stagnot

[stagnot]

blog status — i'm so sorry to those who've followed me here and hoping for an interaction, but i'm moving gendry to a multi right now! so if you like this bull, please feel free to follow me there <333

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“I remember my childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere.”

— Louise Glück, from “Unpainted Door” in Poems 1962-2012 (via pigmenting)

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“ thank you , gendry , for forging our weapons. i do appreciate it. “ / sansa !

❛ hmph. ❜ he grunts, not quite a word, not quite a full threatening sort o' sound either. gendry thinks it's foolish, to be thanked for doin' somethin' that's expected out o' him. doesn't she know who he is ? then again, why should she — all that she knows, she knows only from jon snow, he gathers, or arya. if arya's the kind to talk, which the smith doubts she is. she ... she's different. arya. maybe s' for the better, but gendry doesn't think so. or maybe he's different too, from all that's happened, but he's the only one clingin' to the past; to the only point of safety he'd ever felt, which was with her and hot pie and that stupid never-ending forest; which was with the brotherhood, briefly— until they betrayed him.

but arya? arya never did. it was gendry who betrayed her, in fact. still could picture her lil' face crumblin' when he said that he wouldn't follow her north, that they'd never be family, for he was only a lowborn, and she, the opposite. so maybe it makes sense she doesn't talk about him at all. stupid, bullish boy. when will he ever learn, when will he ever grow up ?

❛ ye' need yer armour or blade looked at for the last time ... ? ❜ and then, sorely, he adds, another grunt, ❛ m'lady. ❜

random ask.

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Oh, you like picking on the little ones, do you?

requested by @triplea85

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sometimes i love the idea of someone fighting gendry right back bc i think he deserves to be taken down a peg <3

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❛ you be'er not take us fer' a fool — ❜ gendry hadn't spat, but maybe he should've had, for all the intensity he's put into that speech. they've got to be careful here, really. for all the world t' see, maybe gendry, hot pie, and him are nothin' but poor, orphan boys trying to find honest work — but if anyone were t' find out that arya's a stark, then that'd be the end o' their lil' group. what can gendry do against an ambush, truly ? not much. though the brotherhood without banners' offer seems ... appealing. they're in need o' a good smith, and— and they come in many, which means gendry, arya and hot pie don't always 'ave t' be alone, and they're fightin' for a good cause, and maybe, just maybe, wit' some upkeep, arya can remain arry a little longer, the little boy who's only followin' his brother or somethin' into the woods.

gendry can keep her safe like this. and hot pie, too, if... if it'll look like he's walkin' out o' the kitchen anytime soon, that is.

❛ — you said ye' know where robb stark is ? ❜

@vullcanica / smol sc

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❛ — there's nothin' between me n' yer sister, ❜ wasn't this what gendry had meant ? years back, when arya was insistent that he'd followed her straight to the north. aye, he may have come here willingly this time around, but only 'cause he's done hidin'; only 'cause there ain't much left for him t' live for, is all. but fightin' against those wights ... fightin' for the north in ways he couldn't fight then— 'cause he was young, and stupid, and boorish — maybe finally there'll be somethin' worth to his name, after all. 'ven if it'll be easily forgotten by history.

still, the sentiment stays. he's too lowborn to be o' any kin to any lord or lady high — now face-to-face with the king of the north, arya's eldest brother, the difference is obvious. it makes him feel ashamed, so much so that as he bows his head, it is done cautiously rather than its usual reluctance. on a tong he's holding, gendry's fingers move to circle around it — squeezing in tandem. surely this king won't 'ave his head for not bein' able to save his sister then, surely this king won't be cruel ( not until after the war o' the wights ) to prosecute him for all the ways he couldn't protect arya, and how he abandoned her.

❛ we're   — old friends. that's all. i swear it. ❜

@lykosog / smol sc

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❛ wha', and have ye' runnin' to these other joke o' a shop ? ❜ from the corner, one of the other smithy, paul, yells back an oi! which curled gendry's mouth, for a moment, into a grin. it'd taken him a while, aye, to settle back and befriend the people who could stand him enough to. he's sure some o' the boys here, men really, could identify from when he was nothin' but an apprentice boy — but if none o' the goldcloaks have yet come t' take him away, gendry figures they're too drunk enough to care, or have never been invested enough from the beginnin' to question his disappearance.

if anything, maybe some o' them were glad he'd come back — if nothing else, then there were someone to care o' what's left of tobho mott's business. fitting, really, for when gendry returned, the old man has had half his shop robbed off by another apprentice who'd went on to establish his own smithy once master mott taught the boy how to work with valyrian steel. the last gendry's heard o' the guy, he'd lost that very smithy — despite his popularity and successfully stealin' master mott's customers as well — when he'd gambled it to some poor pirate.

