Ygritte was the best part of Game of Thrones. There is no debate.
@me if you have the stones for it.
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Ygritte was the best part of Game of Thrones. There is no debate.
@me if you have the stones for it.
cry to this.
When I sleep at night, I dream of a Jon Arryn to write with.
House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Descendants of bastard blood and Storm Kings. Strong, dark, storm-tempered. Stags and stones. Crowns and fury.
┏┓ ┃┃╱╲ In this ┃╱╱╲╲ house ╱╱╭╮╲╲ we love ▔▏┗┛▕▔ & appreciate ╱▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔╲ ELIA MARTELL ╱╱┏┳┓╭╮┏┳┓ ╲╲ ▔▏┗┻┛┃┃┗┻┛▕▔
Memes with @rhaegxr get me more followers than my actual writing does. Priorities.
@steel-winter-rose honorable mention.
Rhaegar Targaryen,
Send me “Smash or Pass” + a name and my muse will answer with 100% honesty.
“Smash!”
@rhaegxr
Send me “Smash or Pass” + a name and my muse will answer with 100% honesty.
Reblog if your icon
would fight 10 men at once
We made ourselves cold. We made ourselves snow. We smuggled ourselves into ourselves. Haunted by each other’s knowledge.
RICHARD SIKEN / WAR OF THE FOXES
@steel-winter-rose
Her ponderous words were more than Robert had expected. He found himself to be quite unprepared for such a solemn blow. Perhaps he should have expected as much, she was Ned’s sister after all. They had the same pensive look to them. Ned had always said such things were a token of Stark heritage. To him there was always a sadness about them, but one of regal poise. Hints of envy rose to his features as Robert struggled to find fitting articulation for himself. An oaf he was at times. Still it troubled him to see her in such a downtrodden mood. He had always struggled with the laments of others. He much preferred to bury his own, so why should others not do the same?
“I don’t find myself to be haunted, my lady, though your brother oft reminds me that I ought to. I find that which I do not know, troubles me more than that which I do.” Choked for words and feigning whatever cleverness he could muster, Robert lowered his voice and likewise his chin. His rather absurd height usually gave him confidence. It was strongly built into his boisterous persona, but it had somehow made him feel rather uncomfortable now. His knees longed to bend, if only to bring him to eye level with the prepossessing maid. In all his days, he had scarcely met a woman who managed to entice and vex him in such a way.
“I might be able to guess what knowledge of yours troubles you so. You needn’t keep it smuggled away. I’d rather a stern slap than a secret kept.” As honest as he was, it was hard to deem himself regretful. He was no Baelor the Blessed, and he sought not to hide that fact. “What is made can be unmade, be rid of your snow and we shall see summer.”
just a soft psa: its okay if your muse hates my muse(s)???? like don’t feel obligated that your muse has to get along / be allies with my muses. people don’t get along — it happens. i am 1000% not going to think that its your ( the mun ) feelings directed towards me if our muses interact with distain or hate!
me: I’m highly selective with who I ship my muse with also me:
"Look away but I’m still there." [ yes, hello there ]
RICHARD SIKEN / WAR OF THE FOXES
@rhaegxr
Such simple words, but they served as a threat nonetheless. Oh, how he longed to dream of fairer days or finer folk, but alas, it would never be so. In rest, he longed to wake from his nightmares, but once awakened all he desired was the sweet touch of sleep. For all his hatred, the dragon prince had never used such scornful words toward him. By fate, they had become foes, but by all rights, the two were bound by more than destiny. They shared blood and country, centuries of kinship even, but wicked deeds brought them to odds.
Robert oft wandered whether his disdain was reciprocated. They had dubbed it his rebellion, but by all means the Mad King had asked for it himself. His was the fury that chased the dragons from the land, and surely the whelps that had escaped despised him so. He remembered the Trident, how could he ever forget it? Rhaegar had fought with vigor, with intent, but did he have the same boil in his blood? Robert hoped so.
But by the end of it all, Robert was defeated. He had the crown, the kingdoms, the glory, but it was naught compared to what was lot. Not lost, stolen. Happiness had been taken from him, he had not surrendered it.
By whatever capacity he could, Robert slammed a fat hand at the visage that haunted him. It was all empty smoke and memory, but it was always the same form, the same monster. No matter how fervently he pleaded, she was never among his dreams. It was always him, and every night he fought the war, over and over again.
RICHARD SIKEN / WAR OF THE FOXES Change pronouns as necessary and tweak sentences as appropriate!
