His Heart, Her Home

Jonrya side blog that may also contain Jon/Arya/Gendry, Jon/Arya/Satin, Jon/Arya/Edric, Jon/Arya/Aegon, or other polyships. Early 20s, she/her or he/him. Inconstant.

[hewantshisbrideback]

Welcome! I use my own tagging system here to keep my posts from falling into general tag pages - if you’re on mobile and looking for a specific kind of post try typing #hewantshis into the search bar, and the different tags should pop up. On desktop, you can find it in the theme links, but for mobile users the link to my AO3 is here.

[enchantedbook]

“The Swan Princess” illustrated by Boris Zvorykin (1920) for the fairytale by Alexander Pushkin.

[shock]

[needlekiss]

jon and arya during the long night

🎨 done by bloodshot_hare on twt

[lorillee]

big tshirt that says YOUR INTERPRETATIONS MUST HAVE A STRONG BASIS IN THE SOURCE MATERIAL on the front and I HATE FUN on the back

[artigas]

there's something to be said, i think, about modern fandom's increasing fixation with paratext versus canon -- whether that's something as substantial as entertainment articles, actor interviews, comments from showrunners, bts footage, and deleted scenes or something as insubstantial (and often misleading) as an actor's body language while they do promo, unsubstantiated rumors of displeasure or friction between the cast and/or the writers, and full blown conspiracy theories ("there's a secret unaired episode that will make everything right" is a popular one right now). maybe it's obvious to say that this probably stems from an audience that is fundamentally dissatisfied or disinterested in the story they're being told and instead privileges the story they've convinced themselves they've been told by virtue of their fandom experience. in other words, that there's a kind of enmeshment that happens for some of us where the meta-analyses, headcanons, and fandom chatter (which often takes a kernel of truth from canon and runs with it to often fascinating but not always legitimate readings) becomes blurred with what is actually canon to the media we're enjoying. at least, i can certainly trace where this blurring of boundaries has shown up with me in my long history with fandom, particularly when i was coming of age.

i think it's uncomfortable, but often necessary to recognize when we're watching a show or a film or reading a book or playing a video game with different expectations or desires than the story ever promised to fulfill. simply, you can't draw blood from a stone, you know? and I think this idea, however simple, is often very easy to forget when you're in fandom because fanworks are innately transformative. in fandom, we draw blood from stones all the time. we re-imagine characters, relationships, universes in whichever way we deem fit so that we can experience wish fulfillment. but as the fourth wall between fandom and the creatives behind media becomes thinner and thinner, the boundary between what is the job of storytellers (to tell a story), what is the job of the audience (to receive the story or opt out), and what is the job of fandom (to connect with one another over shared imaginative and transformative reception of the story being told) is getting muddied to detrimental effect. coupled with the rise of hyper-individualism and the increasing commodification of fanworks into traditionally published forms, this is where we get a real wave of entitlement from fandom -- this sense that the storyteller owes something to us by virtue of our fannish devotion and that perceived failure to meet our desires is worthy of a host of outrage and abuses. i think this is where paratext comes in and why the notion of what is or isn't canon feels perhaps more debatable now than ever before. i think it's born from a blend of hyper-individualism effecting how we think and behave as audience members, the increasing sense of entitlement that is borne out of such individualist thinking, the vanishing of the fourth wall between fandom and the mainstream as well as the creators of media that fandom enjoys, and a growing inability to accept the story you're being told on its own terms (and go happily and exclusively to fandom to remedy the urge for something more). because, really, what paratext offers is a sense of legitimacy -- usually when it conveniently upholds what you privately wanted in the first place. if the show you love isn't giving you enough to substantiate your ship, you can get your fix through an actor's interviews, their exposure to fanfiction and fan art, and their perceived approval of the ship. their opinion, by virtue of their literal proximity to the show, legitimizes your own. if the movie you love doesn't do enough with a character you find interesting, a scrapped plan for what the character might've done or a deleted scene might do the same. etc etc.