'course, gendry can't help thinkin' then and now. greed's a special diseases like that. can't say he got tired just yet for when the gods return the misery 'pon those who first gave it t' others.

❛ aye, i'll take it. ❜ he tells the lady o' the keep, crossin' his arms over his chest. she'd call him stupid before, but had she really came to the street o' steel without readyin' a sketch ? so what — she simply came here t' chat with him, was it ? that's stupid. gendry, despite his worser judgement, doesn't call this out. ❛ s' like, what? an armour or somethin'. a blade ? you're an odd lady, ain't ya'. ❜

   “and you’d be correct.     though your unshakenly rude spirit guarantees a certain amount of stupidity.” she sounded harsh, she sounded rude;   the very same thing she was relentlessly accusing him of. though was it lack of etiquette or a desire to be just?   or rather, to be spiteful, and match his tone?    she didn’t know, nor did she care.     she had that vice, she’d not deny it—she simply had to have the last word, one way or another.     an awful habit she never outgrew, a terrible recurrence in a city they’d have your tongue for one wrong word.     a city unbearable without the fumes of burned rose petals, yes.     on that, she’d not change her mind.     for the city of kings, it lacked regality.

    despite his silence which followed, myrsini figured it did not suit him, that kind of gloominess.     she’d rather him squabbling, like before, rather than seemingly plagued by some sort of ghost.     it was a sad sight, you see.     like a beaten dog.

    “no matter the task you will be paid accordingly,” she reassured, rolling her letters a little ticker, now that they were stuffed into such small words.     her dark eyes followed him as he stepped closer.     she had nothing on his build, that was plain to see, despite his poor posture.     though she crooned her neck to meet his eyes, she fought the urge to tell him he should stand taller, with his spine straight and his shoulders back, just as she did.     not really for the sake of appearances, but because she was certain there was dreadful tension stiffening the muscles of his shoulders.     with his line of work, it couldn’t be ideal.

    “but no, there is no kind of request for jewels, diamonds or otherwise.     only engravings of… roses and antlers, symmetrical and sharp.     i suppose we could have a sketch readied for you, should you accept this commission.     so, will you?” 

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❛ fuck. ❜ that's not a man at all.

stupid, he thinks, jolting away from the wall t' get a good look a' her though his heart is still hammerin' miles a minute under his damned chest. perhaps he should've known, aye, that it was her — but how could he, really ? sometimes when gendry closes his eyes, he could still hear the roarin' and clattering o' weapons, the way the cold o' the dead is the sort o' cold he knows he won't ever forget. and then, 'course, the fact that everyone here in the north wears a mishmash jumble o' fur. s' hard to truly distinguish one from another.

she's sayin' something— right. about findin' him, about his weapon. and gendry wishes he could smile, could say somethin' just as witty and kind, but his head's too slow, and if he's bein' honest, he really doesn't want t' be here. he wants to be— ... gendry doesn't know where he wants to be, but he knows it's a place he's long lost, and it's a place he can never go back to. death truly was his last option left. why was he here some more ? he should've died.

she cuts through the thought though, and gendry's vision refocuses.

he takes in the dark curls o' her hair, and the paleness to her face from where the winter still sits. right, he thinks with this sudden moment o' clarity. she's alive. thank all the gods, then. she's a lady; surely she'd be of use somewhere alive. a place to get back, to return, to. ❛ — uh, no. ❜ he says, still a little distracted ( what's fishin' got to do with anything ? he thankfully doesn't point out ) ; hands fisting by his sides, blue eyes piercing as he takes her whole appearance in.

❛ a-are you— r'you hurt, m'lady ? if you are, we can get ye' to treatment, we could. there's some ladies there that're helpin'— ❜

“THEN YOU HAVE A STRANGE WAY OF — well.” Light, but concerned. Meera knows what this is. Happened, sometimes, with Jojen and the first of his dreams. Then again with Hodor, especially when there were storms. She hovers at the entrance to the alleyway. Her stance is uncertain but undeniably protective. If she’d had her frog-spear in hand, her knuckles would be white. Still are, even without it. When she closes her eyes she’s back in the melee, fighting for her life.