I am faithful to you, darling.
When you bang on the wall you have to remember you’re on both sides of it but go ahead, yell at yourself.
Some people don’t understand anything.
He’s easy to desire since there’s not much to him.
No one wants to know what’s in his head.
To make something beautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.
You’d break your heart to make it bigger.
Will you defend yourself? From me, I mean.
Let’s kill something.
I prefer to blame others, it’s easier.
All these ghosts come streaming down and I wish I had something else.
We all move forward anyway. Ripples in all directions.
What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead.
All thoughts finish themselves eventually.
Can we love nature for what it really is: predatory?
When you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way.
Something’s not right about what I’m doing but I’m still doing it.
The enormity of my desire disgusts me.
Look away but I’m still there.
Want something to chase you? Run.
Take only what you need.
Never finish a war without starting another.
I’ve seen your true face: the back of your head. If you were walking away, keep walking.
The fear: that nothing survives. The greater fear: that something does.
All these things and what to do with them. We carve up the world all the time.
I like dead things. They cannot hurt me.
We like things related to our survival: soup, arrows - they expand the range of the species.
My body is a graveyard.
People like to think war means something.
Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other. We know who our enemies are. We know.
There are many loves but only one war.
You will need to comfort him, or we will never be finished with this.
You cannot have an opponent if you keep saying yes.
Its roots in the ground and its branches in the air, a tree is pulled in two directions.
The boy is a bird, bad bird. He falls out of trees.
You cannot get in the way of anyone’s path to God. You can, but it does no good.
Some say God is where we put our sorrow.
In the wrong light anyone can look like a darkness.
What can you know about a person?
Difficult thing, to be scrutinized so long.
Even when I look away I am still looking.
Everyone secretly wants to collaborate with the enemy, to construct a truer version of the self.
How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?
Why build a room you can live in? Why build a shed for your fears?
There wasn’t much left but it felt like him, wild and scared.
The best part of spirituality is reverence. There are other parts. Some people like to hear the sound of their own voice.
If you don’t believe in God, then who are you talking to?
But truth doesn’t count in law, only proof.
Was I discovered or invented? Feels like I’ve always been here.
Measure yourself against the truth and not the other way around.
Perfect and completely dead.
People don’t learn anything unless they are afraid of being left behind.
Logic is boring because it works. Being unreasonable is exciting.
I am your arrival, there is no refusal, we are here, you see, together, we are already here.
This is also part of the story: how the story changes. This is something I forgot to tell you.
You might like it here. I think that you might like it here.
I tell you these things because I love you.
It’s nothing like I thought it would be and closer to what I meant.
Maybe we will wake up to the silence of shoes at the foot of the bed not going anywhere.
It reminds me of where I was going without you.
You know what it’s like to be alone: gimlets and vermicide. You know what it’s like to be alive, so forgiveness.
You asked me once, What are we made of? Well, these are the things we’re made of.
I turned my ears in all directions. I’ll live alone or in between.
Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.
I live in big spaces, so I’m left alone in big spaces.
We made ourselves cold. We made ourselves snow. We smuggled ourselves into ourselves. Haunted by each other’s knowledge.
To hide somewhere is not surrender, it is trickery.
I try to guess your trajectory and end up telling my own story.
I surrender my desire to be healed.
Take it or leave it, and for the most part you take it.
Shame comes from vanity. Shame means you’re guilty, like the rest of us, but you think you’re better than we are. Maybe you are.
There is no new me, there is no old me, there’s just me, the same me, the whole time.
Don’t try to make a stronger wind, you’ll wear yourself out. Build a better sail.
You want to solve something? Get out of your own way.
What’s the difference between me and the world? Compartmentalisation.
I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard to make it love.
I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary.
I’d rather quit. I’d rather be sad. It’s too much work.
I mean, maybe it’s better if my opponent wins.
What happens when I no longer want to meet you?
Nothing lasts forever: we know this.
Longing and suffering? Of course, of course. You want it to mean something.
You can disconnect it or you can try to glue it all together.
We could pull it apart, spend our whole lives pulling it apart and have no time left to do anything smart with the pieces.
The sooner you embrace it, the sooner it will leave you.
You are what you cover up.
Noise and more noise. Noise up to heaven.
One wonders why a story like this exists.
I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.
Someone has to leave first.
He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand.
All this was prepared for me. All this was set in motion long ago.
I stayed as long as I could. Now look at the moon.
What does all this love amount to?
On this blog, we appreciate Ned Stark for the honorable nerd that he is.