And while I think it's fine to find the perspectives of actors and showrunners interesting, I do think you get into messy waters when you consider these things just as legitimate as what makes it onto the page or screen -- because, factually, that just isn't true. and if you step outside of fan spaces, you often see this disconnect: i'm sure we have all had the experience of talking to a friend, a parent, or a coworker who "isn't online" and is completely flabbergasted by fandom discourse or simply never would've come up with a popular fanon interpretation or critique if you'd given them a hundred years. because casual viewership (which is almost by definition never going to seek out actor interviews, articles, social media stories, and what an actor likes or doesnt like on instagram) is receiving only the text: the story that, by virtue of the many forces that constrain, inform, and transform the myriad intentions of every person involved in the project, finally and actually made it to the screen. and i dunno, i wonder sometimes if there's something to envy in that.

[hewantshisbrideback]

Dual Intentions Chapter 3 Excerpt: Jon POV

Thanks for the patience! Have been dying to come back to write, but life has gotten in the way. Think it's freeing up soon!*(Accidentally deleted original post, oops.)

Arya has always fit perfectly in his lap. They must have each been born at just the right times for it to work out that way. The consistency was astonishing. Every time he grew, so did she, but only the exact amount to keep things perfect.

There was a brief moment, while packing his bags this morning, where he wondered if that would still be the case now, but he dismissed any worry immediately. Arya could be six feet tall and as thick as the Mountain, and Jon would still find a way to toss her about regardless, whatever effort that meant.

But clearly, it needn't have been a concern. Arya is, if anything, too little. Too light in his arms. Malnourished.

"What were they feeding you in Braavos? Salted sea air? Spoonfuls of shadows?" He gripes, setting her on his hip like a baby and giving her arm a soft pinch with a frown.

Snorting, she bats at his hand, but even that is playful, turning into a grasp as she toys with his fingers. Hers are far too spindly.

"I'm as strong as a bear," she insists, eyes averted, ostensibly observing his hand. Hm.

"And as thin as a reed," he counters, shaking his head, tromping down the stairs, making her yelp and latch onto his neck instead. "That's just fine. I'll fatten you up myself if I have to."

"We don't need to go that far," she grins, but he's adamant.

"No, no, we'll be fixing you right up at the movie theater, little thing. Giant bucket of popcorn, all the candy we can smuggle in, icees, pretzels, the works."

"I'll be dead in a food coma before the movie's halfway over," she complains.

"Nah. It's a scary move, isn't it? The fright will keep you awake," he assures her with a smirk, tapping her nose.

She has no argument there, merely settling her head on his shoulder, resting a moment as he totes her off to the car, setting her primly in the backseat. His hands are reaching for the belt before she can even blink.

"I can buckle myself in, you know," she scoffs.

He scoffs right back, clicking the fastener and patting her head. He'd meant to be quick, casual, but his fingers don't catch in knots the way they used to, sliding through smooth, loose waves instead. It takes a moment for him to reboot at the sensation.

"You brushed your hair," he finds himself blurting.

They blink at each other in mutual surprise. Pink burns on her cheeks, and she squirms a little under him, stirring a strange feeling in his gut.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She harrumphs, crossing her arms, eyes falling again.

His hand lingers at the side of her head, and Jon watches, almost as if it's a creature with a mind of its own and he's merely observing, as it moves to fit to her cheek.

"You know," he says, low and thoughtful. "You know what I mean."

She looks up but doesn't respond, and he's not sure quite how to read the uncertainty there.

There's a moment of quiet before his hand finally drops, adjusting her seatbelt, ensuring she's comfortable, fidgeting with her coat.

"Didn't think you even knew how to wield a comb," he mutters.

She pouts. He isn't looking directly at her, but he can feel the way her mouth moves even still. "Very funny."

There was a flash of something there, he realizes, his eyes darting up, absorbing the little twitches and shifts on display before they get swallowed up.

She's better at hiding now. But not from him. She's embarrassed. He tilts his head.

"Did you... do that for me?" He asks, a little wonder caught in his throat.

Her eyes flare and snap up, boring into his directly now. "No!" She snaps, but she's lying.

Little sister, his chest purrs, and a grin breaks out.

"No!" She repeats again, more urgently, and he laughs.