Meera tries not to close her eyes.

Gendry probably doesn’t want her here. For the same reason, if she has to guess, that she tries to hide the right side of her face — the side that the walkers got, bludgeoned and blue and swollen, too — with her hair. Meera checks behind her to make sure no one’s paying them any mind, then ducks inside the alley. She moves slow, like she used to do with Shaggydog and Summer — oh, Bran; oh, Summer — and smiles.

“I promised I’d find you after, didn’t I? Hope you don’t mind.” Meera’s standing next to him now, positioned so that she’s shielding him as best she can from anyone who might pass by. She glances at his face, then remembers her bruises, and looks away. Still, the cheerfulness in her voice persists. “The frog-spear you made me worked wonders. I owe you my life, I think. Thank you.”

Her eyes find their way to the sky.

“Have you ever been fishing?”

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sometimes i think about how misconstrue the show has warped and/or has oversimplified the bond between arya and gendry to be, because what they have will always be more than romance. it's literally the story about two kids who have essentially lost all that they know, and are hunted for reasons beyond their control, and somehow them finding that comfort and trust among this chosen family anyways ( even if gendry later rejected arya because he thinks he will never be her equal again ) while literally being chased into the woods and having had to survive that while the kingdoms were wrought in a war, and afterwards losing each other, too — a mistake they both had had to realise when it's too late, when they can never [in their minds] meet each other again to amend it.

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“i met god at three am at a train station, he couldn’t even look me in the eye. after all he’s done, i don’t blame him. he walked off the platform and in-front an oncoming train. after all he’s seen, i don’t blame him.”

— n.c.

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note : i write gendry 65% with his accent in mind even in his narrative, which can be sound very rough, and, yes, grammatically incorrect. these are on purpose. it's to represent the state of poverty in which reflects his poor [lack of proper] education. if you need anything explained, please let me know. i'm more than willing to repeat what is happening or what he said for the sake of our threads moving ahead.

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❛ little boy shouldn't be outside when s' gettin' dark, ❜ gendry manages out from his shop, movin' some o' the armour he's just mend for the day aside, and his tools t' make some space for the cleanin' before the shop, too, would close up soon. s' a good day, all around. gendry tries not t' think about master aoken and his easy smiles, promisin' gendry that he won't be long tonight, that he won't go t' any gamblin' houses — m'too tired anyways, lad. yesterday really drained it out o' me, it did ! — though gendry knows he's just lyin'. it didn't matter. gendry will go to a tavern soon t' eat what he could from the pay today, and tonight ... tonight if it's safe, he can go n' see if he could find master aoken and bring him home.

master aoken is all gendry knows o' a family, even though they share no blood. still, he's all gendry's got; he's all gendry knows. he can't let— ... the thought o' anything happenin' to master aoken makes somethin' in him runs hot, boilin', fear simmering easily into fury, though he keeps that at bay. he's never liked himself angry. s' useless, unless it's for hammerin' anvil. no one should hold this much anger, gendry thinks. he wonders where he got it from, because ma ... what gendry remembers o' her, she was— firm, aye. but she was kind, too. she was nothin' like him.

❛ — unless yer one o' those pleasure boys, then you're on the wrong street, ain't ya' ? ❜ gendry says, moving past the boy to pick up some o' the display t' put inside. ❛ otherwise the goldcloaks would 'ave a run at ye', they would. monsters o' the streets, the lot are. ye' wanna get your cock cut from a wrong accusation ? or yer hands ? no. the streets ain't for kids 'fter dark. i reckon' you get home, li'l ant. ❜

@heireign / smol sc

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❛ if you're lookin' for a tavern, this ain't it. ❜ gendry voices, his tone is gruff. disgruntled. look at him now, and you'll see a young man covered in soot, movin' a heavy crate from one end of the shop to another, barely lookin' at her so invested he is in his work. really, he knew sometimes tavern wenches or the girls at the street o' silks like comin' here, gawkin' at the men or flirtin' with them long enough to lure them back to their beds, then demand them their rightful pay — but shouldn't they know by now that gendry's the few who couldn't care less ?

.... well, not that he doesn't. he just — got shy, is all. and it's not right, he thinks. he doesn't want t' pay these girls; ain't that interested if it's only t' sleep and t' wake up the next day pretendin' they're strangers. or it's just coins at all that made it possible he'd known her at all. call him a romantic, call him stupid, ( and he is, gods, he is. always the stupid bull makin' stupid mistakes. ) but gendry's simply ain't interested. and, if he were frank, he'd rather use the money t' buy food and clothes more than a cunt. you ever go starvin' or cold? s' the bloody worst.

