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😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😔😔😔

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Lyanna Week 2021

Day 1: Book moments or Favourite fancast

The little crannogman was walking across the field, enjoying the warm spring day and harming none, when he was set upon by three squires. They were none older than fifteen, yet even so they were bigger than him, all three. […] They snatched away his spear and knocked him to the ground, cursing him for a frogeater.”

“[…] They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. ‘That’s my father’s man you’re kicking,’ howled the she-wolf.”

“A wolf on four legs, or two?”

“Two,” said Meera. “The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. […]

“That evening there was to be a feast in Harrenhal, to mark the opening of the tourney, and the she-wolf insisted that the lad attend. He was of high birth, with as much a right to a place on the bench as any other man. She was not easy to refuse, this wolf maid, so he let the young pup find him garb suitable to a king’s feast, and went up to the great castle.

[…]

“Amidst all this merriment, the little crannogman spied the three squires who’d attacked him. One served a pitchfork knight, one a porcupine, while the last attended a knight with two towers on his surcoat, a sigil all crannogmen know well.”

[…]

“The wolf maid saw them too, and pointed them out to her brothers. ‘I could find you a horse, and some armor that might fit,’ the pup offered. The little crannogman thanked him, but gave no answer. His heart was torn. Crannogmen are smaller than most, but just as proud. The lad was no knight, no more than any of his people. We sit a boat more often than a horse, and our hands are made for oars, not lances. Much as he wished to have his vengeance, he feared he would only make a fool of himself and shame his people.

[…]

“[…] As it happened, the end of the first day saw the porcupine knight win a place among the champions, and on the morning of the second day the pitchfork knight and the knight of the two towers were victorious as well. But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists.”

[…]

“[…] the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.”

“[…] The mystery knight dipped his lance before the king and rode to the end of the lists, where the five champions had their pavilions. You know the three he challenged.”

“The porcupine knight, the pitchfork knight, and the knight of the twin towers.” Bran had heard enough stories to know that. […]

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called. When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying, ‘Teach your squire honor, that shall be ransom enough.’ Once the defeated knights chastised their squires sharply, their horses and armor were returned. And so the little crannogman’s prayer was answered… by the green men, or the old gods, or the children of the forest, who can say?”

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Today, on this fateful day in sex ed, I have to teach 25 9th graders how to put condoms on wooden dicks without losing my composure. Wish me luck lmao

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by Rovina Cai Illustrations for Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights

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It slaps.

The zombie genre is like “nice moment of human connection you’ve got there. It’d be a shame if someone came along and secretly bit one of you forcing one of you to conceal your injury and dread and forcing someone else to shoot and kill their loved one”

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look, I know it’s ~problematic~ for all kinds of reasons but I do kind of love when there’s a character with few or no scruples who outsources their moral compass to someone else

it’s sort of the equivalent of when a cat jumps up somewhere they shouldn’t be and you just pick them up and move them off it, only with murder or whatever. 

character a looking at character b like “okay is this a situation where I can do a murder” and character b like. “no. we’ve gone over this.”

I just find it very funny

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“Swimming, Not Drowning 2” by Marcela Bolivar on INPRNT

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and:

➳ all the times Frenchie called Kimiko mon cœur (requested by @georginadymova​)

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I was bored and messed around with illustrator of course it had to be #Lexa related.  source: @uswntsoccerfans

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So this one is kind of a special one, and I really wanted to get it before Clexa Con came around. If you know me, then you know I’m pretty Lexa obsessed, and most of you will automatically think this is for Lexa; most of you are wrong. It’s not a symbol to represent Lexa, or my love for her, but rather a reminder. A reminder of how I should, and need to live my life. How life should be about more than just surviving, but also how sometimes, despite our feelings and emotions, tough choices need to made. How sometimes it is essential to think with your head, but also be able to listen to what your heart is telling you. How walls are good to have, but sometimes it’s important to lower those walls, and trust in people, or you will miss out on great opportunities. It’s not only a reminder of all these things, it is also a reminder, and a dedication, to this fandom, and what they have done for me. A fandom who has let me in, trusted me, and listened to me. A fandom who has provided me the opportunity to attend Clexa Con so I can meet as many wonderful people as possible, and speak in front of those who wish to listen. It’s a reminder, but it’s also a thank you to you, and to Lexa for being there as inspiration and a guide. This is cheesy, I know, but I needed you to know this; when ever I look at this tattoo, I will always be reminded that she was special, and so are you. 

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307 scarred me. But I made sure that this scar is visible and shows me that it was all real.

This is a reminder for everything I gained in the last year. This is for the feeling in my stomach when Clarke and Lexa kissed. This is for the strength it gave me and the fun I had in the fandom. This is for every good thought I had, every friend I made, everything I learned about myself.