She's growling now, and he bends down, pleased beyond measure, and he presses a kiss to her hairline. When she swats at him, he catches her wrist, smothers her in the same kisses she rained down on him earlier.

"You little menace," he chides, heart overfull as she hisses like a cat. His eyes crease with affection. "Don't do that."

"Don't make fun of me, then—"

"No," he corrects her, suddenly more serious. "Don't brush your hair for me."

Her mouth parts, warring between baffled and offended. "Why not?"

"Because," he smiles, releasing her and beginning to back out again, "I'll do it instead."

He enjoys the way she blinks at that. Just as he enjoys the way her hand snaps out, catches his arm, holding him hostage. "Where are you going?"

She's talking like she's angry, but he reads the worry in her grip. The you just got here, stupid, don't leave yet, don't leave.

He feels like a fool, floating. He presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, then pries her off, squeezes her hand as he steps back into the chill, bent over to smile cheekily. "We left your bag inside, little sister. Surely, you don't intend to spend the night in just your underthings?" Her mouth drops open, and he cuts her off. "I won't leave you long."

Posting later than I intended because work went longer than I thought, and then I accidentally deleted the original post... lol I have more and intend to write when I can, but this is all I feel comfortable offering at the moment! May come back to edit later as well. Thanks for your patience, interest, and encouragement, guys! I am steadily making my way back to the fandom. ♡

[hewantshisbrideback]

Dual Intentions Chapter 3 Excerpt: Jon POV

Thanks for the patience! Have been dying to come back to write, but life has gotten in the way. Think it's freeing up soon!*(Accidentally deleted original post, oops.)

Arya has always fit perfectly in his lap. They must have each been born at just the right times for it to work out that way. The consistency was astonishing. Every time he grew, so did she, but only the exact amount to keep things perfect.

There was a brief moment, while packing his bags this morning, where he wondered if that would still be the case now, but he dismissed any worry immediately. Arya could be six feet tall and as thick as the Mountain, and Jon would still find a way to toss her about regardless, whatever effort that meant.

But clearly, it needn't have been a concern. Arya is, if anything, too little. Too light in his arms. Malnourished.

"What were they feeding you in Braavos? Salted sea air? Spoonfuls of shadows?" He gripes, setting her on his hip like a baby and giving her arm a soft pinch with a frown.

Snorting, she bats at his hand, but even that is playful, turning into a grasp as she toys with his fingers. Hers are far too spindly.

"I'm as strong as a bear," she insists, eyes averted, ostensibly observing his hand. Hm.

"And as thin as a reed," he counters, shaking his head, tromping down the stairs, making her yelp and latch onto his neck instead. "That's just fine. I'll fatten you up myself if I have to."

"We don't need to go that far," she grins, but he's adamant.

"No, no, we'll be fixing you right up at the movie theater, little thing. Giant bucket of popcorn, all the candy we can smuggle in, icees, pretzels, the works."

"I'll be dead in a food coma before the movie's halfway over," she complains.

"Nah. It's a scary move, isn't it? The fright will keep you awake," he assures her with a smirk, tapping her nose.

She has no argument there, merely settling her head on his shoulder, resting a moment as he totes her off to the car, setting her primly in the backseat. His hands are reaching for the belt before she can even blink.

"I can buckle myself in, you know," she scoffs.

He scoffs right back, clicking the fastener and patting her head. He'd meant to be quick, casual, but his fingers don't catch in knots the way they used to, sliding through smooth, loose waves instead. It takes a moment for him to reboot at the sensation.

"You brushed your hair," he finds himself blurting.

They blink at each other in mutual surprise. Pink burns on her cheeks, and she squirms a little under him, stirring a strange feeling in his gut.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She harrumphs, crossing her arms, eyes falling again.

His hand lingers at the side of her head, and Jon watches, almost as if it's a creature with a mind of its own and he's merely observing, as it moves to fit to her cheek.

"You know," he says, low and thoughtful. "You know what I mean."

She looks up but doesn't respond, and he's not sure quite how to read the uncertainty there.

There's a moment of quiet before his hand finally drops, adjusting her seatbelt, ensuring she's comfortable, fidgeting with her coat.