❛ — or what ? ye' one o' the girls from the pleasure houses, are ya' ? not interested, ma'am. i'd say joffen from two shops over might be, if ye' lookin' for easy coin. ❜

@iseiis / smol sc

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he shouldn't have lived. he really shouldn't 'ave. what was it that awaits him anyway on the other side ? king's landing's no home, and the north ... the north s'kind to him so far, aye. gave him a job; somethin' to do before the final hour came. and it was where arya lived, but his blood is all southerners. could he really be at home here ? could he really find a place t' stay when he can barely found the girl he's lost in the woman who'd returned ? ( and it's his fault, innit ? 'course it is. why wouldn't it be ? stupid, stupid bull. always goin' at it head-long unthinking, and now s' all broken. )

he should be takin' deep breaths. deep breaths. this is no different than the times he's had the shaking when he'd return t' king's landing, so scared he was to be found; so weighed down he'd been by the faults he can never undo. bloody useless these shakings were, but if gendry don't have it under control, he'll lose his breath. and he'd rather die by a wright sooner than dying 'cause he forgot how t' damn breathe. fuck— his eyes catch on a shadow, and gendry holds over a gasp, leans his forehead 'gainst the wall t' count the way his chest rises, before he could manage a voice.

❛ — sorry, mate. m'pissin'. give me a mo'. ❜

@womanlives / smol sc

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quick & easy hotd verse — * until my brain comes up with something more decent

delivering the news of prince aemon’s death to the capitol, gendry is the unknown bastard son of boremund baratheon, conceived at the back of the red keep in 92 AC with a local tavern wench.

he was born with the standard baratheon features: striking blue eyes, thick black hair, and boremund's stubborn frown. his mother (blonde, frail woman) never sought out boremund for any form of compensation; most likely, she didn't know who he was. simply that he was a nobleman.

when gendry was five, his mum passed away from fever. gendry eventually ran away from the tavern, chased by the tavern keeper, and he had to scrap by fleabottom for a year until he met a qohorik master armorer, master aoken.

as a child, gendry has always been larger than his peers. (again, the baratheon genes at work.) this was why master aoken had taken up gendry at all because he saw "the potential in the boy". true enough, gendry showed resilient and easy strength in hammering the anvil.

unlike in canon [where tobho mott was one of the more famed master armorer due to his specific skills¹] master aoken, though a skilled smith himself, is considerably average among the many swordsmith down the street of steels. therefore, there will be weeks sometimes that master aoken and gendry would have to rely on limited pay to survive.

this did not help when master aoken is a drunkard and a serial gambler; something gendry, as he grows older, tries to stave master aoken away from, but also aid him whenever he's passed out somewhere.

when gendry was three-and-ten, the second prince took a hold of fleabottom with his goldcloaks and, overnight, they saw a dramatic change of order "restored". gendry lost friends from this sudden change, just as master aoken did as well. while some streets thrived, like the street of silk, some others lived in constant fear and watch-out. this turn of event is the first legitimate seed sown in gendry of his growing antagonism towards highborns.²

*** the following details may change — master aoken eventually passed away when gendry is five-and-twenty. ever since, he took up the armoury left in master aoken's wake and run it himself.

fun little note: his relationship with aoken is both a parallel to his relationship with tobho mott, yoren and arya in the canon verse. that is, aoken was, for a while, his father / brother figure (aoken was only 20ish when he found gendry), his master, his protector, and his source of shelter — but obviously as aoken's addiction grew worse over the years, gendry was forced to become his protector and source of shelter.

fun little note #2: same as got canon, gendry will always yearn for stability and family - which he still sometimes search in aoken, but he does not always receive them fully due to aoken's addictions.

¹ referring to the fact that tobho mott were one of the few who could work with valyrian steel. considering the time period wherein the targs' culture survive and are thriving, i would assume that smiths working with valyrian steel are abundant. or at least, there would be more than one. master aoken is simply one of them, thus he loses the appeal of being unique unlike tobho mott who posessed it. ² gendry has a lot of feelings about what the goldcloaks are doing. please feel free to challenge him about it :)

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also : i've updated the rules with a WARNING at the very top! pls give it a look, and if unfollowing is what serves u best upon consideration, i would hella understand. thank you lots ✌️