I won’t forget. Reshop, Heda. Ai gonplei nou ste odon.

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You know, in thinking about it, I like it when all of the super folk in Gotham are like...not super, if that makes sense? Like, yeah, there’s Joker and Harley and Riddler and Penguin, and they’re all causing problems, but none of them can like...blow up a city block with their farts or whatever. They’re just people, sometimes with comically large mallets. And they’re all getting the shit beat out of themselves by this one dude who is, also, just a regular ass dude. A little on the high end for human fitness, but still just A Guy, you know?

Metropolis has Superman and West City has Flash, but Gotham is just filled with normal ass people with their cringe ass fashion sense and pension for doing little Bastard activities. And sometimes a furry has to knock some sense into them when they go to far. A rich furry with a high tech fursuit, don’t get me wrong; but a furry nonetheless.

you walk into my ask box, drop this buddha level of enlightenment here, then trot off while i realize that is exactly why i only find myself reading batman comics

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the body positivity movement needs to start moving hard into including disabled bodies and this is what I mean by that. yes, it was a good step forward to change the rhetoric from “your body is a good body if it meets these arbitrary aesthetic standards” to “your body is a good body because it completes these tasks for you” (ie: walking, eating, laughing, hugging, etc.) but that rhetoric is still not fully body positive, because it excludes bodies that do not do these things. the same as saying how we need to “focus on healthy bodies not skinny bodies” sounds good at first, but it completely misses the point that unhealthy bodies deserve to be appreciated too. disabled bodies are still beautiful and still fundamentally good, not because “your body is kind to you so you should be kind to your body”- because not everyone’s body is kind to them. but all bodies are still good bodies because they are what houses your soul. your body is what allows you to exist and live your life in whatever way you live it, and for that reason, it is a good and beautiful body. your body is what your loved ones see when they look at you and the love they feel for it as an extension of you makes it a good and beautiful body. your body doesn’t have to look a certain way or behave a certain way to be good. it is good just for being here.

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Does stannis know his lightbringer is fake?

“Edric—” he started.

“—is one boy! He may be the best boy who ever drew breath and it would not matter. My duty is to the realm.” His hand swept across the Painted Table. “How many boys dwell in Westeros? How many girls? How many men, how many women? The darkness will devour them all, she says. The night that never ends. She talks of prophecies… a hero reborn in the sea, living dragons hatched from dead stone… she speaks of signs and swears they point to me. I never asked for this, no more than I asked to be king. Yet dare I disregard her?" He ground his teeth. "We do not choose our destinies. Yet we must… we must do our duty, no? Great or small, we must do our duty. Melisandre swears that she has seen me in her flames, facing the dark with Lightbringer raised on high. Lightbringer!” Stannis gave a derisive snort. “It glimmers prettily, I’ll grant you, but on the Blackwater this magic sword served me no better than any common steel.”

- Davos V, ASoS

It looks to me like Stannis believes there’s magic involved, but doubts its overall usefulness. Which mirrors his scepticism over his own role in Melisandre’s prophecies - he knows she’s got real power, but is she right? There are levels on which Stannis wants to believe her (he wants the public recognition and affection his brothers had), and levels on which he doesn’t (as we see above, he’s aware that being the protagonist means making shitty choices). There’s doubt and internal tension there.

What he is certain of is a) Melisandre has powers that she’s willing to use in his cause and b) that he has a duty to the realm. So if she says ‘take Lightbringer with you’, he’ll take Lightbringer, use it for what it looks like and play into the narrative, and in a pinch he’ll have a sword about as good as any common steel.

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That JB illustration of them joining Roose for dinner just radiates marrieds energy

It’s not my fault if THIS is the text:

It was half an hour before he felt strong enough to stand. After the dim wet warmth of the bathhouse, the air outside was a slap across the face. “M'lord will be looking for him by now,” a guard told Qyburn. “Her too. Do I need to carry him?”         

“I can still walk. Brienne, give me your arm.”                 

Clutching her, Jaime let them herd him across the yard to a vast draughty hall, larger even than the throne room in King’s Landing.

A page earlier, the scene I botched with inking and that at this point I’m determined to redraw::

The next he knew, he was lying on the damp floor with the guards and the wench and Qyburn all standing over him looking concerned. Brienne was naked, but she seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. […]

“Scrub him and dress him and carry him to Kingspyre, if need be,” Qyburn said. “Lord Bolton insists he will sup with him tonight. The time is growing short.”          “Bring me clean garb for him,” Brienne said, “I’ll see that he’s washed and dressed.”                 