"Didn't think you even knew how to wield a comb," he mutters.

She pouts. He isn't looking directly at her, but he can feel the way her mouth moves even still. "Very funny."

There was a flash of something there, he realizes, his eyes darting up, absorbing the little twitches and shifts on display before they get swallowed up.

She's better at hiding now. But not from him. She's embarrassed. He tilts his head.

"Did you... do that for me?" He asks, a little wonder caught in his throat.

Her eyes flare and snap up, boring into his directly now. "No!" She snaps, but she's lying.

Little sister, his chest purrs, and a grin breaks out.

"No!" She repeats again, more urgently, and he laughs.

She's growling now, and he bends down, pleased beyond measure, and he presses a kiss to her hairline. When she swats at him, he catches her wrist, smothers her in the same kisses she rained down on him earlier.

"You little menace," he chides, heart overfull as she hisses like a cat. His eyes crease with affection. "Don't do that."

"Don't make fun of me, then—"

"No," he corrects her, suddenly more serious. "Don't brush your hair for me."

Her mouth parts, warring between baffled and offended. "Why not?"

"Because," he smiles, releasing her and beginning to back out again, "I'll do it instead."

He enjoys the way she blinks at that. Just as he enjoys the way her hand snaps out, catches his arm, holding him hostage. "Where are you going?"

She's talking like she's angry, but he reads the worry in her grip. The you just got here, stupid, don't leave yet, don't leave.

He feels like a fool, floating. He presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, then pries her off, squeezes her hand as he steps back into the chill, bent over to smile cheekily. "We left your bag inside, little sister. Surely, you don't intend to spend the night in just your underthings?" Her mouth drops open, and he cuts her off. "I won't leave you long."

Posting later than I intended because work went longer than I thought, and then I accidentally deleted the original post... lol I have more and intend to write when I can, but this is all I feel comfortable offering at the moment! May come back to edit later as well. Thanks for your patience, interest, and encouragement, guys! I am steadily making my way back to the fandom. ♡

[hewantshisbrideback]

Dual Intentions Chapter 3 Excerpt: Jon POV

Thanks for the patience! Have been dying to come back to write, but life has gotten in the way. Think it's freeing up soon!*(Accidentally deleted original post, oops.)

Arya has always fit perfectly in his lap. They must have each been born at just the right times for it to work out that way. The consistency was astonishing. Every time he grew, so did she, but only the exact amount to keep things perfect.

There was a brief moment, while packing his bags this morning, where he wondered if that would still be the case now, but he dismissed any worry immediately. Arya could be six feet tall and as thick as the Mountain, and Jon would still find a way to toss her about regardless, whatever effort that meant.

But clearly, it needn't have been a concern. Arya is, if anything, too little. Too light in his arms. Malnourished.

"What were they feeding you in Braavos? Salted sea air? Spoonfuls of shadows?" He gripes, setting her on his hip like a baby and giving her arm a soft pinch with a frown.

Snorting, she bats at his hand, but even that is playful, turning into a grasp as she toys with his fingers. Hers are far too spindly.

"I'm as strong as a bear," she insists, eyes averted, ostensibly observing his hand. Hm.

"And as thin as a reed," he counters, shaking his head, tromping down the stairs, making her yelp and latch onto his neck instead. "That's just fine. I'll fatten you up myself if I have to."

"We don't need to go that far," she grins, but he's adamant.

"No, no, we'll be fixing you right up at the movie theater, little thing. Giant bucket of popcorn, all the candy we can smuggle in, icees, pretzels, the works."

"I'll be dead in a food coma before the movie's halfway over," she complains.

"Nah. It's a scary move, isn't it? The fright will keep you awake," he assures her with a smirk, tapping her nose.

She has no argument there, merely settling her head on his shoulder, resting a moment as he totes her off to the car, setting her primly in the backseat. His hands are reaching for the belt before she can even blink.

"I can buckle myself in, you know," she scoffs.

He scoffs right back, clicking the fastener and patting her head. He'd meant to be quick, casual, but his fingers don't catch in knots the way they used to, sliding through smooth, loose waves instead. It takes a moment for him to reboot at the sensation.

