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~Arya I, GOT

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For years, the Others have been portrayed as ugly and dead ice zombies due to the influence of the tv show, but they are actually sidhe/fairy creatures made of ice, with a dangerous beauty.

The woman with the crown can also be seen as Night's Queen or the leader/ruler who is currently in charge of the Others (I emphasise the possibility that she is a woman because ice-water is feminine energy in yin-yang philosophy). The ears are an interpretation, I added them because fairies are usually depicted with pointed ears.

After all, this is more or less what a true Other looks like in ASOIAF.

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Sansa and Jeyne are the only people to call Arya ugly.

Meanwhile Ned, Jon, Gendry, Lady Smallwood, and the kindly man have all commented on her beauty, but this fandom ignores it in favor of two middle-school-aged mean girls who have to put Arya down to feel good about themselves.

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love love love how the knight of the laughing tree story immediately recalls arya sticking up for mycah against joffrey and jon sticking up for sam & the other recruits against alliser. it’s such a touching contextualization because those moments in agot respectively are two of the most significant character moments in the books AND of course jon & arya are the main characters with the most resemblance/connection to lyanna.

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Rhaegar won, damn him… He has Lyanna now

Here’s to the women who are only remembered through the lens of the men who live in the shadow of their sepulchers.

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asos, jon ii:

asos, jon iii:

same chapter, later:

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not gonna lie... jonrya is very wuthering heights

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The old gods are his gods.

They're the ones he always prayed to, the ones who surrounded him when he was a boy, when he wandered alone anxiously in the godswood as he awaited the arrival of his little sister — the one closer to him than a friend, than a confidant, perhaps even than his own skin.

They were always there, always lingered.

Yet somehow he needed to remind himself of that fact. He was not sure if it was death's cause, but lines had begun to blur, and he struggled at times to recall who to even worship anymore.

The old gods are his gods.

His previous self would have been steadfast on that.

Arya's return was an answered prayer, a deliverance from them, and for that he was eternally grateful. Yet blasphemy settled deep in his heart, further darkening the shadows seeping down into his chest. And he couldn't help but think — who could be a better god to pray to than the one who settled in his arms, who fit so well against him?

When she rested her head in the crook of his neck and just breathed, he closed his eyes and found a deep sense of contentment.

His reverence bordered on profane.

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Westeros Raven News [If Westeros had a newspaper?] - 2

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Arya Stark at different ages. Prepared by me with Artificial Intelligence.

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Arya Stark, the sad wolf girl.

The dwarf woman studied her with dim red eyes. "I see you," she whispered. "I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death . . ." She began to sob, her little body shaking. "You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel. I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart. Begone!"

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Jon Snow, The Song of Ice and Fire

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Jon Snow opened his eyes, and the blizzard that coursed around them intensified.

They weren't the grey that were once so like hers, or the red she became used to, but they twinkled blue like distant stars, like an unnatural cold that bit down to the bones. Even the veins of his face flushed the same shade as his gaze, the rhythmic pulsing entrancing. And yet his smile was so warm...

He spoke, and the language sounded half human, half like crackling ice severing on a lake in deep winter. She furrowed her brow, confused. What is it? What was he saying?

See with your ears, girl, she could almost hear Syrio whisper against her ear, guiding her along. Arya could nearly feel a slip of silk brushing over her eyes, blinding her. See with your ears, and listen, sword.

Needle was still sheathed, but she held onto it for comfort, and the castle steel's hilt trembled in her grip.

Arya closed her eyes. She remembered the way his lips moved, and concentrated on the sound of his iron-like voice as he repeated his words. And now, just now, his newfound speech was so clear, so easy to comprehend.

Winter's queen, he declared, almost proudly. Longing touched his starе, flavoured the words flowing from his mouth. Her grey eyes found him again, just as he rose his blackened hands and pressed them against her face.

My queen.

His thumbs caressed the skin of her cheek, his touch freezing but kind, familiar and reassuring. She shivered when one digit shifted over her lips and travelled down, tugging at her chin until her lips parted. His smile was almost rueful as he bent and breathed her name on her tongue. She swallowed it down greedily, eager for more. Her acceptance drew a sigh from him, his breath like the purest of cold, and it solidified in her throat and descended rapidly until her lungs felt like they were made of solid ice. She choked. His breath transformed her until she became one with him, one of him.

Daughter of the north. Snow's bride. Queen of Eternal Winter.

The words were an endless chant from their once-enemies. And Jon was at the centre of it all, his gaze burning as he studied her.

She knew what he was thinking.

My queen. Mine.

Just as she herself thought,

My king. Mine.

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Jon always won their sparring matches, as he was wont to do. Every loss had taught her a lesson, though—valuable lessons that aided her improvement in each subsequent meeting.

And finally, finally, she had him.

His body was underneath hers, waist caged between the trap of her thighs. She leaned forward, dagger at his throat, the taste of victory so exhilaratingly sweet that the blade trembled in her grip. In comparison, his form was still beneath her save for his breaths, steaming clouds of mist drifting in the air.

The space between them crackled with energy, with anticipation. Jon's red gaze seemed to almost glow under the rays of sunlight. Take what's yours, his eyes seemed to suggest. His palms crept to either side of her waist, an open invitation, a clear permission.

Calm as still water, she thought, using the mantra to steady herself, but it was no good. The dagger nicked the side of his neck, little drops of blood welling from the shallow cut.

She winced for him, but he only laughed. "What's a little more blood shed for you, little sister?"

She didn't find that very amusing.

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Jon messed up her hair. "I will miss you, little sister." Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.” “Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?”

A Game of Thrones, Jon II

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#AryaStark ve #RhaenysTargaryen veeee... ikisinin de ortak noktası siyah kedi #Balerion

Arya Stark and Rhaenys Targaryen andddd... what they both have in common is the black cat Balerion

#gameofthrones #houseofthedragon #asoiaf