In The Godswood She Found Her Broomstick Sword Where She Had Left It, And Carried It To The Heart Tree.

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. "Tell me what to do, you gods," she prayed. For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya's skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father's voice. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he said. "But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan." "You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you." "The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. - Arya X, ACoK

Arya is so rarely associated with faith and prayer in this fandom, yet when she prays to the Old Gods for guidance, they respond and restrengthen her sense of self. Arya of Winterfell! Daughter of the North! She is a direwolf and done with wooden teeth! ✨🤍🩶🐺✨

THE WALKING DEAD: THE ONES WHO LIVE | S1E01 "Years"

Mother and son. The shield is a bit too small for his tastes but by the gods Jon's gonna use it.

Featuring pointillism because I'm at work and do not have access to anything other than office supplies. Also I don't think I own art supplies?

A few notes:

• Jon's shield arm is giving Rob Liefield, I know. Nevermind the anatomy.

• All things considered, the lack of Ukrainian flower crowns in Lyanna fanart is absolutely criminal.

• Post-res!Jon adopts black, white and red as his colors for. Uh. Several reasons. He's making a exception here, though.

• If the wolf embroidery on Lyanna's sleeve looks a bit wonky... Well, it's because she did it herself. Sorry girl. I also Cannot draw roses for the life of me, apparently.

• Jon got Lyanna's nose and chin! Those emo eyes, though. He's lucky no one who knew Rhaegar paid attention to him. Also I'm a pretty hair Jon truther no cap.

Anne Brontë, Agnes Grey

They say that fanfiction is all stanning. But has anyone stanned the source material to the point of getting distracted from writing fanfiction?

You know what I mean, bookworms? Just to give you a window into my oscillating thoughts: If my guy Jon Snow has returned to the Wall post-ADWD with his betrothed Daenerys Targaryen, yeah I'm gonna stan what came before and make shit up like crazy. The struggle is real! I love the romance of these ‘soulmates’ but I also love everything that makes asoiaf what it is. (Within reason.)

If I stan too much, I write slow-going passages like this:

Jon’s heart felt full as he left her side, his mind brimming with thoughts of their eventful morning so far.  My love, where do we go from here? He knew where he was going, at the least. He would find Samwell in the Flint Barracks. In the three days they’d been at Castle Black, both men had yet to break from meetings to tend to personal interactions. With the increasing days among the Watch, it became more strange to think of himself and Sam as former members of the order. He’d expected the feeling even before they’d left Winterfell, yet as he walked across the courtyard and felt the gazes of a few dozen black brothers upon his back, it shook him all the same. 

Yet another feeling warred within Jon Snow. On the right step he’d sense the men. On the left step he’d sense Daenerys. Her attention and love thrilled him, as like it had only one other time. On Dragonstone. Their home.

But if I hold back on the stanning, I write meatier passages like this:

It was hard to say if anyone took offense enough to the executioner’s blade hanging above them, for as often as the Northern lords, free folk and warriors large and small came up to the dais to present themselves, did the displays of fealty reassure her of Jon's leadership. Strikingly, the free folk never kneeled, but they did offer gifts, the most sobering of which were a pair of bearskin boots given to Queen Daenerys by a group of spearwives.  

She took them graciously and wondered if the wise men would believe the gesture had given King Jon’s uncertain frown a rosy flush. That he was charmed enough to tell her a tale of the hunter who’d fashioned them was welcomed with her whole heart. As she listened to him describe the father of two who fell to the Others at the event many had come to call the Passing Through the Ice, she wondered if the scribes of history would tell of this pair, the last he ever made. And as Jon sort of sat and looked at her for a long time, she wondered if they would believe she was hopelessly lost for him, as well.

So it's coming! If anyone has read "A Long Way Home" and is waiting for the next fic in the series, I'd like to get Chapter 1 up before House of the Dragon comes out in June. (Because of the competition, you see, from their very same Team Black forebearers.) That's the goal, anyway!

honestly rhaegar targaryen is one of my favourite characters. he's like a ghost posessing the text, permeating the narrative with meaning and magic and prophecy, a memory of music to make you weep, of iron in his voice and sadness in indigo eyes, grief and mist. he haunts the living, the blood of the dragon daenerys wants to be and the sire jon doesn't know he had, the fairytale and the tragedy, saviour and doom, born amid fire and blood, heir to a dying legacy. yet the rubies flew from his chest, the dragon his sigil was ressurrected on the great grass sea by the sister so like him, his son the fire that burns against the cold just as aegon the dragon foretold. the prince of dragonstone is in every corner of the page.