"You brushed your hair," he finds himself blurting.

They blink at each other in mutual surprise. Pink burns on her cheeks, and she squirms a little under him, stirring a strange feeling in his gut.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She harrumphs, crossing her arms, eyes falling again.

His hand lingers at the side of her head, and Jon watches, almost as if it's a creature with a mind of its own and he's merely observing, as it moves to fit to her cheek.

"You know," he says, low and thoughtful. "You know what I mean."

She looks up but doesn't respond, and he's not sure quite how to read the uncertainty there.

There's a moment of quiet before his hand finally drops, adjusting her seatbelt, ensuring she's comfortable, fidgeting with her coat.

"Didn't think you even knew how to wield a comb," he mutters.

She pouts. He isn't looking directly at her, but he can feel the way her mouth moves even still. "Very funny."

There was a flash of something there, he realizes, his eyes darting up, absorbing the little twitches and shifts on display before they get swallowed up.

She's better at hiding now. But not from him. She's embarrassed. He tilts his head.

"Did you... do that for me?" He asks, a little wonder caught in his throat.

Her eyes flare and snap up, boring into his directly now. "No!" She snaps, but she's lying.

Little sister, his chest purrs, and a grin breaks out.

"No!" She repeats again, more urgently, and he laughs.

She's growling now, and he bends down, pleased beyond measure, and he presses a kiss to her hairline. When she swats at him, he catches her wrist, smothers her in the same kisses she rained down on him earlier.

"You little menace," he chides, heart overfull as she hisses like a cat. His eyes crease with affection. "Don't do that."

"Don't make fun of me, then—"

"No," he corrects her, suddenly more serious. "Don't brush your hair for me."

Her mouth parts, warring between baffled and offended. "Why not?"

"Because," he smiles, releasing her and beginning to back out again, "I'll do it instead."

He enjoys the way she blinks at that. Just as he enjoys the way her hand snaps out, catches his arm, holding him hostage. "Where are you going?"

She's talking like she's angry, but he reads the worry in her grip. The you just got here, stupid, don't leave yet, don't leave.

He feels like a fool, floating. He presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, then pries her off, squeezes her hand as he steps back into the chill, bent over to smile cheekily. "We left your bag inside, little sister. Surely, you don't intend to spend the night in just your underthings?" Her mouth drops open, and he cuts her off. "I won't leave you long."

Posting later than I intended because work went longer than I thought, and then I accidentally deleted the original post... lol I have more and intend to write when I can, but this is all I feel comfortable offering at the moment! May come back to edit later as well. Thanks for your patience, interest, and encouragement, guys! I am steadily making my way back to the fandom. ♡

[vqtkufi]

‘But in the low light, you know I’d do anything for you’.

[tinyghosthands]

[hewantshisbrideback]

I've got some of the Jon POV chapter for Dual Intentions written finally so I might be posting the excerpt tonight! Pretty happy with it so far, but curious to get feedback.

[thecollectibles]

Artemis Leading the Hunt — MTG Style by Ivana Abbate

[deathandmysticism]

Skull watch of Mary Queen of Scots, A history of the family of Seton during eight centuries, 1896

[shoukohime]

babygirl the way you forsake your happiness on your relentless quest to vengeance, your complicated relationship with gender and the way you're covered in blood have bewitched me body and soul

[aegon]

Do you think that there’s a connection between Jamie and Cersei being twins and having a relationship and Arya and Jon being the only ones to look alike in their family and being super close? I ship Jonerys but I feel like in the books Jon and Arya are way too close for it not to mean or add up to anything?? Martins original idea was for them to end up together too

Anon, you’re after my own heart. 

Jon x Arya parallels with Jaime x Cersei both on a relationship and an individual character level is one of my favourites to discuss and is so underappreciated. 

And I’m always here to rant about what I think Jon and Arya are all about! I have so many, many thoughts about how important their relationship is to their respective narratives. 

Buckle in, mate, I’m about to rant to hell. All my bottled up emotions over my faves, here we fucking go: 

Keep reading

[theoriginalsupermodels]

Loewe - Fall 2000 RTW