Rickon Yelled, "Me! Me Now! I Want To Play!" Little Walder Beckoned Him On, And Shaggydog Started To

Rickon yelled, "Me! Me now! I want to play!" Little Walder beckoned him on, and Shaggydog started to follow. "No, Shaggy," his brother commanded. "Wolves can't play. You stay with Bran." And he did...

...until Little Walder had smacked Rickon with the stick, square across his belly. Before Bran could blink, the black wolf was flying over the plank, there was blood in the water, the Walders were shrieking red murder, Rickon sat in the mud laughing, and Hodor came lumbering in shouting "Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!" (Bran I, ACoK)

Rickon: *laughs hysterically at attempted murder*

Me: "aww, he's so cute 🥺🥺"

Sansa appreciation month, day 4 ~ red

AU, Sansa as the chatelaine of Winterfell to her brother Rickon

~ the Red Wolf of Winterfell has a gentle heart and a will made of steel.

The wash her aunt had given her changed her own rich auburn into Alayne's burnt brown, but it was seldom long before the red began creeping back at the roots. — Alayne I, AFFC

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. — Sansa I, AFFC

Sansa looked at Rickon, perched on the seat that had been their lord father’s before, he had been but a babe when she had left Winterfell behind. He looks like Robb, she thought, seeing the way he set his jaw and jutted a bit his chin up.

“He looks like you, m’lady” Jeyne told her, seemingly having read her mind.

The red hair symbolises Sansa's identity as herself, as Ned and Cat's daughters and despite the dye it's never too long before the red creeps back at the roots, and show itself. Despite the farce she is living as Alayne Stone, despite dwelling in the shadow, it won't be long before her morals as a Stark of Winterfell, a daughter of Ned and Catelyn creep back. Her real identity is never too far behind her.

For sansamonth2022, day 4 ~ red

Day 6

House Stark // Vikings AU

Arya Stark and the old black tomcat, by Jonathan Burton, for The Folio Society’s illustrated collector’s edition of A Game of Thrones

The Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed and trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel… all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right there,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.” He had run her halfway across the castle; twice around the Tower of the Hand, across the inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks, along the base of the river wall and up more steps and back and forth over Traitor’s Walk, and then down again and through a gate and around a well and in and out of strange buildings until Arya didn’t know where she was. Now at last she had him. High walls pressed close on either side, and ahead was a blank windowless mass of stone. Quiet as a shadow, she repeated, sliding forward, light as a feather. When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat bolted. Left, then right, he went; and right, then left, went Arya, cutting off his escape. He hissed again and tried to dart between her legs. Quick as a snake, she thought. Her hands closed around him. She hugged him to her chest, whirling and laughing aloud as his claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. Ever so fast, she kissed him right between the eyes, and jerked her head back an instant before his claws would have found her face. The tomcat yowled and spit. –A Game of Thrones, Arya III

ARYA STARK APPRECIATION MONTH 2022 ↳ Day 23: Men in Arya’s life → Men searching for Arya throughout the series

She would have been better alone. If she had been alone, the outlaws would never have caught her, and she’d be with Robb and her mother by now. They were never my pack. If they had been, they wouldn’t leave me. She splashed through a puddle of muddy water. Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills, half a heartbeat behind the lightning. The lightning lord, she thought angrily. Maybe he couldn’t die, but he could lie.

***

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he’d had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl.

***

We are five thousand strong as I write, our numbers swelling every day. And word has come to us that Roose Bolton moves toward Winterfell with all his power, there to wed his bastard to your half sister. He must not be allowed to restore the castle to its former strength. We march against him. Arnolf Karstark and Mors Umber will join us. I will save your sister if I can, and find a better match for her than Ramsay Snow. You and your brothers must hold the Wall until I can return.

***

The outlaw gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, as it happens, we’re looking for a dog that ran away.” “A dog?” Merrett was lost. “What kind of dog?” “He answers to the name Sandor Clegane. Thoros says he was making for the Twins. We found the ferrymen who took him across the Trident, and the poor sod he robbed on the kingsroad. Did you see him at the wedding, perchance?” “He would have had a child with him,” said the singer. “A skinny girl, about ten. Or perhaps a boy the same age.”

***

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … “I think we had best change the plan,” Jon Snow said.

***

“I mean to have Arya as well. I have men searching.”

me after i'm posting someone elses funny and then crumble under the notes