i didn’t tell you because i was afraid… of losing you.”

“where is my candy, you son of a bitch?”

“you want me to punch him in the face?”

“please… say something.”

“who the hell invited you?”

“we need to be careful.”

“i just wanted to say i’m sorry.”

“we’re locked in!”

“don’t be naked. i’m coming in.”

“do you ever get afraid?”

“you wouldn’t understand.”

“promise you’ll say something if you need help?”

“where have you been?”

“there was blood everywhere.”

“i just need to step away for a bit, get some fresh air.”

“we’re safe, aren’t we?”

“how about a little midnight snack?”

“how many people have you killed? how many?”

“whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is no.”

“you look… amazing.”

Keep reading

[greensght-arc]

outside,   winter rages     ...     a thing that threatens to swallow them whole.     even here   –   fire blazing,  surrounded by winterfell’s warm walls   –   it consumes.     he watches as it piles up and up and up,   until the castle looks as though it’s turned to snow itself.          ❝     fear is for the winter,  when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes.     ❞          the words are a shiver down his spine,   a memory half - forgotten.      winter is when they come.     and he’s seen them,   those dead things,   both in his dreams and out.     all grasping hands and cold dead fingers.          

and the others too,     the others   . . .

but it’s best not to remember that.     not now,  at least.     his eyes squeeze shut,   pushing the memory back to the depths of his brain,   forcing it somewhere where it can gnaw but not threaten.   he is a man grown now,   and a prince besides,   and both have their duties.    so he takes off his child’s face and puts on a braver one,   turning towards his brother with a face years older than his own,     a face he hoped was like their father’s          ❝     rickon     ...     are you afraid  ?     ❞      the question sits awkward on his tongue,   stern where he had wished to comfort.     this role is his,  but how to fill it?     –     he wishes father was here.          ❝     of what’s to come,   i mean.     of  winter.     ❞      /    @northeir

[greensght-arc]

*   .   @northeir​​ :

                  AMONGST   FRESHLY   PLOWED   FIELDS,      two   great   beasts   hunt–            field   mice   ᴛʜᴇɪʀ   ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ  as   they   keep   snouts   low   to   the   soil,      and   sniff   the   rodents   out.            “         @greensght?         “            rickon   looks   away   from   shaggydog   and   summer   as   the   cart   jostles,         hodor   at   it’s   ʜᴇʟᴍ   pulling   them   along   a   narrow   path   beside   a   small   farm.            “      where   are   we   going?      “

they’re  going  somewhere  out  of  a  fairytale         [  ...  ]          beyond  the  wall  and  the  end  of  the  world  to  meet  the  three - eyed  crow      :       a  stomach - twisting  thought,   accompanied  by  a  phantom  ache  between  his  eyes,    brought  about  by  night  full  of  endless  pecking.               (        fly or die  !        but  he  couldn’t  fly  and  the  crow  never  listened,     no  matter  how  much  he  pleaded.          )               but  jojen  had  wished  to  go  and  jojen  always  got  what  he  wished.            ❝       we’re  going  to  see  the  three - eyed  crow,     just  as  jojen  said.       ❞           

                   he  knows  he  should  comfort,   should  take  his  brother’s  hands  in  his  and  tell  him  all  would  turn  out  well,    that  stories  like  this  always  have  a  happy ending       –       but  his  fingers  have  tied  themselves  in  knots,     nails  digging  into  the  space  between  index  and  thumb.            ❝        he’s  going  to  be  my  teacher.       ❞

[greensght-arc]

𝙎𝘼𝙉𝙎𝘼  𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆.

*    @greensght​​    —    YOU  DON’T  HAVE  TO  GO  THROUGH  THIS  ALONE    (   BRAN  &  SANSA   ) 

OLDER,   WISER,   SADDER      —      THIS   IS   HOW   THEY   RETURN   TO   WINTERFELL.         those   of   them   that   yet   live,   those   of   the   starks   who   breathe   and   speak   and   love   through   the   years   of   pain   and   separation   and   death   that   keep   them   apart,   are   different   than   when   they   leave.      sansa’s   tears   soak   the   blankets   and   furs   covering   her   little   brother   before   she   leaves   for   king’s   landing.      she   weeps,   and   she   prays   that   he   will   yet   live      —      that   she   will   be   able   to   speak   to   her   sweet   brother   bran   again.   