The others were all too glad to give her the task. They lifted him to his feet and sat him on a stone bench by the wall. Brienne went away to retrieve her towel, and returned with a stiff brush to finish scrubbing him. One of the guards gave her a razor to trim his beard. Qyburn returned with roughspun smallclothes, clean black woolen breeches, a loose green tunic, and a leather jerkin that laced up the front. Jaime was feeling less dizzy by then, though no less clumsy. With the wench’s help he managed to dress himself. “Now all I need is a silver looking glass.”

Oh fuck I forgot the leather jerkin in my drawing

I mean, these two have reached a level of intimacy and just… physical ease with each other that we don’t often see in these books. You know which other highborn lady forgets propriety and goes on to converse stark naked with a maester because there’s shit that needs to be done? Catelyn in her second AGoT chapter right after she sleeps with Ned, and you don’t get more “married couple” than Mom and Dad Stark. Now, I have to be honest with you and say I don’t particularly vibe with post endgame scenarios/au where Jaime and Brienne go on to have a domestic life, like my self indulgent fantasies for them don’t go in that direction, but it’s out of the question that George wrote them as being already close the way lifelong partners are, and they built this over… a couple of months if we go by the fanmade timeline. I guess that being highly compatible people who go through a lot of traumatic shit together and save each other’s life will act as an accelerator!

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Do you have any theorys to what the hell happened to Valyria(and also, what could possibly be there)? Do you think this is something GRRM will address in ASOFI or on some spin-off (if he will address at all)?

We have a good idea what happened to Valyria already. The Faceless Men hint to Arya that they brought 'the gift' (of death) to the masters. Then we get this passage in The World of Ice and Fire:

To this day, no one knows what caused the Doom. Most say that it was a natural cataclysm—a catastrophic explosion caused by the eruption of all Fourteen Flames together. [...] A handful of maesters, influenced by fragments of the work of Septon Barth, hold that Valyria had used spells to tame the Fourteen Flames for thousands of years, that their ceaseless hunger for slaves and wealth was as much to sustain these spells as to expand their power, and that when at last those spells faltered, the cataclysm became inevitable.

[...] Some, wedding the fanciful notion of Valyrian magic to the reality of the ambitious great houses of Valyria, have argued that it was the constant whirl of conflict and deception amongst the great houses that might have led to the assassinations of too many of the reputed mages who renewed and maintained the rituals that banked the fires of the Fourteen Flames.

- Ancient History and the Doom of Valyria

So there we go, I reckon. Valyrian mages were screwing around with incredible geological forces, the Faceless Men got rid of a few key mages, the whole thing got out of control and went kaboom.

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so I’ve been in a relationship for 5 years now. And I see a lot of posts about how people think relationships mean having butterflies forever, your heart beating faster when they walk into a room, about cuddling together every night, legs intertwined, that you’d be so happy to live together you’d sleep on a double bed with each other every night.

And its not really like that, at least not to me.

You stop getting the butterflies when you live together. Your heart no longer speeds up when you see them, but instead, everything calms down. When youre in the room with them, you feel calm, and secure. When you cuddle them you feel your heart beat slow, and the sound of their breathing carry you towards comfort. It doesnt feel like a roller coaster anymore, it feels like home.

You don’t sleep curled up with each other every night, legs twisted between theirs so tight its hard to tell where yours begin and theirs end.

Instead, you sleep comfortably, side by side, sometimes facing different directions. But every night, you find yourself scooting backwards on the bed so you bump into them. You snuggle against their arm, or stroke their hair as they fall asleep. There are nights when my boyfriend, in his sleep, reaches around me and pulls me to him, like a child with his teddybear, like I am his comfort.

 In the wee hours of the morning before the dawn breaks, when the world is blue and you see through cracked eyes, you curl into their chest and inhale their scent before drifting back to sleep. 

Kisses aren’t always romantic and firey anymore. But there are so much more of them now. There are cold kisses when you’re eating ice cream in the summer, and sticky kisses over breakfast pancakes. There’s “im leaving now” kisses, and “one more kiss before you go” kisses. There’s sleepy morning kisses before work, when you don’t remember the alarm going off but instead the press of their lips against yours is what brings you into the day.

There’s kisses before sleep, and, you are so sweet with the things you do kisses. There’s kisses because you treat animals so tenderly, and I’m so glad i’m with you and not someone else kisses. There’s quick kisses in the aisles of the grocery store, when its loud and you gravitate together, when instead of having your own personal space and their own personal space, its both of yours together, and you step into their chest to take up less area together. 

You don’t always text each other with confessions of love and care like you used to, because that’s a given now, and you’ve moved on to quirky inside jokes about the life youve built together. You share looks of exasperation and amusement in public, your own little world against the outside one. 

Relationships aren’t always a fairy tale. They’re not always fireworks and sparks, at least, after the start.

But they are a quiet rhythm and hum of love and care. It’s not a fire in your soul, but one in your hearth, keeping you warm and comfortable, comforting you as you drowsily drift into sleep.

And I love that.