smiling, always smiling

You Are: Pinot Noir

You're a charmer and no one charms the pants off people as easy as Pinot Noir. A cult wine whose fans are always searching for the next great bottle, you love the thrill of discovery, and are ready to move on once it spreads to the masses.

Tagged by: stole from @smalljonumber is dad proud of me yet are you proud yet dad i paid the iron price for my sheets i swear

Tagging: anyone who wants to

          He sputters for a moment. “ How dare? ” he scoffs, perhaps a bit too loudly. “ Do you mock me? I am a man grown, with no need for these… childhood rags.”

BOLD all that apply!

MEDIEVAL: tired eyes. coffee stains on the table. listening to the bustle of the city. unmade beds. loose ponytails. sunlight seeping through the curtains. chapped lips. walking barefoot across the floorboards. dusty dictionaries. black and white reruns. huge sweaters. the ticking of the clock. hearing birds in the morning. fireplaces. falling asleep during class.

RENAISSANCE: freckles. the sun rising. watching the sea. taking shots of the city. historical museums. bright eyes. looking up at the clouds. walls covered in artworks. drawing in the middle of lessons. tracing your fingers on the sand. painting for hours. staying in uncrowded coffee-shops. worn paperbacks. messy braids. going to bed with your socks on.

BAROQUE: dark hair. a little sophisticated. always observing the world around you. intricate designs. high ceilings. extravagant musical pieces. dim lights. colourless photographs. fancy furniture.pale skin. hearing soft footfalls coming from outside the room. mischievous looks. bitten nails. candlelight dinners. dark shades of lipstick.

CLASSICAL: chandeliers. the clinking of a teacup. laced clothing. modern architecture. light hair. watching the view from the terrace. hidden birthmarks. drinking tea in the morning. wandering about in an empty building. botanical gardens. old films. ancient marble sculptures. expensive perfume. breakfasts in bed. reading about mythology.

ROMANTIC: compassion. short writings on scraps of paper. blushed cheeks. a bouquet of roses. reading collections of poetry late at night. loose hair. carpeted floors. attending operas. faint music playing in the background. staying under the covers until midday. the night sky. streetlights. picking flowers. dancing around in silk dresses. scented candles.

Exactly. Getting out is a good thing. Not too soon, just in time.

Someone escaped the Dreadfort, I see.

too soon

colorful headcanons ✧ accepting! ( @fifthbornforrester )

          I’m of the opinion that Theon’s always been fascinated by nature from an aesthetic,  and (to a lesser extent) intellectual perspective - of all the places in Winterfell, his most poignant memories are of the godswood:

“Theon Greyjoy was no stranger to this godswood. He had played here as a boy, skipping stones across the cold black pool beneath the weirwood, hiding his treasures in the bole of an ancient oak, stalking squirrels with a bow he made himself. [ … ] In amongst these chestnuts and elms and soldier pines he had found secret places where he could hide when he wanted to be alone. ”

colorful headcanons ✧ accepting! ( @eversoblack )

what sorts of things might remind your muse of those close to them? any scents, objects, sounds?

          When I saw this, I was reminded of a passage from Theon’s first chapter in ACoK (emphasis mine):

“ The sea meant freedom to the men of the Iron Islands. He had forgotten that until the Myraham had raised sail at Seagard. The sounds brought old feelings back; the creak of wood and rope, the captain’s shouted commands, the snap of the sails as the wind filled them, each as familiar as the beating of his own heart, and as comforting. I must remember this, Theon vowed to himself. I must never go far from the sea again. ”          

          I feel that, being a person who is prone to either repress old memories or cling to idealized versions of the past, certain sensory inputs can trigger powerful reactions or unbidden recollections, such as the one described above. It stands the reason that the same can apply to the few people he genuinely cares about.

          The first person that comes to mind for an example is Robb (and, by extension, the other Starks), but most of the things that remind him of Robb are inextricably linked to Winterfell and his time as a ward - the crackle of leaves rustling in the godswood as moss and loam squelch underfoot, the din of steel on steel in the practice yard, one of the spiral stairwells he and Robb used to play on (as mentioned in ADWD). It’s small wonder, then, that Theon continues to consider Winterfell one of the few places he truly belongs, even when the castle is little more than a hollow stone shell, and all the memories housed within have become bittersweet.

          It’s a bit trickier for blood relations, even for Asha - much of his time on the islands is either locked away at the back of his mind or embittered by the trauma of the rebellion and subsequent separation - to the point where he can’t even recognize his own sister, the result of a decade of unwilling estrangement.

          But there are a few things, outside the familiar realm of sight, that might bring old feelings surging back; the shoal he and Asha used to swim in as children; the smell of the beeswax candles the old maester used to favor; the familiar tune of one of those oarsman’s songs Aeron used to sing lustily, before the cold grey sea washed his mirth and good humor away; the sound of the tide foaming and breaking against jutting snarls of rock, like the sea stacks in the small natural harbor Dagmer would take the Foamdrinker out on, that Lord Balon’s lastborn might be instructed in the basics of the sailor’s craft, the ghastly grins the old reaver would flash him when he helped raise the sail, or managed to keep pace with the other oars…