her   prayers   are   answered,   but   not   as   she   expects      —      not   as   long   as   she   readies   to   wait.      she   holds   her   brother’s   hand   again,   though   it   and   he   are   larger   and   more   withered   than   even   those   days   of   endless   sleep   and   dark.      but   she   is   changed   as   well,   is   she   not?      the   way   bran   looks   at   her,   the   way   he   speaks   and   offers   his   love   and   his   aide,   prove   that   more   than   anything   else.

sansa   smiles   softly,   sadly,   tears   prickling   her   blue   eyes.            “      we   will   not   be   parted   again,   will   we?      i   could   not   bear   it,   i   think   .   .   .      ”            it   is   expected   by   many   that   she   will   marry   again      —      that   she   will   leave   winterfell,   as   she   has   been   raised   to   do      —      and   join   a   lord   in   his   castle,   manage   his   home,   give   him   children.      and   that   is   what   she   wishes   for   so   long   .   .   .      but   not   now.      she   squeezes   her   brother’s   hand   tighter,   now   with   desperation   in   her   gaze.            “      promise   me,   bran.      promise   me?      ”

homecoming  is  always  bittersweet         –          halls  ringing  with  memories  of  times  long - fled,     their  stone  cold  with  loss.          is  that  what  has  become  of  me,   too  ?      have  i  grown  hard  and  cold  as  well  ?          a  grim  thought  for  a  grim  boy,     one  that  lingers  ice - cold  in  his  chest.     when  he  had  left  winterfell  it  had  been  a  home  in  ruin,    smoke  still  rising  from  its  ashen  remains     –     it  is  changed  now,     rebuilt  by  unknown  hands.          but  still  it  stands,     home  of  starks  for  centuries  past,     and  home  to  him  as  well.     changed,    yes,     but  in  many  ways  the  same.      is  that  not  enough  ?           he  holds  his  sister’s  hands  in  one  of  his  own,      looking  down  at  that  face  that  is  a  hallmark  of  so  many  childhood  memories,     changed  by  the  years,     but  the  same  underneath.

it  is     .  .   .     he  gives  his  sister’s  hands  a  squeeze,     wiping  the  tear  from  her  cheek  and  leaning  to  press  a  soft  kiss  to  her  brow.     he  wants  nothing  more  than  to  protect  her,    to  don  sword  and  shield  and  keep  her  safe  and  by  his  side  like  a  knight  from  one  of  the  stories  he  had  once  loved.           (     but  he  knows  he  cannot.     )          heavy  is  the  head  that  wears  the  crown     –     but  no  one  ever  speaks  of  how  hard  it  is  on  the  heart.          ❛          sansa    .  .  .         ❜          he  wants  to  cry.     wants  to  cry  and  scream  and  beat  his  fists  against  the  floor  like  some  little  child     –     but  he  does  not.     his  eyes  stay  dry,     shoulders  set  and  steady.          ❛          i  will  try.     i  promise  that  i  will  try.         ❜

[greensght-arc]

❛ㅤㅤcertainty  of  death.ㅤsmall  chance  of  success.ㅤit  is  my  destiny  all  the  same.ㅤㅤ❜        (      @wanderism      )

the  woods  creak  and  groanㅤ  ㅤ–ㅤ  ㅤnight  air  alive  with  the  settling  of  trees  and  rustle  of  wings.     long - clawed  creatures  and  worse  lurking  behind  every  shadow.     and  yet  between  them  firelight  dances,ㅤㅤfrodo's  face  awash  with  the  flame's  brilliant  glow.ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤit's  like  something  from  a  story  book,ㅤㅤthis  talk  of  destiny.ㅤㅤa  fireside  tale  of  heroes  and  monsters.ㅤㅤone  of  the  scary  ones      –     where  the  hero  knows  he  is  doomed  but  trudges  on  anyways.ㅤㅤ)          the  thought  chills  him  to  his  very  bone      :      if  he  is  that  hero,     then  what  am  i   ?     is  my  tale  just  as  dark   ?     inside  the  flame,     a  twig  cracks,     breaking  from  itself  and  turning  to  ash.         ❛          your  destiny.         ❜          words  barely  louder  than  a  whisper,     as  if  speech  itself  is  damning.          ❛          jojen     –     my  friend.     he  dreams  of  things.     things  that  are  to  come     .  .  .     like  destiny.         ❜          the  sea  coming  to  winterfell,     bodies  dead  and  drowned,      his  own  death     –      but  he  will  not  think  of  that,     not  when  his  dreams  are  much  the  same.          ❛          do  you  think  destinies  can  ever  be  changed  ?         ❜

