A Prayer To Who, Exactly?

The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it.

Daenerys in the Womb of the World

The gay characters in ASOIAF having the most romantic quotes was an incredible writing decision by GRRM:

“When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.”

— A Storm of Swords, Tyrion II

I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell.

— A Dance With Dragons, The Griffin Reborn

The moon's wide awake, with a smile on his face As he smuggles constellations in his suitcase

Yeah this is the one.

Amit Elor & Mica Galvao

Commissions for @lucennia

Mac Miller

Lyanna Stark was made for the North. She was made to race horses with Brandon and cross swords with Benjen and pick blue winter roses from the glass gardens for her lord father. She wasn’t made to wear silken gowns in the chafing southron heat as a prize for stupid Robert Baratheon. She wasn’t made to be a queen.

Tears stung her eyes. That made her angry, so she swiped them away before they could fall. She was five-and-ten and flowered now, a woman grown. Too old to cry. Above her, the ancient gaze of the weirwood seemed to strip her bare, its long bone-white face cold with contempt even as its eyes wept rivulets of blood. Even the gods thought her too old to cry. I should pray, Lyanna thought suddenly. She went to her knees, clasping her hands together beneath her chin.

Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Don’t let me marry Robert with his wandering eye and his bastard in the Vale. Dearest Ned says that he loves me, that he is a good man and true, but he is blinded by his own love for his friend. He does not see Robert for what he is. I do not want him. I do not want to be a pawn in my father’s southron ambitions. I do not want to be queen. Please, old gods, let me be free.

Was that enough? Did the old gods hear her? Carefully, Lyanna cracked one eye open and peered up through her lashes. Only the same twisted face of dried red sap glared back at her, unchanged in its hateful ugliness. She chewed her lip uncertainly. If only they could give her a sign. Perhaps I should close my eyes again. She squeezed them shut even more tightly, but all Lyanna could hear was the wind, blowing a soft shivery sigh through the rustling oak trees. And… and something else.

Footsteps. A pair of them, crunching on the dead red leaves. People were coming.

Lyanna’s eyes flew open as panic seized her throat in its terrible cold fist. There was no time to hide. She grabbed for the nearest weapon—an old rotting tree branch—and whirled.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A snippet from A Crown of False Spring on AO3. My take on the Harrenhal Conspiracy, which theorizes that the STAB Alliance was plotting to use Rhaegar's Harrenhal council to depose of the Targaryens and put Robert on the throne.

Lots of Arya references.

Arthur and Ashara Dayne 💫

Commission for the lovely @troiades ! Such a joy to work with and I'm so happy I got to draw these two together💕!

— David Foster Wallace, E Unibus Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction

I found a drawing I never finished in middle school and it made me sad because I've completely forgotten how to art and haven't even picked up a pencil in years

“You don’t know anything about what I’m trying to do.” 

“No?” Danyel leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Is that not what I’m helping you do at this gala of yours? Fighting at a diplomatic event, of all things. You and Tomix really were cut from the same cloth—always charging ahead, as if the only way to fix the past is to destroy your own selves in the process.”