[greensght-arc]

in  the  trees     ,     ravens  stir           –          forest  sprung  to  life  with  the  rustling  of  feathers  ,   quiet  caws  in  the  dark.          brandon  stark  pays  them  no  heed  ,   silent  as  his  horse  trods  along  path  unseen  ,   reigns  loose  in  his  frozen  fingers     . . .      he  trails  along  after  his  brother’s  horse  ,   movements  more  memory  than  substance.     for  he  is  there  but  not  ,   more  body  than  boy.          [  …  ]          above  ,   a  raven  spirals  upwards  from  the  treetops  ,   its  sharp  black  eyes  cast  down.     searching  ,   searching   . . .     and  finding.     white  wolf  against  the  snow.      it  looks  up  at  him  with  red  eyes  ,   though  it  makes  no  sound.     ghost.     a  name  pulled  from  memories  that  were  not  its  own.     a  name  pulled  from     –         [  …  ]         down  below  ,   the  boy  stirs  in  his  saddle  ,   hands  raising  to  wipe  at  dry  eyes  and  bring  some  warmth  back  to  wind - whipped  cheeks.

                   ❛          i  saw  ghost   .  .  .         ❜          his  voice  cracks  ,   squeezing  itself  out  of  parched  throat  and  through  chapped  lips.     and  yet  he  smiles  ,   eyes  shining  with  a  sort  of  childish  glee.         ❛          and  i  think  he  saw  me  ,   too.         ❜

☽                  [  ...  ]                  @wanderism​​

[philomena-famulok]

©Philomena Famulok

[greensght-arc]

for  eleven  days  it  has  snowed  without  end         [  …  ]          not  the  gentle  swirls  of  summer’s  days ,   but  something  near - blizzard      –     gale  winds  and  flakes  that  sting  any  exposed  skin.         (          stark  words  ring  true     :     winter  has  come  at  last  ,   the  first  of  his  life.         )          he  watches  it  unfold  from  his  window  seat  ,   half - frozen  fingers  pressed  against  the  glass  ,   the  world  outside  distorted  through  breath - fogged panes.      and  ,   though  he  knows  it  is  only  winterfell  ,    it  may  as  well  be  somewhere  a  thousand  leagues  away.     somewhere  still  beyond  the  wall  ,   where  the  dead  loom  and  fear  holds  his  heart  in  a  vice.      the  thought  sends  a  chill  through  him  ,    horrors  unwillingly  summoned  once  more  ,   his  friends  dead  and  skeletal  hands  reaching  up  to  grab  at  him  ,   pulling  and  pulling  and      . . .     his  eyes  squeeze  shut  ,   memories  released  with  a  shuddering  breath.

                     ❛          winter  has  swallowed  us  whole.         ❜          eyes  open  once  more  onto  that  formless  world  of  white     –     once  familiar  walls  turned  looming  towers  of  snow  ,   winterfell  a  fortress  of  ice.         ❛          when  i  left  winterfell  ,   everything  was  burned  to  the  ground.      they’ve  built  it  back  ,   but     . . .         ❜         once  upon  a  time  he  had  known  every  stone  upon  the  castle’s  walls  ,   had  known  every  hidden  place  and  secret  spot.     but  now  it  has  been  built  back  by  unfamiliar  hands  ,   its  walls  lined  with  unfamiliar  faces.     not  dead  ,   but  changed.        

                    changed  that  has  been  buried  ,   even  the  worst  of  summer’s  days  swallowed  up  by  impending  doom  ,   by  a  world  turned  on  its  head  ,   by  winter  itself.     he  turns  from  the  window  ,     one  hand  still  pressed  against  its  glass.     turns  towards  her.    the  mother  of  dragons  ,    silver - haired  and  radiant  ,   like  an  image  plucked  from  the  past.     daenerys  targaryen        .  .  .         somewhere  in  the  godswood  ,    the  heart  tree  rustles  ,    its  old - eyes  half  hidden  under  the  falling  snow.     but  still  watching  ,   ever  watching         .  .  .         and  he  watches  ,   too.     watches  with  eyes  steady  and  sorrowful.         ❛          i  am  afraid.         ❜

☽                  [  ...  ]                  @stovmborn​​